Peterson couldn't believe his eyes. He quickly raised his hands in surrender.

"Please, darling. Don't do this."

"What do you think I'm going to do?"

"Kill me."

Eleanor blinked off tears.

"It hurts me that you'd think I'll kill you. I thought I knew you, Peterson, but I don't. And clearly, you don't know me either."

She held the gun firmly and shouted, "Move it!"

"Where are we going?"

"To the police station. You're turning yourself in and confessing all your crimes."

Peterson gulped hard. Hands in the air, he walked to the door, the gun stuck behind his back.

#. #. #

Clinton awoke that morning, feeling a twinge of disappointment for failing himself. The fugitive was still out there and reuniting with his son. Although he had managed to get away with all his crimes, he was still fumed he couldn't eliminate that fugitive. If only Peterson had listened when he told him they should kill him, none of these fiascos would have happened.

He didn't want to do anything other than sleep. The past few days had been rough. A vacation was what he needed right now. He fell back on the soft pillows, closed his eyes, and tried sleeping again. Two minutes later, Rayna barged into the room.

Clinton quickly sat up and frowned. "What's it?"

"You have to see the news."

"What news?"

"About you. The evidence wasn't destroyed. Ethan tricked you."

Clinton's brows puckered and he felt like jumping out of his skin. He wasted no time in vaulting over the bed and following Rayna into the living room, where a newscaster was delivering the supposed news about him. Rayna increased the volume.

"Another interesting story surfaced just yesterday in connection with the Ethan Willows' story. US Attorney General, James Clinton and Admiral Peterson Clark are suspected of being involved with the notorious crime syndicate, The Russian Mafia. According to source, Peterson and Clinton have been working with the crime syndicate for years now and are also responsible for the assassination of the two top CIA agents investigating the Russian Mafia.

"The shooting at the storehouse that was first attributed to veteran navy commander Ethan Willows is a lie invented by Mr. Clinton and Admiral Peterson to frame him. This information is coming from a video that came out an hour ago."

The video popped up on the screen. Admiral Peterson was sitting inside a room and narrating every criminal activity they had done together.

Clinton ran his hair backward and started pacing the floor.

Rayna muted the news. "This is bad. I need to get you out of here."

Nervously he said, "Yes, yes. I have some associates underground. Get me the telephone."

Rayna moved quickly to a table and grabbed one of the many telephones in the house. She handed it to him.

Punching in numbers, he said without looking at her, "Pack some of my clothes and get the money in my closet. Tell Richie to transfer all my money into his account before the FBI starts freezing them."

The agent was out of his side before he even finished. When he pressed the last button, he waited anxiously for a receiver.

Outside the penthouse, a team of SWAT and two US Marshals led by Shelby emerged from a van and hurried towards the front door.

Shelby pounded on the door. "Mr. Clinton! It's the U.S. Marshals. Open up!"

No response. She knocked again, this time, going for her gun from the holster. "Clinton, we could do this the hard way or the easy way. I've got SWAT down here. If you don't open up in the next four seconds I'm storming in."

Shelby was angry that she had to follow protocol in arresting the criminal. If it were up to her, she'd have kicked the door open and immediately she set eyes on that murderer, she'd insert a bullet into his evil heart. Pushing those thoughts aside, she yelled, "Clinton, for the last time open up!"

She waited for a further three seconds. That's when she realized how protocol sucked sometimes. On her count, she ordered the SWAT team to breach. They brought the ram and hit it against the door. The glass panes shattered into pieces.

"Let's go. Suspect may be armed and dangerous and might not be alone. Prepare for a shootout."

In unison, they said, "Copy," and moved into the building. The two agents from her division followed and she stepped inside.

Two SWAT agents were coming out after inspecting the kitchen. "Clear," one said.

"Split. Don't leave any stone unturned. He's here somewhere," Shelby said and watched the team divide themselves. Some ran upstairs, others inspected the rooms downstairs.

"Clear!" one said.

"All clear," another said.

Rayna raced down the staircase, wielding two pistols and firing violently at them. The agents responded and fired back. Crossfire broke. Two agents were hit. They landed on the floor. Shelby aimed and fired a shot that went straight at her and hit her arm. She screamed before she let go of the gun and fell to the stairs, still firing with the other hand till she ran out of bullets.

Shelby hurried to the staircase, found her bleeding on the floor, said, "Where's your boss?" and tried stanching the wound.

Rayna spat into her face and just when she was about to kick her, Shelby hit her head with the butt of the gun and ran upstairs. Holding the gun horizontally, she stepped onto the long hallway with many rooms lined up. "Clinton!"

He didn't respond.

"Your cup is full. Turn yourself in. Your partner in crime did. Don't create more problems for yourself."

With one hand on the firearm, she pushed a door forward and went inside. She checked the room thoroughly and stepped out after clearing it.

"Clinton! Enough of the games. We could do this all day and waste precious time. Come out now."

She entered another room, cleared it, and stepped back.

"Clinton!"

When she heard footsteps, she located the room and found Clinton standing on the balcony, his hand on the banister and ready to jump over.

"Clinton, don't do this."

"Why do you care?"

Shelby gulped hard and lowered her gun. "I don't care, Clinton, but suicide isn't your solution."

He scoffed. "I'm not going to spend the rest of my life in prison. Hell no. That's worse than suicide."

"If you jump over that balcony, it'll prove you're a coward and you don't even have the courage to face the consequence of your actions. Don't do this."

"Goodbye, Shelby Willet."

"Clinton, no!"

He vaulted over the balcony, plunged, and landed in the dense garden. Holstering her gun, Shelby covered her mouth and ran to the section he had stood. She restrained herself from looking at the dead body. But succumbed, and stared down. Clinton lay awry on the garden floor in a pool of blood. He didn't look that evil in death-just a confused man in shock.

She had seen too many dead bodies to throw up. She blinked rapidly, backed off from the balcony, and called in help.