"Marcel! You startled me."

He smiled slowly, taking his time to let his lips spread to the corners of his face. "That's putting it mildly, given how pale you look."

Pamela watched him, tongue-tied, as he reached calmly behind him and lifted a double-barrel shotgun crosswise against his chest, one hand on the trigger, the other on the barrels. Pamela would have felt better had he been fidgety, jumpy, restive or sweaty, instead, he was as still as a millpond, smiling at her like she had casually dropped by for a cup of coffee. His smile was as disconcerting as it was bone chilling.

Now, Pamela tugged at the cable ties as anger and fear seeped through her in mixed proportions as she remembered the events that had unfolded. How stupid of her. Marcel hadn't left the kitchen but had waited in the dark to be sure if an intruder had really entered his house.

He'd tied her up with the help of Boris, who had been very rough and unfriendly. He was a far cry from the gentle, loving, always-smiling aide she'd know for three years. It hurt to think that he'd been pretending. But did that hurt like Marcel's betrayal? No. She'd known him for far longer than that.

"Why are you doing this?" She'd asked him after they'd tied her up.

He smiled. "My answer will depend on how much you overheard."

She licked her lips nervously. "I didn't hear anything. I swear."

"So you were really playing hide and seek behind the fridge?"

Her mind started to race wildly with spine-chilling thoughts. She had to think of a way out, and fast too. "Marcel, please."

"Stop saying that word it irks me."

"Why are you doing this? I trusted you."

Marcel sighed dramatically and sat on a sofa from across her. "Well if you must know. I have been pretending all along."

That wasn't rocket science. "Why?"

"Because dear Pamela, you are the key to one of the most biggest trust funds in the world. I need that money. At least my boss does."

"Your boss?"

"You think Peter was the only one? You thought everything was over with his death?"

"I don't know what to think, Marcel. But what I know is, this is not you. There is good in you Marcel." She paused to let that take effect. "That Marcel that stood up against Fatimah to save me is still in there somewhere."

He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "I admit, at that point where I was condemned to die, my hormones went into overdrive and I acted the knight in shining armour, but later, I realized I had nothing to lose if I worked for the higher ups myself and be useful to our cause and what is that? To retrieve the money your dad stole."

Pamela took in deep breaths to calm herself down, before saying in a fierce whisper, "My dad was not a thief!"

"No? Whatever. I have nothing to say to you. I'm just glad you came here all by yourself. You made my job easier. At first, the plan was to marry you and get the codes to unlock the accounts bearing your names, but now that the cat is out in the open, I'll take you to my boss and we'll force it out of you."

Her brows drew together in confusion. She'd heard about this from Fener but she hadn't taken the crazy man serious. "I don't know what you're talking about. What accounts?"

"Off shore accounts. And you have the codes to it."

"I have nothing!"

He laughed and walked towards her. "Don't stress yourself honey. Rest." He stroked her hair. It was all she could do not to spit in his face. "We leave tonight."

"You won't succeed. Devlin will come for me."

He made a sighing sound as if dealing with a whinnying child. " "Devlin loves me, Devlin will protect me, Devlin is my all in all," yada yada. I know that, stupid. He's no fool." He perked up with curiosity. "What did he do to you by the way?"

She looked on stubbornly and he grabbed her face painfully, turning it this way and that, to inspect it. "There are red marks on your face. He hit you didn't he? Why?" He released her when she didn't reply. "Well it doesn't matter. He's not going to get you out."

"He will." She was desperate and hated that she sounded that way.

He gave her a cool look and said silkily, "Not if you tell him not to."

The sheer conviction in his voice almost made her shiver. Her mind inadvertently took her through disturbing and scary thoughts. She decided to call his bluff. "Why will I ever agree to that? No matter what you do, you won't be able to sandbag me into anything."

"No? Well," He looked at Boris. "Show her."

Boris shoved a phone in front of her face.

"This is a live feed of snipers at the gate of Devlin's house." Marcel explained graciously, seemingly enjoying himself. "If you talk, we'll shoot him. Granted, they can't infiltrate the safe house as it's locked up tighter than a drum and his men are armed to the teeth, but he will be whenever he's outside."

"He's never alone." Pamela boasted. It was all talk, though.

"We'll see about that won't we?"

Marcel had been right. She didn't know if he had foresight or if he had hexed Devlin into coming alone, he had. Regardless of how Pamela had sat there, solemnly and fearfully praying that Devlin would come with his boys to knock down Marcel, it hadn't happened. There were snipers hiding in every corner of Marcel's house too, and they could take Devlin down in one fell swoop. They could hurt him. She'd had no choice but to play the script that Marcel had written for her.

She'd tried to signify with her eyes to Devlin but Marcel was watching very closely. One mistake and her husband would be dead. Marcel needed her alive but Devlin was a liability, a bother, as he'd put it. She had to protect him at all costs, even if it meant breaking his heart. The thought of him getting hurt or killed was untenable.

Pamela's head snapped up to see Marcel walking towards her, all dressed up. It was still mid-night but he was ready to take her away before Devlin catches wind of it. She knew Devlin would. Hoped he would. But would he be in time? So, all Pamela could do was pray for a miracle. A miracle that would arrive in time.

~

Am I too late? Devlin couldn't help but wonder as he floorboarded the accelerator, replaying his conversation with Cody in his head.

He'd gone to his room and had went out like a light the moment his body hit the bed but had been roughly woken by the pounding on his bedroom door, less than thirty minutes later.

It was Cody.

Devlin groaned, muttered a long string of expletives and swore to kill him.

"Why are you doing all you can to add to my misery?" He growled the moment he yanked opened the door, almost removing it from its hinges.

Cody was panting and sweating. "I couldn't sleep."

"And you decided to share your insomnia with me?"

"No, boss, it's -"

"Go to hell Cody."

"Wait!" Cody placed his foot between the door.

"I will cut your damned foot off."

"This is very important sir. You will want to hear this."

Devlin regarded him for a few seconds and seeing the serious look of his face, groaned. "Talk."

"My gut feeling is seldom ever wrong so I stayed up, searching around, checking and double checking the security system, doing everything and anything to make sure everything was safe. Hell, I called Susan a million times and she called me a prick the last time."

"Oh God," Devlin groaned. "Go straight to the fucking point."

"I knew something's afoot so I decided to search your car, and found this." He handed him a piece of paper but Devlin made no move to reach for it.

He eyed it with disinterest. "You found a sticky note in my car so what?"

"It has blood on it."

Devlin was alert immediately and he took the paper from him. "It could be anyone's." He said, playing devil's advocate.

"I cleaned the car after dropping Mrs. Pamela off. I can swear on my mother's life that the car was clean."

"What are you trying to say?" Devlin asked although he knew the answer.

"Yes sir. The blood came from where you went."

"Could it be Pamela's blood?"

"I think so. I really don't think it's yours. I think she sent it as -"

"A warning."

"Or a cry for help." Cody added.

The silence that ensued was very thick and strained that if it stretched for long, it could snap like a rubber band. Neither said a word for another ten seconds. Devlin didn't know Cody's reason but he knew his. He was too afraid. The dread that was settling in the pit of his stomach like a lead weight wasn't making it any easier. He wished he and Cody could laugh off their suspicions and he could beat a hasty retreat to his bed and tell himself nothing was afoot.

But it was, and bloody everlasting hell, was he terrified.

"Did anything seem off with her?" Cody asked.

Now that Devlin thought about it as he rode with sickening speed to Marcel's house, everything had seemed off. She'd not officially broken up with him, but had only told him to leave. She'd also said that Marcel was the most honest. That was suspicious. Was it? Wasn't it?

She'd also said that if he wanted her to retain the respect she had for him, he should leave. Respect? How will he hit her and she still had respect for him? If she respected him in the first place she would have stayed with him. Everything smelled fishy. Also, if Pamela had been able to place a sticky note on him when he'd touched her briefly, she must be in danger. Something must have happened!

No. He remembered now. When he'd grabbed her, she hadn't retreated her hand immediately. There had been a beat of about five seconds before she did. That must have been when she'd placed the note on him. What risk had she taken by doing so? He regretted not kicking down Marcel's door. Why hadn't he? Why hadn't she said something?

Maybe she had tried to protect him.

Damn it. If she had, then there were probably snipers around. He had to be careful. He screeched to a halt, ten minutes away from Marcel's house, parked and grabbed his walkie-talkie.

"Make everyone wear a bulletproof vest." He said. "There might be snipers around."

He jumped down from his SUV, considering it safer to walk the rest of the way. He hadn't come with his boys because he hadn't been able to wait. He had raced into his car the moment he'd established that Pamela could be in danger.

He placed his binoculars with night vision around his eyes and scanned the vicinity. No suspicious persons were lurking around. He jogged carefully, one hand holding his binoculars, the other holding his gun. When Marcel's house came into view, he crouched low admits the surrounding bushes, hoping that nosy neighbors wouldn't notice anything suspicious and call the cops on him.

The house was dark, and so stepping from the relative safety of the bushes, he walked towards it. He got closer and scanned possible places that snipers could hide but didn't find any. No one called out a warning. No gun was fired. His gun raised at chin level, he inched towards the door.

He reached for the doorknob and twisted it. Surprisingly it wasn't locked. But then, was he surprised? No. Not if someone was waiting for him on the inside. Caution and carefulness told him not to enter the house. He could be walking right into a trap. Even if he hadn't seen snipers outside, they could be waiting for him, hiding sleekly and blending into darkness.

Caution and carefulness be damned.

It was a necessary risk. The door swung inward and he was greeted by silence. Not even the dog barked. He entered the house quietly and left the lights off but put his binoculars on so he could use the night vision. To his dismay, he found a chair, a lose gag and cable wires. Pamela had been held captive.

His hands shook as he lowered his gun and tears filled his eyes. The thought of her being manhandled made indignation swell in him. She didn't deserve it. Any of it.

He jumped in fright when the dog barked, only this time, it was right behind him. He took a closer look at the animal and was surprised to find that the dog was a stuffed toy. It had a battery that programmed it to make barking sounds. Why the hell had Deaton made a stuffed toy bark? What was going on? Suddenly, he smelled a rat, and this time, the stench was overwhelming.

Devlin was grateful for the years of rigorous training and exercise he'd had, especially the ones that made him as quick as silver. He was grateful that he had keen and careful ears, watchful eyes that found every move, every gust of breath, every change in air pressure suspicious. The reason for his gratitude would be known in a few minutes.

He felt that feeling. It almost made goose bumps rise on his flesh. He stood perfectly still, eyes open, holding a lungful of air he didn't dare exhale for fear of missing another movement or change in the atmosphere.

Devlin told himself he was imagining things but he couldn't help what he was feeling, the feeling that he was not alone.

He tiptoed with the alacrity of a cat and pressed himself against the adjacent wall. He stopped to listen for several moments to be sure he wasn't imagining things, even though instinct told him otherwise. The house was as silent as a grave yard, too silent for comfort and it bothered him.

He could feel that someone was in the house with him in the pitch blackness, breathing the same air as he. The atmosphere was thick and sizzling with tension like exposed electrical wires. As he stood, holding his breath in readiness for whatever was to come, anxious sweat trickled down his forehead and ran into his eyes, down his back and ribcage. His palm that gripped his gun was sweaty and sippery too.

He'd been in worse situations dammit. What was so different today? The answer came to him almost immediately; Pamlea's life depended on his survival. If anything happned to him, no one would be able to save her.

The cool metal pressed against his temple didn't irritate him like the fan of warm breath on his face.

"Move and you're a dead man."

His gun fell as he raised his hands and squinted against the harsh glare of the light that came on. Although Devlin was in danger with a capital D, he was relieved. Because Boris was the only one with him.

Granted, Boris was big. He had heavy stance of that of a thug. His biceps were twice that of Devlin's and his neck was rock hard. But Devlin was relieved because he trusted in his gait and was grateful for that. Boris kicked his gun out of reach.

"So you work for Deaton, hun?"

"Don't make me blow your head off, mister. Better to shut the hell up."

Devlin hated when he was told to shut up. But he did. Pride could be set aside for the moment.

Boris nudged him forward and for a split second, he almost stumbled, then thought about it and did stumble and fall. When Boris lowered himself to drag him up, he elbowed the man in his jaw making him reel backward onto the floor, grabbing his neck and wailing in pain. Devlin used the moment to wrestle the gun. He won and then aimed it directly at him.

"Where's my wife?"

"She's gone. You will never be able to save her."

"Wrong answer." Devlin bent down and jammed the barrel of his pistol against the bigger man's temple. Boris gritted his teeth to keep from howling.

"I'll ask again," He ground out angrily. "Where is my wife?"

Boris gave him a malevolent stare. "I won't tell you shit."

Devlin knew people like Boris. They were underdogs that were loyal to a fault. If they decide to keep the truth from a person, not even dynamite could wrestle it out of them. Boris seemed to know this and so he started to laugh.

"Bastard!" Devlin yelled and fired point-blank. Boris's scream outweighed the blast of the gun. He clutched his arm in pain. Blood started to seep from between his fingers. Devlin winced. Not because of guilt or irritation, but because of the noise Boris's gun had made. He went to retrieve his gun and slapped it against his palm, glad to have something familiar with him.

"Let's try again, shall we, where's my -"

A cold dread settled over Devlin, breaking him off midsentence as he watched Boris smile at him. It was a chilling smile, something that made him shudder without meaning to. Alert, Devlin aimed his gun directly at Boris as he raised something. Boris knew better than to bring out another gun, he would be history before he worked his limp, bleeding arm to pull the trigger. But what Boris brought out didn't need pulling because it wasn't a gun. It was a timer - a bomb timer.

And it was at fifteen seconds.

With tremendous terror, Devlin made a mad dash for the door and kept on running. He had to put enough distance between himself and the house and reach his car, which he was glad he had parked far away. The sound of the house exploding with flames was about the same intensity as the shockwaves that hit him. It felt like a blow to his back and he landed flat, barely six meters from his car.

The fall was painful because his gun had pressed tightly against his stomach and had bruised him. He groaned, rolled unto his back and stood, cursing bitterly. He had to reach his car and get out of the area before the cops arrive but most importantly before any neighbors saw him. Nosy neighbors in nosy towns were bad, especially for a person who's supposed to be dead.

He had taken a risk by firing a gun that had no silencer and an even greater risk by leaving the gun there. Hopefully, the cops wouldn't question why the gun was missing a bullet.

He had yet to work up the strength to get to his feet when his car burst up in flames. He lunged to his feet and dived into a nearby house as he watched parts of the car fly at different angles.

A bomb had been planted in his car.

If he hadn't fallen, he would be blown to pieces by now. Despite the fact that Boris had carried a bomb with him, another had been planted in his car just to make sure. They really wanted him dead.

He cursed bitterly as the sounds of cop wails rented the air and the owners of the house he'd dashed into started to scream and fidget. The flames had started to engulf their vegetable garden. By the time they opened their doors with fire extinguishers and buckets of ice, he had gotten into a truck parked in the driveway, fired it up the way thieves do, and was speeding down the interstate with bitterness, anger and a conviction;

Deaton will pay.

~

If you enjoyed this chapter, line up cause I'm sharing chocolate as my trick-or-treating!

I know it's a bit late but I'm still in the mood of Halloween. And to celebrate it, I will post a bonus chapter at the middle of the week and one at the end of the week as usual. I really hope you enjoyed this long chapter!

Thanks a bunch for reading, please vote for this chapter, comment your thoughts, add to your library and reading lists and share. Thank you!

Xoxo