I've made too many rounds in the living room, one hand on my waist, and another in my hair. I can't sit or stand still; there's too much confusion whirling in my head. What the hell is going on with my life? Just as I try to find a bearing on one thing, another pop and it's more bizarre than the other, which makes me wonder when will I get to have a normal life again.

I'm exhausted. It's fucking exhausting.

"Can you please sit down? You're about to make me dizzy," Red bleats from behind me, cutting through my overwhelming thoughts.

"What if she is alive?" I leap back and look at him; he's on the couch, watching every stride I make for a couple of minutes now. "I mean...I don't know what to think anymore, Red! And here we are" —- I side-stretch my arms for emphasis — "back to the house where some friggin' goons died last night! Could it get any better? Oh, I swear my abuelita would be so thrilled to watch this grand episode of La Tormentosa Vida de Mia Vera! There! The stormy life of Mia Vera; wonderful title, isn't it?" I laugh pathetically for I do feel so pathetic that it makes me furious.

Red stands up. "You need to calm down," he says gently and my eyes crease. How can he be so cool and collected right now despite the barrage of nonsense surrounding us? "Look," he goes on, standing next to me, "I'm sure there's a way to find out about Anne or her body, but one thing at a time." He soothingly rubs my back while drawing my body into his arms.

Oh, I needed it! I melt in his embrace.

Petulanty, I let his warmth bask me as I mutter, "I wish she were alive so I can know what exactly happened that day. As much as I hated her, I don't think she deserved death as a punishment. Right?" I gaze up at him, and he lifts an eyebrow affirmatively. I hug him tighter, laying my head on his chest. "God, I just want this nightmare to end. I can't live like this anymore; it's draining me. I'm going crazy every day!"

"I know, baby." He kisses my hair, and a long breath expels through his nose when he rests his chin on top of my head. "And you can't stay here now that we know what a psycho your ex-husband is. We should get going."

I let out a frustrated sigh. I hate Patrick Kingston with all my heart. I can't believe he purchased half of the building just because I live in it! And to make matters worse, he bugged my house with cameras that Luca and his guys found while cleaning up.

How far is he willing to go just to make my life miserable? I've spent the whole evening wondering. It gives me chills to imagine him watching Red and me making love. How disgusting! Also, it means he knows about my relationship with Red.

"I'm not sure if there is any safe place for me in Portland." I pull out of Red's arms. A frown of agreement flits on his face. "But you're right, I can't stay here. I'll just get some important office documents and a few stuff. Maybe I'll stay in a hotel until the launch? I don't know. I don't fucking know." I laugh again and pace around.

It's the best option, though, and maybe the only one at the moment. Patrick has lost his mind and I don't know what he's plotting next.

"Or you can just accept leaving the city for a while?" Red suggests, his voice projecting worry.

"It's only four days until the launch, Red," I tell him. "After that, I'll leave. This apartment, MK, I'll sell everything and go anywhere you want us to go. Even to the end of the world." Playfully, I lean and press my lips on his neck.

He barely looks at me. Wow. Still mad.

"Alright, go get your stuff. I'll take you to the hotel before I leave for my appointment." Although Red doesn't press further on the matter, I can tell how much he hates that I'm still in Portland and I understand why. "And you'll stay with Luca until I come back," had adds.

I scowl at him. "Seriously? Luca as my babysitter now?"

"Don't pretend you don't like it, little Madam. I'm sure we're gonna have so much fun!" We both turn around upon hearing this.

Speak of the devil!

"Oh, you're still here. I forgot," I say with a sarcastic grin. "How is your stomach?" God knows what he ate for lunch to have an upset it.

I smother a laugh recalling how he allegedly ran to the bathroom as soon as we arrived here.

Rubbing his stomach with a gloomy look in his usually charming eyes, Luca says, "That's more like asking a lady about her age. Not cool."

I manage to laugh genuinely, but Red is already immersed in thoughts while checking on his phone. I can see how stressed the gets by the minutes as he concocts ways to keep me and our baby safe while going hand in hand with his job.

I wish I could leave as he wants, but I can't. I have a lot to do in a very short period. Even if I can't be in the office as the CEO I once was, I still have to make sure everything is thrusting forward.

It's hard.

Once again I return to Heathman Hotel with my largest suitcase that Luca couldn't stop teasing me about, claiming I must have been a drama queen back in high school. Well, even in death, I do want to have my wardrobe in order even though I keep pacing and moving; my clothes are everywhere.

At Reds, at Kenna's, at the safe house, and now at the hotel. What a life.

After checking the bathroom as part of his grand inspection, Red stops by the bedroom where I'm set in a California King bed unpacking my stuff. He's about to leave for that nerve-wracking meeting with a mysterious guy. Now that it's time, I don't like the idea very much.

There's a heavy, ominous feeling in my chest.

"I do want you to go," like a senseless child, I blurt out my inner torment. Red smiles and leans down to kiss me on the lips. Gently, his tongue caresses mine; in a split second, I want to cling to him so badly. "Be careful, please," I whisper when he stands upright.

"I will," he answers simply. Not enough to make me less worried. "Stay in. If you need anything, ask Luca, please. Don't go out," he insists. I nod softly, still worried. "And quiet that face, huh? I'll be fine. Everything is laid to a plan so it's gonna be fine."

I nod again, too weak to say the words.

But before he reaches the door, I manage to say, "I love you, Mr. Hunter. Come back in one piece. It's an order."

He gives me a bashful smile, sexy even. And quite confidently, he replies, "I love you, too, Mrs. Hunter. Take care."

I smile back, and as he disappears, tears well up in my eyes. I hear him talk to Luca for a while, and then silence kicks in like a calm before the storm.

I don't know how we missed some facts about Anne's death but it was an amateur mistake. Of course, everything about her sudden demise felt like a crooked script of a low-budget telenovela. I should've known better that it wasn't only about framing Mia. Or was it?

My phone chirps and soon Marlow's voice strikes through the earpiece. "Are you ready?" He seems to be in a very quiet place, with no overlapping sound.

"I'm on my way. Everything set?" I roll the wheel leftward to squeeze into the main road.

The traffic buzz and darkness commingle with crispy mid-autumn air as I drive moderately. It's a city glamour. Normal. Casual. It's as if everything is okay, all the while so much shady stuff is going on under the radar and people are dying like flies behind the scenes.

"Yeah, let's hope there's no discrepancy to our plan," Marlow answers. "My men are on standby. They'll wait for your lead if anything goes South."

"Gotcha." I hear the beep and the line dies.

We've made enough plans and drew a few possibilities of an ambush or double-cross. From experience, anything can happen. I do not trust this mysterious man or whatever, but I'm sure he needs me in one way or another, and for that, there must be some kind of leverage. A threshold. Just a little something worth some kind of a bargain.

Is it the ex-file?

About forty minutes later I slow down. As agreed, I drove to an industrial area given at the address. It's rife with darkness here, with a reckless abandon of warehouse equipment and depilated cars and other junkies. I've bypassed a few residential houses but in this particular area, there's not a single soul.

What if it's a fucking trap? I fire back the thoughts as quicks as they bolted.

I pull over near the falling wired fence, feeling my heart catching up rather dramatically. I'm not scared; I don't know how I feel, though. For the umpteenth time in twenty-four hours, I take the sonogram picture of our little bean—the last one Mia had a week ago—and stall for a second.

And then it occurs to me that I must get back to Mia no matter what happens now and other times I may be forced to walk in the pits of danger. Before, I had nothing to make my heart beat this erratically except survival. Not in Syria when surrounded by the rebels, and not even in Russia during that one deadly underwater naval operation.

For the first time, I am extremely terrified of death.

After a moment, I pull out my gun, load the magazine, and holster it behind my pants. My heartbeat has settled—thank heavens—and from here no more sentiments. Through the closed windshield, I scan my surroundings: dark, calm, too calm, with an eerie whisper of the night. Using the disposable phone, I call the so-called mystery guy and he answers almost instantly.

"I see you, Red," he says in that thick manipulated voice.

The fuck you do! A surveillance camera faces me near a blinking tube light. It moves horizontally, slowly like the pair of strategy eyes of a black panther. Past the fence, a rusty door at the front of the red brick warehouse appears. I feel remiss as I'm finally behind the enemy line—the one I don't know.

"Glad that you do. And if you know me as much as you claim, I'm sure you're damn aware that I'm not a huge fan of long conversations so let's get it over with, shall we?" I make my exit, still on the phone.

"Oh, Red." A deep, throaty breath hits my ear. "Your entitled confidence truly amazes me because it's slightly dumb. But you gotta understand that I'm not your enemy, okay? If I were, you'd be on your knees right now if not fully on the ground like pathetic prey to its hunter. I have the upper hand, don't you think so?"

Now that sounds familiar! Keep talking. I don't think you are that mysterious anymore, though. No, I think I know you.

"Of course. And I call it cowardice," I reply, heading to the double doors; only one is open. "It doesn't faze me, unfortunately. I prefer seeing what I kill." I glance around and silence engulfs me.

I don't like it one bit.

And then... more cameras. Maybe three or four in all directions. A few trees. A bit limited for a run. A car, covered with a plastic bag, and a truck. Whoever is inside is not alone. How many are they?

"Such poor sense of humor," I hear through the phone, and I'm standing at the door where two men are right there.

Big, tall, rugged cliché, trying hard to look intimidating in black suits. And the long bluffing... Why so much drama? It can't be Derek, and neither Eliot.

"Enough talking. You can either get out of hiding or we get no deal." I end the call, paying no attention to the big guys who certainly have guns holstered somewhere.

And that's when the heels begin to clad against a hard surface with cadence. Behind the shadow at the stairway heading to the top floor of the two-story warehouse, which is apparently empty, I see a silhouette of a woman in a dress, then the slim uncovered legs as she descends, followed by long ginger hair.

Of course. It's Anne Scott.

__________
A/N: I know some of you saw it coming, huh? How does it feel to be in my head?  Haha, no get out of my head!