Every bit of breath escaped Anzhela's young, limber body while she took in every word the old woman was saying. The sensual look that had moments before been plastered to her face was replaced by one of bewilderment. She remembered just a week prior the fleeting glances she'd exchanged with Bond in R's laboratory when when he kidded about bringing back a bag of Brazillian roast the two of them could share. The man to whom she'd become so attached, opened herself up to, that man was presently no doubt in great danger. For what? A pile of guns? After all she knew he'd faced in his years with MI-6, trips to the moon, run ins with voodoo witch doctors, battles with seemingly immortal foes, in now this Andrews fool who hardly had so much as a single page in a file in the British government's archives, this nobody wannabe criminal was probably preparing to kill or ransom Bond this very moment? Anzhela hadn't expected to be hit with such a task as retrieving the highly elusive 007 when she'd stepped from her BMW 3 series that morning in the lot beneath MI-6.<br/><br/>M abruptly stopped speaking and Anzhela gripped the file in her now cold sweaty palm, wondering if she was expected to speak now, and choked out "Ma'am...I'm not so sure this is right for me. You want me to go alone? I---" she stammered, trying to make sense of what she'd just heard, attempting to find the right words to express her hesitancies, "I---I'm too emotionally involved" she finally admitted. Surely now that M knew Anzhela had a crush on the man, she would decide to pull her off the case.