My phone led me to a small house on the outskirts of the city. Quaint and rustic, it looked like a nice vacation home for someone trying to get away from it all. Or someone intending to commit a heinous act without fear of there being any witnesses. It was self-sufficient. There was a gas generator attached to the building, generating a loud background murmur, which was helpful for covering the sound of my footsteps. And a satellite dish on the roof, likely the only thing connecting this place to the rest of the world.

I parked down the hill from the house and approached on foot. Peeking through a window, I didn't see anything out of the ordinary. A nice, well-kept house with a rug on the floor, some old furniture, and appliances that looked like they came from the 1950's.

I walked around the perimeter and found a window in the back, covered by a curtain, with a bright light blocked only by human silhouettes. I put my ear to the window and listened.

"Everything's in place," a male voice said. "The lights are set, the camera's ready, and the gun's loaded."

"All right," another voice said. This one was female. It sounded familiar to me, but I couldn't quite place it. "Then let's shoot, so to speak."

"Give me a moment," the male voice again. He took a few deep breaths.

I wandered around the back of the house, hoping for another window. I kept my body low and slid along the wall, avoiding detection. The other window was a bit higher. I looked in and saw what looked like an amateur film being shot. Three bright lights, some reflectors, and a digital camera, all focused on Beau, blindfolded and tied to a chair in the middle of the room.

His skin glowed in a way I'd never seen before. I couldn't believe I'd never noticed how pronounced his cheekbones were. Maybe it was just a trick of the light.

I recognized the man, pacing back and forth, speaking to himself, enunciating every word. "A tutor who tooted the flute tried to tutor two tutors to toot..." it was the would-be assassin from the bathhouse, dressed in black, holding a ski mask in one hand and a handgun in the other.

Then I noticed the woman, looking into the viewfinder of the camera. Cheryl, the professor from the plane. It made no sense. She loved Aldonia. Why would she be trying to kill Beau?

And yet, something about it made perfect sense. How were they always able to locate Beau? I pulled out my wallet and the business card Cheryl had given me, then carefully tore it in half. One of the tags fell out. She’d been tracking Beau by tracking me.

I felt like an idiot. My job was to protect Beau. I kept on telling him he needed to stay close, so I could keep him safe. The reality was he should have been as far from me as possible.

As it stood, Beau was in a dangerous situation, I was unarmed, and they had a gun. I needed a plan to get him out of here. And, from the looks of things, I had to come up with it fast.

"Michael," Cheryl said. "You ready?"

"Ready whenever you are."

"All right. Here we go. Lights, camera..."