How was it even possible?

River paced back and forth in the living room, trying to wrap his brain around the improbable reality of Bull's information bomb this afternoon. By the time the police had cleared the area, leaving the Progue's house draped in yellow crime scene tape, the identity of their house sitter and his connection to Joselyn had made its rounds through the neighborhood. Several of her neighbors had come over, hoping for some juicy gossip and asking a thousand questions. Sam was heartbroken and apologized profusely for his 'assistance' in helping McClane find her in Mississippi. True to Joselyn's nature, she forgave him instantly. McClane was a master at manipulation and she couldn't blame Sam for falling for his lies. River, on the other hand, was not so generous. Intentional or not, Sam's actions had put Joselyn and River's family in jeopardy. It had taken all of his resolve to not throttle the man where he stood.

He thought about the still photograph captured from the Progue's security cameras Bull had shown them. The picture held almost no resemblance to the man featured in the pictures during his trial. His frame was much bulkier now with the addition of lots of lean muscle. His normally pale complexion had turned a dark tan. Colored contacts changed his hazel eyes to a vivid green and the mustache and goatee made his face look longer. River stopped his pacing, placed his hands on the door and leaned forward until his head rested between his hands. Slowly he hit his forehead on the door but not enough to hurt. The last thing he needed was to knock himself out and leave Joselyn vulnerable. A pair of arms circled his waist, and a warm presence pressed against his back. Placing his large hand on her smaller one, he squeezed it reassuringly.

"There wasn't anything you could do," she said against his back.

"I was so focused on making sure he wasn't getting in, it never occurred to me he already was. This kind of Charlie Foxtrot is what gets people killed."

She shook her head against his back. "This isn't a SEAL mission, Maddox. This isn't a team of six men working together to watch each other's backs. This is one man, one single person taxed with keeping both of us safe. You couldn't have known. My Lord, I waved at the man a half a dozen times and never even knew who he was. I sat there in the courtroom and I stared at his face every day for three and a half weeks. At least you hadn't seen him before so you have an excuse. I don't. If anyone is to blame here, it's me."

He whirled around and wrapped his arms around her. "You aren't to blame, honey. Everyone insisted McClane was dead but you didn't believe it. For weeks, you were adamant the man stalking you was McClane. You didn't change your mind about it until the possibility of Beecher was thrust in your face." He cupped her cheek and pressed his lips to her forehead. "You are innocent here."

She started to argue but he stopped her with a chaste kiss on her lips. "I'm going to do a sweep of the grounds." He released her. "It's been a long day. I know it's getting late but Giovanni's is still open. How about we call in an order and afterward I'll show you how to clean Betty? Don't think I've forgotten about her."

The laugh erupting from her lips lifted his heart. "Alright, Mr. Bodyguard. I'm going to answer some emails after I call in our order. The usual?"

"Yeah, sounds good," he said as she stepped out of his arms and turned.

With a smack on her tush, he growled at her. "Temptress."

She stopped, glanced over her shoulder and wiggled her butt. The growl became louder. "I'm a saint, I'm a saint," he whispered and winked at her.

She laughed aloud and disappeared through the office door.

Since he knew McClane could get in at any time, he made sure to arm the alarm even when he did perimeter sweeps. He didn't want to take any chances. Closing the front door, he heard the arming chirp and turned toward the right. Stepping off the porch, he made his way toward the pergola and it's vine covered depths. Stopping outside the structure, he frowned. The motion sensors should have detected his movements and flooded the little corner with light. Taking a step back he waved his arms and stepped forward again. Still no lights.

The hair on the back of his neck stood up and a knot formed in the bottom of his stomach. Something wasn't right. Drawing his firearm, finger on the safety, he worked his way around the structure until his back was flushed against the high wall surrounding her property. Making his way silently along the wall, he carefully peered into the inky blackness engulfing this corner of the yard. Raising his pistol, he waited for a movement.

When it came, the attack wasn't from the front or back. Instead, something whipped over his head and around his neck. Years of training kicked in as River's hand went up to work his fingers between the rapidly closing cord and his neck. The other hand, the one still grasping his firearm, raised to shoot the dark shadow crouched low on the wall. A kick sent his SIG flying into the pergola so he made a grab for the man pulling the rope in an attempt to strangle him.

Lights danced around his peripheral vision as oxygen was cut off. Gasping, River's reaching fingers fought for the rope in his assailant's hand. He knew if he didn't get control soon, he wouldn't have enough strength to get out of this. He grunted as something hard slammed into the side of his head. The sparkling lights brightened and began to dim. Bracing his feet on the wall, he shoved hard in an attempt to pull McClane from the top. The rope tightened more until he was afraid his fingers would be severed. The second kick to his temple was harder than the first. Between the blows and his rapidly diminishing air, River knew he wasn't going to make it. The last thing crossing his mind was he had once again failed Joselyn and it pissed him off. She was going to die tonight and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

* * *

Dinner ordered, Joselyn worked her way through the hundreds of spam messages in her email box. Mumbling to herself, she clicked on several at a time and the delete button. "I don't need pharmaceuticals, my mortgage rate is fine and there's no way I'm helping some random guy get his lottery winnings." She snorted. "As if."

The remaining messages were easily sorted into one of several folders. She insisted on being organized and neat so she made it a habit of sorting them before she started to read. This way, nothing got lost. Starting with the first folder labeled "FANS", she opened the top one and started to read.

After a few minutes in, she heard the door close and the chirp of the alarm. "Hey Maddox, come here. I want you to see this drawing from one of my fans. She's only sixteen and did a great job," she called out over her shoulder. "It's exactly how what I envisioned John and Deidre to look."

She heard him enter the room and scooted back so he could look at her screen. Glancing up, the color drained from her face and she froze at the sight of the hooded figure watching her from the doorway. Leaning against the facing with one foot crossed casually over the other, stood a man dressed in black pants and matching long sleeve shirt. A pair of dark boots with something wet and shiny on one heel covered his feet. Reaching for his head, he pushed a ski mask off his face, revealing a maniacal smile. He casually shoved the mask into his pocket. Lifting his leather gloved hand, he saluted her with two fingers.

"Hello, Little Rose."

She screamed.