I lean back in the ritzy white leather button-back sofa in Murphy’s smoking room. The sun is setting already. I spent the last few hours on the road, and a few more before that sneaking back into my old stakeout spot in the abandoned house near Rose’s place. I have everything I need in the pocket of my business slacks.

Sitting here feels a lot like déjà vu. Which is a good thing. It means some of what I’ll do in the next little while will be second nature.

Pure muscle memory.

I cross my arms to stretch out my back muscles. My eyes are on the tree line on the horizon as I look out through the wall-to-wall, floor to ceiling windows. This room looks more like an office or ballroom than a smoking room, I think, keeping my mind occupied and my face emotionless. I have no doubt there are cameras in here. Not that it matters. Making it into this room, I’ve accomplished ninety percent of my objective. There’s five percent more sitting on my bike in the front driveway. The final five percent requires a few lies, a double-cross, and the pen in my pocket.

Déjà vu for sure.

Two guards walk in ahead of a moderately ailing Murphy. He walks with a cane, but he seems healthy, his gray hair thick and shiny, his skin smooth for a middle-aged man, and his body looks like he still follows a workout routine.

“Don’t get up, Mr. Pierce,” Murphy greets me coolly. “I hear you have something I’ve been trying to find for a while.”

I unfold my arms and straighten in my seat. “I do, Sir.”

He takes a while to lower into an armchair and rests his cane on the ottoman beside him, the tip pointed directly at me. “Before we discuss terms, I’d just like to say it’s a pleasure to meet The Hunter. Your reputation precedes you.”

“Likewise,” I reply.

“I suppose you’re taking some level of risk being here, given your… employment.”

“To tell you the truth, you could say that my employment situation is a lot more open as of very recently,” I inform him honestly. He’ll know I’ve been burnt by now, if my suspicion is correct about his backdoor ties to the company.

“Interesting. Do you see yourself as more of a freelancer now?”

“I do.”

He takes out a folded piece of paper from the pocket of his slacks and looks at it, squinting his dark brown eyes. Nodding over at the guards, he waits for the biggest one to come to his side. He hands it to the guard, and that man gives it to me. I smile for two reasons. First, because he has shown a lot more of his cards in the last minute. Murphy is smart for keeping his distance, but I’m smarter. Second, because of the piece of paper, or rather, what’s on it. It’s a printed CCTV photo of Rose and me beside her car outside the Speak-Easy.

“This piece of surveillance came across my desk recently. Can you confirm you still have possession?” he asks, finally getting to the point.

“Yes. Our meeting today is to find a mutually acceptable set of terms. Once we come to an agreement, I will take your team to her location,” I lie.

“And what are your expected terms?”

“Safe passage for me to the destination of my choice, within an hour of arriving at the location.”

“That’s all you want?” he asks, leveling his gaze at me.

I scan the horizon through the windows behind him again. My exit plan is in place, so I nod.

“I believe that’s a fair exchange,” he agrees and nods again to the guards. “Proceed with the arrangements.”

I lean forward and add, “You should know that it’s my practice to document all contracts in writing. I understand that our specific arrangement is more time-sensitive than others. I’ll make good on my word, and I know you will too. Still, I’d like to have a gentleman’s agreement between us.”

He nods. “You want to shake on it. Sure.”

“Excellent.”

He’s a dead man the second he extends his arm to me.

Clearing my throat, I tell myself I’m doing this for Rose. And to honor Dawn. And for my buddy, Bridges to have some fucking justice. I take Murphy’s hand in a solid grip, and on the second shake, the tip of my hypodermic needle is already buried in his upper arm.

His eyes widen at the realization, and for the next few minutes, I put all of my military training and everything I learned from my former employer to good fucking use. I become the predator again, not their prey. And as I do, everything seems to move in slow motion. Every detail is intricately planned, but they’re checked off a mental list as short as the instructions the company used to issue to me.

Disable the guards.

Find my alternate exit.

Watch as a team sent by my former employer closes in on the mansion by helicopter, thanks to the reactivated GPS tracker on my bike.

Ensure that the timer rigged to my bike counts down to zero and ignites the fuel in the engine.

Observe the explosion from a safe distance.

Drive away in a rusty old pickup truck hidden in the nearby woods.

I let out a breath of relief as I leave, switching cars three times and staying away from Rose and the cottage for another two days, to ensure I’m not followed. I was up all night and couldn’t give Rose the details. Trust doesn’t come easily for her. This plan to use her as bait in name only was so half-baked, ambitious and reckless, it could’ve easily gotten me killed in the process.

But at least Rose would’ve been out ahead.

This was the best possible play. Murphy is dead now. The company will capitalize on their visit to the mansion and ambush Murphy’s remaining men. By this time next week, Rose and I will disappear in the melee.

Together.

I can’t think of a more fitting escape.