Creteil, France

  “What did I tell you?” the man sneered, pushing his way inside the shack. “He found her and didn’t say a word.”
 The dark haired, emotionless woman didn’t say a thing as she followed her counterpart inside.
 “Who the hell are you?” Ashtyn demanded, the rollercoaster of euphoria at learning Viola was alive, and desolation at discovering Xander’s injury played havoc with her senses.
 “Sweetie,” the man smirked, “You have caused more trouble than you’re worth.” Stepping toward her, he raised a gun, pointing it at her face.
 Ashtyn stepped back, her eyes widening.
 These are the people who hired Xander to kill me, she realized. But for some reason, she was not filled with fear as she faced down the possibility of her own death.
 Perhaps it was the way the woman in the duo seemed completely detached from the scenario, or maybe it was simply that Ashtyn simply couldn’t process another extreme emotion at this moment. 
 For whatever reason, not a twinge of panic fluttered through her as she watched them with a stoic expression on her face.
 The man’s face contorted in surprise as his eyes fell on Xander’s unconscious form.
 “Is he asleep?” he asked in disbelief. “Really?”
 “Go ahead and shoot me,” Ashtyn said calmly, trying to distract him from his interest in Xander. “I’ve gotten everything I want.”
 The man peered at her curiously.
 “Well that is good news. I would hate to see such a beautiful piece of ass die unhappy,” he replied sarcastically.
 He raised the pistol, pointing it at her head. Just as his finger tightened on the trigger, the silent brunette whipped a garotte around his unsuspecting neck.
 Ashtyn dove to the floor, gaping, as she watched the man’s eyes bug out of his head as he fought against his partner, his fingers clawing at his own throat in desperation. But the action was futile.
 The lady wore a completely disinterested expression on her face, as if she was stuck in traffic, while she waited for the life to slip out of his body.
 Ashtyn suddenly wondered if Xander had taken over this woman’s mind. Was he the one responsible for making her kill her partner? She whipped her head around to look at her lover, but he was still silent and immobile, unconscious on the bed.
 If he’s not in control of her, she’s doing this of her own volition.
 It didn’t make any sense to her, but Ashtyn knew she was in no position to question the bizarreness of the situation.
 Slowly, the man sank to his knees, the whites of his eyes cracking with lines of red, his lips turning cobalt as his arms dropped to their sides.
 Still, the woman did not let go.
 Finally, she allowed him to drop, releasing the wire from around his neck and rewrapping it to slip inside her pocket.
 Only then did she address Ashtyn. It was clear by the look in her eyes, that the woman was not under anyone’s ‘control’. Her expression was lucid, although stone cold at the same time.
 She just killed her own partner. What is she going to do to me?
 “Wake him up and get the hell out of Paris,” she instructed. “Every government agency in the world is looking for him. If he’s caught, he’s going back to prison forever.”
 Ashtyn could only stare at her, a thousand questions flooding her mind.
 “Do you understand?” the brunette asked impatiently. “You have to go. Tell him the deal is off. It’s every man for himself now.”
 She spun to leave.
 “How did you find him? He took out the GPS you had embedded in his hand,” Ashtyn called after her.
 She half-turned, a slight smirk on her face.
 “You think that we would trust a known assassin? Of course we slipped another tracker on him.”
 “Who do you work for? Who else is coming for us?”
 Her bemused expression faltered.
 “I don’t know,” she replied and Ashtyn could see she was being sincere.
 She strode outside but a second later, she was back, her dark eyes glittering with something Ashtyn didn’t understand.
 “Tell him to leave me alone now. I have saved his life. Tell him we’re even.”
 She was gone again before Ashtyn could ask her what she meant by that but she exhaled, relieved to see her gone.
 Rushing to close and bolt the door, she hurried back to Xander’s bedside and rocked him gently.
 “Xander. Please wake up,” she whispered. “Xander! We have to get you to a hospital.”
 Suddenly, like a blow to her gut, she realized that even if he lived, she would never see him again after this.
 If he was being hunted, he needed to disappear underground and while Ashtyn would eventually be in danger when Khan’s men sorted through the mess, she could not leave without Viola.
 “Xander,” she said urgently. “Please wake up. You’re in danger and we have to go.”
 He groaned quietly in his sleep but there was no moving him.
 Fear spiraled through her body, but she willed herself to be calm.
 What am I going to do, she thought, slipping her body onto the mattress beside him, pressing herself against him.
 She was trapped. She really should just leave him here alone. After all, as far as he knew, he still had the contract to kill her. But she would just tell him that the woman had released him from all obligation and told him to run and go into hiding. You don’t seriously think he’s just going to believe you if you say the woman called the contract off, do you? He’s going to think I somehow killed Mr. Smith, and that Mrs. Smith just got away. What was she supposed to do? She didn’t even have a phone to call an ambulance for him, and he still hadn’t fully regained consciousness. She should leave. Now. While she still could. But he saved Viola. He risked his life and got shot for her. I owe him.
 Clenching her hands in his shirt, she gulped back the lump in her throat.
 This is ridiculous, the devil on her shoulder prodded. The man is an assassin, a convict, and he might still want to kill you.
 But are you any better? The angel on her other shoulder asked. You almost killed him with an overdose and you’ve been a smuggler for years. Not exactly a pillar of society, hmm?
 Yet why did it feel like they had known one another for years? They had certainly been through more than any couple she knew.
 There was no denying it; they were two obscure peas in a pod. Would she ever find anyone in the world who could understand her as well as Xander?
 Tears slipped onto her cheeks but she didn’t fight them, burying her face into his chest as she heard vehicles approaching, sirens blaring in warning.
 It was too late. Their chance to escape had passed.
 Xander was going back to prison and she would likely follow.
 She didn’t move, her back to the door as the pounding started. She squeezed Xander closer to her frame as if she hoped to shield him from the impending chaos, but when the door flew open, Ashtyn knew she had no choice but to face the music.
 “Interpol! Show me your hands!”
 Slowly, she turned to address the officers swarming the one roomed cottage, raising her hands over her head as she remained on the bed.
 “You too!” an agent yelled. “Show me your hands!”
 “He’s unconscious,” she told him, choking back a sob. “He needs a hospital. I think he’s been shot.”
 “Is that Xander Van Hoyt?”
 Ashtyn pursed her lips together, unwilling to answer the question.
 If she lied and said no, there would be more trouble for her later, but there was no way she was throwing him under the bus unnecessarily.
 “Tell me!” he demanded. “Is that Xander Van Hoyt?” Ashtyn merely squeezed her lips together firmly, staring the man down.
 “What’s your name?”
 The question came from a man in a dark suit, standing near the door, his white hair combed away from his regal looking face.
 There was something about him, something she recognized, but Ashtyn couldn’t pinpoint what it was.
 “You’re not in trouble,” the older man told her, his eyes encouraging. “What is your name?”
 “Ashtyn,” she heard herself breath, and the confession shocked her.
 Why did I tell him my real name?
   At her side, the officers were trying unsuccessfully to rouse Xander, although he seemed to be coming to slowly. The soft moans and labored breathing indicated that he was becoming aware of the pain he was in.
 “Ashtyn, is that Xander Van Hoyt?” he asked, and she found herself growing alarmed as he approached her.
 “No,” she finally answered. “It’s not.”
 A sardonic smile touched his lips.
 “I think you’re lying,” he said and she felt a shiver of dread.
 “What are you going to do to him?” she asked, swallowing her fear.
 He blinked once and suddenly Ashtyn realized what it was about the man which had triggered a memory in her; he had the same unusually colored eyes as Xander.
 “I am going to take him with me,” he replied.
 Ashtyn shook her head and closed her eyes.
 “No,” she said flatly. “You can’t. He had a deal with Interpol. He can’t go back to prison.”
 The man chuckled softly.
 “He’s not going back to prison. He’s coming with me. For a much very important purpose.”
 Ashtyn opened her eyes and stared at him uncomprehendingly.
 “Such as?”
 “It’s a matter of national security,” he told her. “I can’t disclose the details, but I can assure you, he will be in good hands.”
 She scoffed.
 “Forgive me if I don’t take the word of an Interpol agent. That’s how he got into this mess in the first place.”
 “My name is Drake Conway,” he told her. “And Xander is my son.”

  A shocked gasp flew from her lips. “But how did you find him? He doesn’t remember you. What if he doesn’t want to go with you?” The questions tumbled out before Ashtyn could stop them, her need to protect Xander flaring brightly. 

  Drake held up a hand to stop her tirade. “All I will tell you, is that a long time ago, I lost all four of my sons because of a terrible mistake. Xander is now the third one I’ve found. Together we need to find his last brother. And then, then together we will defeat an old enemy.”