It'd been a long time since I'd visited Sioux Falls.

Too long.

America was a wild, barren country compared to my fair green England. Born and raised in her Majesty's country, my service and duty were to her. There were monsters across the world, and I'd found my fair share in my homeland, but something kept calling me back to the States. The country my father hailed from. The world that my parents never wanted me to be a part of.

My mother always said that the Fates had bigger plans for us than we could dare hope to understand and that we were always exactly where we were supposed to be.

Well, whichever Fate decided that a lone twenty-four-year-old woman should travel by motorbike fighting demons and whatever the hell else was in the dark with nothing but a bag full of weapons and her sarcastic attitude sure had a sick sense of humour.

Thus far, my travels in the US of A had been routine. If you considered monsters to be routine. Mysterious disappearances, women in white, and the odd poltergeists were usual hunter fare. They were the nuisances of our world. Dangerous, for sure, but it was all hunting 101. Nothing a little salt, iron, and maybe a dash of holy water couldn't take care of. Still, it was good work. Honourable, even.

Saving people.

Hunting things.

Some might call it the family business.

Whatever you wanted to call it, it was what'd called me back to the backwater town and had drawn me to the doorstep of a family who'd reported a murder that couldn't be considered anything other than paranormal.

"You're FBI?" the woman who'd answered the door asked.

I didn't put her far above thirty-five and could understand why she was sceptical. Not only was I young, but I had a distinctly British accent and a fake badge. Not that she knew it was fake. I wouldn't have let her get a close enough look at it to find the flaws. As she eyed me with suspicion, the toddler perched on her hip smiled around the cookie he was chewing. Apparently, no one had told him that his father was dead. I just hoped he hadn't been in the house at the time. From what I'd heard, it was a grisly scene.

"I'm on loan," I lied. "Agent exchange program. I'm truly sorry for the death of your husband, Mrs. Harrison. I know this is a difficult time and I don't want to impose. Just a few routine questions and a brief examination of the scene."

"Well, it's been cleaned up since –"

"The layout," I clarified. "Escape routes for the perpetrator, that sort of thing. Can you spare a few minutes?"

"Well, yes, I suppose..." Mrs. Harrison trailed off and looked back into the house. "I just didn't think they'd send another agent along."

"Another agent?"

Mrs. Harrison gestured that I should enter the home. I placed my hand on the gun holstered at my hip. Sure, some real feds might have shown up to ask some follow-up questions, but they'd have been the first there. Hell, they might have just left the entire case to local law enforcement. Unless they thought it was a serial killer crossing state lines they wouldn't have bothered with the case. Either I was about to have to think on my feet and make excuses to legitimate police officers and agents, or there was something else in the house masquerading as the FBI. Whichever it was, I was in potential danger.

I made my way through to the kitchen and startled a pair of men in suits, one of whom was sniffing at an empty knife block. Empty because the knives that'd once occupied it had ended up in the face of the recently deceased Mr. Harrison. The men turned to face me. Neither was short, but one towered over the other. He had broad shoulders, longer hair, and a square jaw. The shorter had stubble that wouldn't be tolerated on a real federal agent and his eyes narrowed pointedly as he took the measure of me. I lifted my hand from the gun to show that I had no intention of starting anything when there were human witnesses present who could become casualties in the crossfire.

"There must've been a miscommunication at the bureau," I said just loud enough for Mrs. Harrison to hear. "I thought I was handling the follow-up alone."

The men assumed fake smiles when the woman walked in behind me. The tallest explained, "We were in the area and got a call. How about we finish up here and bring you up to speed back at the office?"

Yeah, right.

"No, please." My smile felt strained. "I can wait for you to finish up here. I wouldn't want to inconvenience you by making you go all the way to the office when you're done."

"How considerate," the shorter man replied tersely.

There was no doubt in my mind that they were hunters. They were both older than me, but they looked like they'd be more at home at a photoshoot than pushing papers and investigating crime. Besides, the taller would never have gotten away with such long hair in a government position. It was a safe bet that they'd worked their way past Mrs. Harrison with fake badges and buckets of confidence.

Although we were equally suspicious of one another, the men didn't send me away when they questioned Mrs. Harrison. My heart ached for her when she sobbed her way through her replies. If I'd been a real agent, I'd have set her up with a decent therapist. She must've been traumatised by what'd happened in her home. It was a wonder that she'd stayed. I wouldn't have felt safe in a house where the love of my life was brutally killed in my kitchen. The taller guy was more considerate. His tone was softer. He treated the woman like a human being. The shorter was brusque and to the point. He chased each question with another, probing so deep into the woman's answers that even I felt uncomfortable. I hid it with a notebook in which I made a list of potential monsters and then scratched them out.

By all accounts, the victim seemed like a normal guy, and whatever had killed him had left his wife and child unscathed. Thank God. I hated when kids were involved.

Once all questions had been exhausted, Mrs. Harrison was keen to show us out. I paused at the door and shook her hand gently. "Thank you for your time. We'll be in touch if we have any new leads or questions."

"Yeah, what she said," the short man pitched in.

It wasn't until the door closed and we were off the porch that the masks fell away. Mrs. Harrison couldn't hear us, and the neighbours probably didn't care about anything we had to say to one another. The only other creature on the street was a stray dog that was too busy rummaging through the garbage to even notice we were there. I pushed my hands into my pockets and the men loosened the knots in their ties.

"FBI? Really?" the tall one asked. "Show me your badge."

"What, you think it's going to be more convincing than whatever you flashed to get into her house?" I asked. "Dream on, Bonnie and Clyde. Don't blame me if you're using amateur-level fake IDs."

"Amateur?" the short man sputtered. He paused for a beat before he asked, "Which one of us is Bonnie?"

I rolled my eyes.

"Dean, can we focus?" The tall guy fixed me with a glare. "This is our job. We were here first, and we don't need backup."

"Yeah, hit the road, Queen Victoria," Dean agreed. "Sam and I have got this. So how about you get your royal pain in the ass home for some tea?"

Sam and Dean?

Maybe leaving wasn't such a bad idea. I knew that Bobby Singer lived near town, but I hadn't expected to find the Winchesters passing through. A small part of me wanted to go visit him, but the rational voice inside reminded me that all I'd get in return was a bottle of holy water to the face and a clip around the ear.

My silence hadn't gone unnoticed by the pair. They exchanged a furtive glance and shifted their weight uneasily between their feet. I wasn't an idiot, and neither were they. It was obvious that I hadn't been nervous about the pair of them until I found out their names. It was a joke to think that I was a threat to them. Although years of hunting had worn on them, they were still two large, muscular men who could've easily knocked me on my arse. I was slight in stature. Sure, I had muscles, but I was built for speed and grace instead of brute force. Thankfully, they didn't seem inclined to kick me seven ways from Sunday.

At least, not yet.

"It looks like you boys have this in hand." I took a step back from them. "I'll bet Bobby will be happy to help if you need it, so I'll –"

"How do you know Bobby?" Sam asked.

Crap.

I shouldn't have let him enter my head. Of course, I'd mention him when faced with the Winchesters. It'd just slipped out. A rookie mistake for a hunter. We were meant to be practised in the art of lying and I'd gone and made myself look even more suspicious. In my head, I raced through all the stock excuses I'd mentally prepared to get myself out of awkward situations. The list was longer than the damn Bible, yet I couldn't mentally grasp one which might fly with the Winchesters.

When I opened my stupid mouth, all that came out was a nervous laugh followed by a feeble, "I should really go..."

With every step that I took back, they took one towards me to maintain the distance. For a pair of scruffy yanks, they did a decent job of pulling off a menacing smoulder. I considered taking off at a run. My motorbike wasn't far. Just a few streets over. I hadn't parked out front because no one would buy me as a legitimate FBI agent if I showed up in anything other than a sleek black car. Sam could easily outrun me. Hell, his legs were so long he could catch me at a stroll.

"Look..." I held up my hands in a display of surrender. "I just came here for the job. Clearly, you've got this, and you don't want me stepping on your toes. Let's just forget I said anything, I'll get out of Sioux Falls, and we'll all be happy. Right?"

"Wrong."

Dean lunged for me, and I darted out of his way. Diplomacy had failed and I didn't want to get into a fight, so running was the only option, even if it was pointless. My feet pounded against the pavement. I'd changed out of my boots and put on a pair of professional-looking heels for my FBI act which only served to hinder me further. They clicked loudly against the pavement as I fled. For a fleeting moment, I thought I might have escaped. Maybe the Winchesters would give me up as a waste of their time. After all, it wasn't like I was the one who'd killed Mr. Harrison. I hadn't even been in town at the time.

I was proven wrong when an arm looped around my waist, and I was lifted from the ground. My legs flailed pointlessly as I kicked and writhed, fighting to get out of Sam's grip.

"Easy, we don't want to hurt you," he insisted.

"Speak for yourself," Dean said.

It was the last thing I heard before something struck the back of my head and the lights went out.

Something told me that this job was going to be anything but routine.