After what happened yesterday, I did not expect to sleep like this. It's almost afternoon when I wake up today at the feeling of Red's hand caressing my stomach. Bright sunlight has bathed the bedroom, and although it harasses my hungover eyes, I still manage to smile when I see the father of my baby staring at me so gorgeously.

"I think it's poppin'," Red whispers with tamed excitement, eyes glowing amorously.

"What is?" I frown a bit, but I don't move an inch even when he proceeds to rub my lower abdomen.so cautiously.

"Your tummy." He glances up at me.

I smile again. I'm fully naked, a blanket covering me from the waist down, and he's lying on one side, his upper body propped on his elbow.

"I'm not sure," I say, all because the timing is so imperfect and I wish it wouldn't pop so soon.

But yeah, I already saw the changes. I feel them too, every new day.

My hands meet Red's on my stomach; I look at him so deeply that we say absolutely nothing but savor the moment and strange feeling bonding the three of us.

It's magical. It feels perfect.

"What if I take you away from here? Right now. Will you agree to go?" Red asks me, his serious tone of voice scaring the shit out of me as I consider our current predicament. "I'll take care of you, Mia. Both of you. I know I can."

He's seriously worried this time.

But he already knows the answer.

After a brief sigh, I reply, "That's pretty romantic, my love, but I didn't come this far just to run away. I must end this war or else I'll spend the rest of my life hiding, running, and it's the last thing I want."

Expressionless, Red pulls his hand away and finally grips himself into a seat. A deep, long breath emits through his lips as he leans on the twin pillows set against the headboard.

"I thought you'd say that, but it was worth a try," he breathes and says no more.

I'm scared too, mainly because I'm not sure what Patrick is capable of doing next. I was once his favorite and that had me his Achilles' heel. But that's no longer the case, which leads me to believe I'm no less than an enemy.

For the most part, I do want to run and hide, but will that stop him from haunting me? And how will life be if I have to watch my back every time I go out in fear of being found? For the sake of my baby, I do need total freedom.

I can't run away. No, that I won't do.

In fact, I have to go back to Portland because my business is on the line. I won't sit here while everything I've been working so hard for is at risk. A few days are left to the launch and everybody else is doing their best to make sure the night will be a success.

I ought to be there.

"There is a gold key Patrick keeps in the house as if it's worth billions," I say about thirty minutes later while whipping some eggs for breakfast. Red has bought a few groceries, and I'm in the mood to cook. "I'm not sure it's for what, but it must contain something very important."

Red glances at me curiously, but he doesn't respond with words. He pours water into the kettle, intending to make his coffee traditionally even though there's a coffee maker.

"I made a copy of it," I continue, "and maybe you can check and see if it's worth anything? I mean, I have a feeling it does."

"Okay," Red answers simply.

He's a bit begrudging about my decision to stay in Portland, and I understand him. So I walk on eggshells around him because what I'm about to say next will probably piss him off or restore his mood altogether.

A small silence settles until I add, "There's something I've been keeping; a flash drive. I told Patrick I destroyed it as soon as I found it" — to avoid looking at him, I pull a board of chopped carrots and greenies — "but I didn't. Well, he taught me that leverage is the best key to protection and so I chose to have one."

"Yeah, I can see that. You learned from the best." My frying pan chimes when Red showers me with sarcasm. "What files were they?"

"I don't know," I confess. "They were written in codes. I couldn't risk sharing the flash with anyone for fear of what it may hold. After all, it belonged to this notorious journalist who was obsessed with the ex-file."

"Lara Cooper. The one who got shot on October eleven," Red mutters. I nod. "How come you have it?"

"I found Lara's handbag in Patrick's study a few days after the incident. I recognized it because it was a designer bag she wore the last time I saw her in my office. I didn't know what to make out of it, but I suspected Patrick had something to do with the attack since she was a pain in the ass in his business," I explain. As much as I didn't want to admit that I married and lived with a mafia king, deep down I had already accepted it. Shame on me. "Patrick and I argued a lot that night and I decided to burn the purse and everything in it; I didn't want any trouble. And that's when I found the flash drive. It looked like lipstick so it wasn't easy for anyone, especially Patrick, to notice it before I did. I kept it, although I burned everything else."

"Why now, Mia?" Red snaps. "You could've told me this a long time ago."

I scoff a bit, stretching my hand to grab an oil bottle. "You were my bodyguard, Red. My employee! I didn't even know your real name, and God knows if you'd have told me even a little bit about yourself if I wasn't pregnant with your baby. I'm sorry, but I didn't know whom to trust. Not even you." I give him a tight look as I move. "And for the record, this is the only thing left that I could use against Patrick, so giving it to you means you're the only one I trust."

I smear the olive oil into a skillet, attention on my cooking.

Red seems disappointed but he doesn't argue. "Alright. Where are they?"

Right in the pocket of my cotton panties, I fish out the key and a flash drive that looks like a gold-and-red lipstick case.

But before I hand them over, I tell Red, "We're going back to Portland. Today. I have to meet Detective Smith and before that, I need a favor from you."

Red's eyes narrow frantically. "What? Even after what happened last night, Mia—"

"Please, Red. I can't stay here for a day longer. You can't either—you have your own mission to accomplish, remember? And so do I," I plead. He doesn't reply; he just stares at me as though I've lost my mind. Maybe I have. "And about the favor, I need you to give me all the information you have regarding that girl's murder. In exchange, I'm giving you these." I show him the flash drive and the key.

Unbelieving, he shakes his head.

"Great. Now you're blackmailing me, huh?" He's slightly amused despite the little anger lacing his voice.

I shrug. "Quid Pro Quo. Business is business, baby. Sorry," I say.

With that, we get back to Portland around sundown. I meet Smith as soon as we arrive. Red stays nearby within the café, right where he can see me. Honestly, I had no idea my life would turn into this horrendous episode of The Blacklist.

I'm like a wanted criminal.

"Mia Diaz." Smith regards me after a sip of black coffee. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"You knew I'd look for you, so let's cut to the chase." I want to get straight to the point. "Do you have any lead on Anne Scott's murder?"

Sighing, Smith reclines back. As always, he's in a pair of jeans and a plain button-up shirt. Casual. Basic. Very detective-like.

"Depends on why you're asking," he replies.

"I see. No trust between us even though we're on the same team." I finger the little spoon accompanying a cup of warm cappuccino and moist chocolate cake I've ordered. "Well, here is the thing. My ex-husband might have killed another girl accidentally or not."

Pulling back into the table, Smith retorts, "What girl? Are you even listening to what you're saying?"

Slowly I scoop some cake into my spoon, feeling the butterflies in my stomach blanching their wings ravenously at the sight of it. Speak of weird cravings. I think I dreamed of cake last night.

"I sent you the picture; you can check it," I reply. Immediately, Smith scrambles through the pocket of his jeans, eyes on me. "Perhaps she's reported missing by now, and if not, she may be on some flight manifest out of the US. My point is...that girl is dead and Patrick Kingston was the last person she was with."

Smith stares at his phone for a good while, then back at me. More intrigue sails in his small but intelligent dark eyes, and disgust settles in.

"I'll look into it," he says, "but what proof do you have?"

"Original footage of the penthouse, DNA results found in the victim's body, and the possible places where it may be buried or something." It's what Red gave in exchange for the key and flash drive.

I need to divert Patrick, and the best way is by having him face something as impactful as this. I know he won't go to jail—not with this alone—but if the news reaches the press, there'll be an uproar within and outside the Kingston Empire.

And that's my next step. Using the press.

"This is something," Smith says with a little head shake. He caught the bone. I smile feebly. "Are you sure about this? he asks me.

"Absolutely. " I eat my cake, too much chocolate melting in my mouth like an infusion of an addictive drug into the brain. Swallowing it feels like heaven. Euphoric. "And I believe Elena Barrios saw something on the day of the murder. Once again, she may have something to tell you so good luck with that."

Smith drinks his Americano, sets the cup back on the table, and asks, "What's in it for you? What do you want in exchange?"

Oh, he knows me all too well. I grin.

"Justice. My ex-husband is a bad guy, and bad guys should be punished for their misdeeds, right?" I throw my back to rest and prop my one knee over the other. As Smith reads my expression more attentively, I add, "Now tell me about Anne's murder. Was what Elena said true? Did Patrick kill her? Because with this new information I've given, you may probably have a strong case this time, right?"

Sighing, Smith glances left and right before leaning closer to the table. "Why are you doing this, Mia? You hated Anne Scott, so is this about revenge on your ex-husband?"

My mood shifts incredibly. Revenge? No, it's more than that. I want him to pay for everything he's done and I definitely want him out of my life. If I could, I'd kill him myself. I just want to be free.

"Maybe you don't know, detective, but Patrick sent some masked men to my apartment to either kill or kidnap me," I come clean. Smith frowns. "Well, I'd rather go with the latter but still... he's threatening my life and for that, I must fight him back."

"Hold on. When did that happen? And what happened to those people?" Smith asks curiously.

Quite casually, I answer, "Last night. And worry not, they're dead," and he gives me a small look that speaks volumes. "What? It was self-defense and don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about. I've been a Kingston for more than a decade and I know how things go."

Smith sighs heavily and sips more of his caffeine as though he needs it all too desperately this time. "You know I'm a cop, right?" he asks.

"And I'm your only ally in this war. You want my help? Be good to me, Detective, as I am to you right." A glass of water heads between my lips.

Too much chocolate.

Unable to argue any further, Smith tells me, "Anne's case is more complicated than we thought. Something didn't add up in the postmortem report we received."

I sit upright. This is intriguing.

"What didn't add up aside from the fact that almost every piece of evidence presented in the case was fabricated?" I quiz.

"That's precisely it. Everything was fabricated, and so I asked her sister, Emilia Scott, to let us exhume the body for another autopsy," Smith fills me in. "She agreed. We dug up the grave but there was nothing inside it. In other words, Anne Scott disappeared from her grave."

My attention remains on Mia and everyone who walks into the café. I don't know if I'm being paranoid or not, but I'm feeling uneasy being here knowing all the danger surrounding us. I'm not sure how I'm gonna keep her safe; it's impossible to be with her all the time so things are getting trickier by the day.

"You need a refill, sir?" the waitress asks upon seeing my cup empty.

"Not really. I'm good." I nod while picking up my buzzing phone from the table.

It's Marlow. I glance at Mia from a distance and she's still with Detective Smith, seeming into a very deep conversation now.

"You good to talk?" he asks.

"Yeah. Did you manage to break the codes?" I ask

"It's a cipher used by Russia during the Second World War—prominent, but not unbreakable. Well, I've sent a sample to some tenacious cryptologist I know so we should get the answers in a couple of hours... or days?" Marlow says, slightly unsure. "But I think we're onto a big step, kid! Whatever is in that flash drive must be something mega. We're gonna crack those motherfuckers sooner than I expected."

I'm a bit caressed by the sound of Marlow's enthusiasm. I want nothing but for this to end. If the files contain any intel about the Russian Bioweapon Development—The Project Z— just as Marlow suspects, then we are indeed close to finishing this.

"How did you get it?" Marlow asks.

"Mia Kingston." I look at her, and she seems shocked by whatever she's hearing from Smith. "She gave it to me." And I still think our trust issues are way deeper than I imagined.

"I see your little affair with her is paying off. Are you sure you haven't compromised your identity and the whole operation?" Marlow asks.

"No, I haven't," I lie, and I partly regret telling Mia more than necessary—every single time I imagine the repercussions.

It was a reckless move.

"I sure hope you're telling the truth, Red. If not, she may suffer a great deal if things go wrong and you know what I mean." He makes a point, one I hate to admit. "I can't believe she got you. You could've had any other woman, why her, damn it?"

I don't have the answer you need, Marlow. I really don't.

"At least tame her so she doesn't spiral! From what I hear, she's bad news!" he adds.

"Not every woman is tamable. I hope you meet one of her kind someday and then we'll talk." I pour myself a glass of water from the bottle. "Where are you?" I change the subject.

"I'm having a spectacular week in New Orleans. Strictly pleasure, in case you're curious," he replies.

New Orleans? Again I look at Mia; it made me think of her instantly. Of all places, Marlow Seyfield could have the fun and pleasure he chose there. Why? I'm somehow curious.

"When is your meeting with that guy?" All jokes aside, Marlow asks about the mystery person claiming to hold the X-File.

Mia gets up from her chair, and Detective Smith is taking his leave.

"Tonight." I get up as well.

"Be careful, kid. It may be a trap."

"I know. I gotta go." I hang up.

___________

A/N: Very long chapter, huh? Well, We're heading to the end. Soon, we'll be done with all the mysteries and say goodbye to these characters. Thank you for sticking around.