#rebeccaflynt

Boston was particularly cold tonight, a hefty layer of snow on the ground that crunched under Hannibal's steel toed boots. He'd come around to visit an old friend who specialized in botany and extracts, loading up on wolfsbane, vervain and the like. Chilled hands tucked into his coat pockets, he headed into a cozy looking little coffee shop to try to grab something steaming to bide him over during the long hike back to his hotel for the night. Once he placed his order, he glanced around, scanning the faces of the people around him. Boring, boring, old, boring...bingo. The dark red hair of the woman sitting in the far corner had caught his eye, along with the rack that accompanied it. 

{Unsent} I think I may already know.

Rebecca had never been hard to track down. She was no secret agent or hunter, after all. And Charlie had many more years experience in stalking than she had running from an absolutely insane mistake. He was glad for her return to New England, of all the places he'd followed her around. Boston was almost like Philly, the people were rude, it smelled and there were plenty of back alleys and old open vents for him to wander around in. If he squinted hard enough he could pretend he'd never left Philadelphia.