TWO DAYS AGO. . .

     The convoy drove across the stalwart highway with the speed of lightning. A black SUV led the van, heavily guarded by SWAT and three federal agents. Ethan Willows sat still, hands cuffed with metal chains. His head was bowed, and he constantly shuffled his feet. The surrounding air smelled of death. His death. He’d spent a week in a prison cell and the next day, Dan Brown showed up and announced they’d fixed a date for his execution.

     He’d been fed well. It was the biggest meal he’d ever had since he was locked up. He requested to see his son Ronnie, but Anna refused to bring him to see him. And Ethan understood why. It was better off that way, so that Ronnie wouldn’t have to suffer while growing up. What Anna would tell him when he asked of him solely depended on her.

     His thought was interrupted when the van suddenly capsized. Ethan saw nothing. All he heard was noise. His head ached, and his vision got blurry. He started to hear indistinct sounds.

     “We’re being attacked! Take the prisoner to safety!”

     “Copy!”

     Then there were rustles, footsteps, and discordant sounds. When he restored his vision, he saw an agent moving wildly toward him. The sounds hurt his eardrum. The agent gripped his hand. Ethan parried the grip with his cuffed hand and placed the chain over his neck. He choked him hard till he slouched and lost consciousness. The keys dangled.

     Ethan moved forward, reached for the keys with his restrained hand, and placed them under his lips. Stifling the urge to groan, he lifted his hands to his mouth and inserted the key into the lock. With a little torque, the lock clicked open and the chains fell.

     Before he rose, another agent was already onto him, trying to restrain him. Ethan fought back and kicked him in the ribs. He didn’t feel much pain. He saw that he was wearing a Kevlar vest. Ethan snatched his firearm and shot his upper torso. The impact threw the agent backward and Ethan took to his heels.

     Immediately he landed on the asphalt road, he breathed in the air. The SUV was set ablaze and the flames sneaked into the sky. A burly man in a SWAT jacket broke into a run toward him. Ethan put the gun in his pocket and darted into the dense woodland.

     He raced down the forest floor, his body brushing off leaves from the trees that were shining in the sun’s rays. His pursuer opened fire and he too directed his gun at him, setting a round of bullets toward the agent. He dodged all of them.

     It took forever to lose his pursuer. When he saw a cabin on a vast prairie, he ran to the porch and uninvitedly stormed inside the interior. A family of four was gathered around a table having breakfast. The intrusion grabbed their attention. Alarmed, the man among them surged forward and yelled to the woman, “Call 911!”

     The woman, a blonde in her late thirties lurched to her feet. She hadn’t left to comply with her husband’s order when Ethan pointed the gun at her. “Stop right there.” His voice was gravelly and threatening.

     Panting, he trudged to the dining room, his gun fixed at them. The two small children started crying. The man clutched their hands and said, “Don’t cry. Everything’s going to be all right.”
 
     Ethan halted, looked around the place inquisitively, and murmured, “I’m not going to harm anybody as long as you don’t call the cops. Got it?”

     They nodded subserviently in unison, and he fell into one of the empty chairs. He put his gun away, stared at the children, then drew back his eyes to the man. “I need to change.”

     The man gulped hard, said, “Follow me,” and turned to face a room. Fifteen minutes later, Ethan was out of the cabin, now clad in a satin shirt, suede jeans, and boots. Feeling refreshed, he continued his journey on foot till he made it to the train station. On a busy street, he mingled with ordinary men and women.

     A gentleman in a suit was passing by. Ethan collided with him. “I’m sorry,” he said apologetically.

     “It’s all good. Watch your steps next time.”

     “Sure.”

     He’d gotten his wallet and he felt bad for robbing the man. Inside, he found dollar notes and boarded the train to Greenville. He’d learned the hired witness Jerry Hamilton was in witness protection and living in an isolated mansion in Greenville. His destination.

     When the train stopped, he got out and walked a mileage to the mansion with bay windows. He hid in the garden and formulated the strategy he’d use to get into the building.

     Jerry Hamilton would not cooperate—that was for sure, unless he was given good motivation. Fear should take care of it. If he took him by surprise, he was likely to be overwhelmed and pull a stunt. The other methods wouldn’t yield any fruitful results. He was taking his chances.

     Ethan moved swiftly to the neat porch and tried the knob. The door was locked. One of the drapes had been opened halfway, providing a clear view of the inside. He surveyed the place. When his eyes landed in the living room, he saw a mug of coffee on the table. The flat-screen TV was on. Someone was inside for sure. He moved to the door, backed a short distance from it, pulled out his gun, and fired a shot that damaged the lock. He strode to the door, then he kicked it open.

     His gun pointed in the air, he stepped inside the peaceful house and skittered into the living room. Someone bounded on the short staircase. When the person landed and upon glimpsing the intruder, he turned around quickly and was on the verge of running when Ethan cocked the gun, said, “Don’t you dare!” and stepped closer.

     “Turn around, Jerry.”

     “Don’t shoot,” he said and surrendered, then he swiveled around to look at him. “I’m not going to run.”

     “Good.”

     He motioned to the couch and instructed him to sit. Jerry complied. He took his first step forward and was hit by a bullet that thrust him backward. He fell heavily on the carpeted floor.

     Muttering curses, Ethan ducked down behind the white couch and readied his gun for use. A while later, the door to the house stormed open. He heard violent movements in the short hallway to the living room.

     Ethan relocated and hid behind a wall. He saw three men in dark clothes move furtively into the living room. He took aim, fired a shoot, and waited for the result. One of them yelled, then his gun clattered on the floor.

     The others followed the direction of the projectile motion and fished out the shooter. A crossfire broke. Bullets moved rapidly between the belligerent men. His location was compromised. Ethan moved out from his spot and the marksmen followed him. He passed through the kitchen where he found a door. No sooner had he stepped out than he bumped into one of the men. Both of them lost grip of their weapon. A fistfight came on.

     They sparred. He threw a punch and Ethan dodged it. The man followed it with a kick in the loin. Ethan staggered back. Another punch came at him. He grabbed the man’s hand and twisted it. He moaned. While he tried to free his hand, he used the other to snatch a dagger from his pocket, which he plunged into his lower torso. Ethan was forced to let go. He drooped and hit his back on the wall.

     Gasping for air, he placed both hands on the handle, and on his count, pulled out the knife. Blood gushed out. His attacker lunged forward for his gun. Ethan jumped and thrust at him. They grappled violently on the floor till Ethan stabbed his hand just when he was retrieving the gun. He screamed. Ethan picked the gun and sprang to his feet.

     Pains seared through his body as he  ran from the scene, blood dripping onto the floor. The other man emerged from the kitchen and started shooting at him. Ethan got out and landed back in the garden before any bullet touched him.

N O W

     Ethan cast Terry a look. “None of this is your fault. Heartny made her choice. She refused to listen to me, and I don’t blame her either.”

     Terry’s voice was engulfed by grief. “I watch the massacre. It was horrifying.”

     He didn’t doubt it. He was sure it had scared the hell out of her. He’d seen too many deaths to flinch when he saw a bloodbath, but for her it was new and disturbing. “Who did you call after you escaped?”

     Terry looked at him. “Clinton.” When he didn’t react, she said, “It isn’t what you’re thinking. Clinton might have kept secrets from me, but he’ll never endanger innocent people’s lives.”

     “Someone ordered a hit on your life. I overheard their conversation. Someone wants you dead, and the only person I’m suspecting is your Clinton or Admiral Peterson. Any of them could have made the hit.”

     She looked dubiously at him. “What do you have against them?”

     He changed a lane and swung the wheel before he said, “Nothing. They have something against me. They killed my friends, murdered a witness, and framed me.”

     She snapped, “So you want revenge?”

     “If I wanted revenge, I’d have killed you the very moment I broke into your house and perhaps be on Clinton’s trail by now.” He stared at her. Her hair looked very messy and the dress he’d asked her to wear was stained with blood. She was disheveled but even so, she still looked beautiful like he’d found her in the suburban house.

     “Although part of me wants to kill you for scheming with them, I know better than to embark on revenge.”

     He scared her with his profane words, but she’d become used to ‘kill’ and ‘murder’ that it didn’t bother her hearing it again.

     “Then why did you kidnap me?”

     “To prove to you and everyone I’m not a mass murderer.”

     “You could have done that without employing violence.”

     He scoffed. “Oh yeah.” Then looked at her, and in a sardonic tone, said, “If I had come to your house and asked you calmly to follow me because I wanted to prove to you I’m not guilty, would you have willingly followed me without pulling a dangerous feat?”

     Terry didn’t reply. The answer was so obvious. She’d have pulled a stunt like she had done a while ago. Although he was right, it didn’t justify what he’d done to her.

     “You manhandled me, stuck a gun to my head, said nasty things to me. . . Is that any way to treat a lady?” She sounded very angry.

     He stopped the urge to smirk. “I said I was sorry earlier, remember?”

     “That doesn’t rectify what you’ve done.”

     “Yes, it doesn’t. You were willing to watch an innocent man die. You’re not innocent in this. I wonder how you’d planned to live with that.”

     She said defensively, “The jury found you guilty. I was doing my job. There was no way I’d have known you were innocent, Ethan, which you still haven’t proven to me you are.”

     “Tell me the truth,” he said. “Did you think I was guilty?”

     “What I think doesn’t matter. In the law court, it’s important to sequester your feelings. I don’t sympathize with defendants. I listen to their defense and not their display of emotions.”

     She was right. Even if she did know he was innocent, she had no way of proving it when all the evidence blatantly implicated him.

     “What did Clinton tell you before my trial?”

     “Nothing.” She wasn’t being sincere because she didn’t think what Clinton said about him would vindicate him.

     “Do you want me to use my gun? I see that’s the only way you’d cooperate.”

     Terry scowled at him. “Use your gun. It will just prove to me you’re guilty. If you want me to trust you, then you can’t demand it. You have to earn it.”

     “All right. Please, Terry Lindsay. I’m being framed. You’ve got something that can refute all the accusations against me. Tell me what Clinton told you.” He stopped to look at her. “Is that okay enough?”

     She wanted to laugh at how silly he sounded, but she restrained herself from the embarrassment. “No, it isn’t. You can’t earn someone’s trust in a matter of seconds. It takes time.”

     “That’s the problem. Time. I don’t have time. The longer I take to prove my innocence, the more people will believe what the press is saying. I’m hoping that trooper does the right thing and tells the feds I saved your life, which you still haven’t thanked me.”

     She accusatorially said, “You want me to thank you for driving me into this mess?”

     “No, Lindsay. I want you to tell me what that Attorney General told you.”

     “All right,” she said and he sighed. 

     “He provided documents that showed you were a lousy commander.”

     “What documents?”

     She shrugged. “I wasn’t paying attention to what he was saying exactly. The documents were reports from your work showing you were involved in petty crimes in the navy. He also said you were a threat to national security, and you had to be eliminated at all costs, which I guess was a lie too.”

     “A threat to national security,” he repeated, “that’s serious. Those documents are fake and by the way, I wasn’t a lousy commander. I had quite a temper, but nothing I couldn’t suppress.”

     “I can see that. How do you plan to prove your innocence?”

     “By exposing Clinton and Admiral Peterson. The allegations are all true. Ted told me that.”

     Terry’s interest was piqued. “What allegations?”

     He looked worriedly at her. People had died because of the allegations, and he wouldn’t blunder by entangling her into the mess than he already had.

     “For your safety, I can’t tell you.”

     She frowned. “Can’t tell me or won’t?”

     He peered at her. “Both. The less you know, the better.”

     Damn it! Clinton had said that too.

     “You sound like Clinton.”

     “He also said that to you?”

     “Yes.”

     Ethan was taken aback. But he knew that if Clinton had kept the Judge in the dark about why they wanted him dead, it wasn’t to protect her. He’d done it to save his skin.

     “He’s right.”

     “Don’t tell me anyway,” she said angrily, then went silent. They didn’t talk for the next few minutes.

     “Is there somewhere I can drop you off?”

     Terry’s brows arched. “You went to great lengths to kidnap me just to drop me off somewhere?”

     She was starting to enjoy their little adventure in an unsettling way. It was unexplainable, but she didn’t want to leave his side. Some part of her wanted to know what Clinton was keeping from her, why he dragged her into this, and most importantly what was too serious that she couldn’t know. Right now, Ethan had aroused questions she too wanted answers to.

     “I realize you might get hurt if you get too involved. Kidnapping you was a mistake. What happened proved that. I don’t know what I’d do if you get killed or hurt because of me.”

     It was the first thing he’d said that she didn’t doubt. He sounded caring bizarrely. It was difficult to believe her kidnapper cared about her. She looked blankly at him.

     “I’m sorry for everything I’ve done to you, Terry. I don’t know if you believe me, but I’m truly sorry. I hope you find in your heart to forgive me.”

     Terry didn’t know if she’d ever overcome the trauma to forgive him, but she hoped she would.

     “Where can I drop you off?”

     Terry spoke up this time. “My cousin’s place in Virginia. Let me call my husband and check on him.”

     While she reached for her phone, he said, “You need to disconnect the battery and fast. They might be tracking our location. Use my phone instead.”

     She didn’t argue with him and meekly obeyed. She gave him her phone and he handed his burner to her, which she wasted no time dialing Eddie’s number. There was a long beep before Eddie’s voice filled the line. “Honey, are you out of there already?”

     “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know how it happened, but they’ve got Gabby.”

     “What!”

     The yell could have awakened the dead. It didn’t, but rather compelled Ethan to pull over in the middle of the highway.

     “What do you mean they’ve got Gabby?”