Safe house<br/>12:42 a.m.<br/><br/>Frank wasn't sure if Lauren calling him "Frankie" was cute or annoying. But at least he was in the company of such beauty. Frank had never dated a girl who was even in Lauren's league, when it came to looks.<br/><br/>He wasn't surprised that she picked the bed. He was going to offer it up anyway.<br/><br/>He downed the rest of his Scotch and set the glass on the end table, near the now empty cuffs.<br/><br/>One thing his trained eye noticed was how Lauren looked at him now. Since they were actually able to share conversation, the acrimony had lessened. Or it seemed like it. And Lauren was looking at Frank now much the way so many women had: with an eye on his rugged good looks.<br/><br/>He sighed, again remembering that he owed Connors a phone call.  But that again got shoved to the back burner when Lauren turned on her heel after handing him her cocktail glass, destination bedroom.<br/><br/>She was in unfamiliar territory, it was dark and she was barefoot. And, now, passed out in bed. But Frankie wasn't going to take any chances. He wanted an uninterrupted, peaceful sleep on the sofa, and the only way to get it was to secure the redhead. At least somewhat.<br/><br/>Frank took the cuffs and opened the bedroom door. He heard snoring. Still, he padded softly to the sleeping beauty. Working stealthily, Frank snapped a cuff on her left wrist. He pulled her arm gently across her chest to her left and snapped the other cuff to the headboard post. Convenient.<br/><br/>"Sleep tight, songbird," Frank said softly, stopping himself at the last moment from kissing her forehead.<br/><br/>He gave her one last look before partially closing the door.<br/><br/>Time to make that damn phone call.