"What do you want?" I growled. My insides felt like my anxiety was consuming me completely, but the business woman in me was relentless. I straightened my spine and folded my arms in front of me on the table, daring Agent Smith to push me back. This was a negotiation I simply couldn't lose. "You obviously think that you have all of the answers so what is the point of pulling me in here? You think I'm the woman who disappeared from California six years ago so why not ship me back to the states?"

"I don't think that you are Camila Lopez. I know that you are. Now, you were reported as a kidnapping case, so tell me, who took you and where are they now?" Agent Smith pressed.

"That's bullshit, we both know that she-" Alistair chimed in.

"Alistair." Agent Smith hissed, seeming much more furious than he had when he had shouted, "You've said enough for one day. We are not here to make assumptions." When it became clear that Alistair would hold his tongue, at least for now, Agent Smith brought his attention back to me. The switch had flipped once more and his expression was as calm and collected as ever. He didn't look like he was going to allow me to walk over him, but he didn't seem to be nearly as agitated as Alistair, "You are an American citizen, not a Canadian, we can't put you in prison. However, we need to know if there is someone dangerous in our country so it can be handled accordingly. Now, tell me who took you away from our family and friends."

Well, that had been Sophie. But she hadn't taken me with any force. She had merely opened up a door to a safer place, one without my haunting ex-fiancé and my unpleasable parents while offering a much needed reality check. If I stayed with Josh my life would only get worse, not better. But she wasn't a kidnapper. She was the only reason that I had been able to escape that life. So, I kept my mouth shut, leaning back in my chair as my mind desperately attempted to formulate a plan.

"Do you know what Stockholm Syndrome is?" Agent Smith asked his voice still as sympathetic as it had been previously.

I did know what Stockholm Syndrome was, but I said nothing.

"It's a psychological condition that occurs when victims begin to have affection or feelings of loyalty towards their captives. It's a survival mechanism and nothing to be ashamed of. However, no one who takes you against your will should be allowed to roam the streets free. What if they realize you are gone and they find someone else to replace you? Another woman ripped away from her family and friends. No matter what they told you and what they made you believe or feel they are dangerous and they need to be placed into custody as soon as possible."

"Do you think that I was kidnapped then started up a multimillion dollar business with my captors?" I demanded in disbelief. Yes, it was tossing myself under the bus, admitting that I had potentially done this all by myself, but the idea that I had an accomplice was terrifyingly accurate. I would gladly give myself up if it meant that they never caught onto Sophie's trail. She had done this for me out of the goodness of her soul and she had sacrificed so much for me. I refused to be the reason that she ended up in prison, losing everything she had worked so hard for.

"Anything is possible, Camila." agent Smith murmured. "And that's why we need you. We need you to fill in the gaps for us because we can't just let dangerous people continue to do unlawful acts. No one has the right to take away the freedom of another person. And as soon as we feel we have enough information from you we will let you go home. So if someone has taken you for your knowledge- or rather your father's knowledge- of the oilfield and used you to be the public face of a business for on their fraudulent behalf we need to know."

"I have nothing to tell you." I stated adamantly.

"What happened that night, Camila? One day you were engaged to one of the youngest men within the American Criminal Investigation sector and the next time you resurface you have changed your name and own a massive pigging company in Canada's capital. That's quite impressive- I'll admit- but your success isn't my concern. I know that this couldn't possibly happen without laws being broken so all I want to know is who did it and how. Once this is all cleared up you'll be released and you'll never have to answer to me again."

"My name is Celeste Davidson." I replied tightly. I knew that this had already been disproven, but my head was spinning with ways to protect Sophie and I couldn't save myself at the same time.

"And how did you become Celeste Davidson when you were Camila Lopez before?"

"I want my lawyer." I blurted, finally remembering that I was a human being and I had rights. They couldn't strong arm me into this.

"Is that going to be your final statement to me tonight Miss Lopez?" Agent Smith asked.

I met his eyes evenly, but didn't utter a word.

"This could've been dealt with so much more civilly, Miss Lopez." Agent Smith whispered, shaking his head slowly. He got to his feet and turned his back to me, uttering something to Alistair before he departed, closing the heavy metal door behind him.

Then I was left alone with the impulsive agent that had dragged me out of my home and was closer with his accusations than his counterpart had been. I ticked my chin up and watched his determined green eyes. His face was void of any prominent expression, but he didn't utter anything to me either. That was a hundred times worse than him screaming profanities at me.

"What are you going to do? Take me on another date?" I challenged boldly. The words were sharp, angry and not ringing with the hurt I felt over the deceit and the frustration I had for myself due to my own blindness. What had I been thinking, going out with someone who worked for the Canadian government, was I not smart enough to see that this was a possibility?

He didn't say anything in response; he just pulled the handcuffs out of their holding and gestured for me to stand up.

I obeyed.

We ended up back in his vehicle, driving along- at a moderate speed this time, cruising through the late night traffic. I asked him several times where we were going, but he refused to answer. I tried to poke at him and goad him into an angry response, but it seemed like every time I opened my mouth he gritted his teeth a little harder and his determination to remain silent was only strengthened. I wanted any response, angry or not. I just needed some sort of information before my active imagine ripped my sanity to shreds, but his silence was unbreakable. After what felt like years I knew that I had little chance of keeping it together.

Worry was starting to consume me, clawing upwards in my body, feeling like it was crawling up from my chest, its cold hands closing around my throat. I tried to slow down my breathing. That didn't work. I tried to shut my eyes and count to ten. That didn't help either. With every passing second I felt blood rushing more aggressively through my body while my heart pounded away and my breathing kept getting shallower and shallower. If I didn't calm myself down now I would surely end up passing out in the back of Alistair's Lexus.

"We need to stop." I managed through one of my gasps.

Alistair's unfeeling eyes moved up to his rearview. For a brief second I thought he heard my desperation and genuine sympathy and concern flitted across his features, but it was gone so quickly I wasn't sure I had seen it all.

"Why?"

"Can we just stop? Please?"

"No."

"I need to go to the washroom." I blurted.

"You can hold it; we're almost to the border."

The border.

My eyes snapped to my surrounding, recognizing a sign for Spencerville immediately. My god, in almost no time at all I would be crossing the American border, entering back into the country that I had fled so desperately from six years ago. I would not be in my home state, but I didn't need to be. A man with that much power could extend his ugly tentacles as far as he needed to get me.

"We need to stop now." I pressed with more urgency.

"Hold it. Once we cross the border I'm handing you off and you won't be my problem at all."

"Alistair, I swear to god I will piss myself if you don't stop!" I shouted, the anxiety making me completely and utterly shameless.

"Jesus Christ." Alistair grumbled to himself, but he turned on his signal light and slowed down his vehicle so he could park it at a gas station.

A moment later I was handcuff free, but Alistair was holding my arm tightly in his hand as we walked towards the gas station. A couple people watched us warily as we entered. I looked more like a homeless man than the business woman I was and he had a bullet proof vest covering his chest still, with his gun and badge still strapped to his belt. But they weren't my concern; the on lookers could gawk as much as they wanted. We stopped just outside of the women's bathroom.

"You have three minutes." He warned darkly before releasing my arm.

Once the door was shut behind me I felt like I could breathe again. I ambled over to the sink and clutched the sides for it to steady myself, staring at myself in the mirror. I hadn't crossed the border yet. I still had a chance. But what chance? What could I possibly do to stop this? Tell Alistair what a terrible man my ex-fiancé was? The man that everyone in the country loved and cooed over when he went on publicity stunts? He was kind and loyal in the public eye and I was just a woman who had disappeared. I had taken the coward's route and he had used it to break everyone's heart in his favor. No one would believe me.

And just as I accepted that the walls had closed in on me I noticed a filthy, but opened window at the back of the rest room.

****Oh my soul! Almost one thousand reads! That's wild, thank you guys so much for your support and your comments and votes. It means the world to me and totally motivates me to write!*****