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Mary’s pastries are just to die for. It’s nice to know that some things never change. For the first time in a long time, I feel completely at ease, as I sit inside my four-season porch, eating my dinner, while the jetlag melts away. It’s nice to be unplugged from the world for a change. It seems I'm always a slave to my phone, to social media, to emails, and until now, I didn’t realize how much of a hold it had on me. The part that is disconcerting is that my mind starts to wander to Ethan. As much as I want to hate him, I miss him, and I'm battling with myself, between being angry at me for feeling this way, and second-guessing myself for ever letting it happen. Falling in love, that is.

I let it happen, when all the red flags were there, not to. I should never have let myself fall for him, knowing that I held that secret, but it’s in the past, and there is nothing that can be done about it now. I vow to stop obsessing over it and move on with my life. What we had is over. Long over. And the moment I stop thinking about him, I start thinking about work, so then it becomes a back-and-forth thing, until I decide I need to take a walk to clear my head. The grass is so lush and green, and the land is so full, I lose myself in it for a while, until the hair on my arms starts to stand up.

Being alone for the first time in ages is a little unsettling. Sure, I’m alone when I work at home, but I don’t consider it that, because nine times out of ten I’m either on the phone, on a conference call, or answering emails, so technically not alone. But this, this is alone, alone. Like, for real alone, with no phone turned on, no internet, not even cable. And normally this doesn’t bother me, but it’s been a long time since I’ve been here. More than a year or so, and I get the feeling that I’m so rusty at being by myself, that it’s almost pathetic.

But as I turn back to the cottage, the feeling doesn’t dissipate. As I turn the handle on the door to enter, I get a shiver down my spine. It’s just the jetlag I tell myself, and decide to take a nice, long hot bath to settle my nerves, along with a glass of wine. I’m too keyed up. Too stressed out, that I can’t even relax in my safe haven. The wine is poured while the bath water fills the tub, and I rest my head on the back of the lion’s foot tub, while I sip wine, hoping that this feeling will eventually go away. I drain the water and put my fluffy robe on, as I get out of the tub, looking forward to putting on my pyjamas and heading into bed.

As I tie the knot on my robe and step out of the bathroom, watching the steam billow out behind me, I see him. There is a man standing at the front door, holding a gun in his hand. I scream. He takes quick strides to me and grabs me from behind, forcing a hand over my mouth. “You’re going to shut the fuck up, right now, bitch. Or you’ll quickly learn what a bullet tastes like.” He says into my ear, with a Scottish accent, holding the pistol to the side of my head.

Suddenly trembling with fear, I try to remember exactly in the cutlery drawer, where I left the butcher knife. The man is a stranger to me. But I try to think hard if I remember him from anywhere. Nothing. Not an inkling as to who he is. “Now, I’m going to take my hand off your mouth, and you’re going to be quiet, okay? If you’re not quiet, I’ll put a bullet in your head, got it?”

I nod once.

He removes his hand from my mouth slowly, and takes a step away from me, so he’s facing me. He looks me up and down, giving me an unsettled feeling, and I’m suddenly very aware that I’m naked under this robe. “What do you want?”

“Twenty million.” He says flatly, like he’s asking for pocket change.

Suddenly that sum tricks something in my memory. It’s the exact amount that Caleb needed me to transfer into the bank account the day he called me when Peg was kidnapped.

He continues. “Before you plead poverty, I know that you don’t have that kind of cash, lass, but your friend does.”

Bingo.

“Which one are you? Nathan or Wesley?” I ask, seething, even though my body still trembles, watching the pistol being pointed at my temple.

He seems impressed that I remembered. “I’m Nathan, lass. Wesley’s the English bloak. Not quite as sharp as me, I’ll admit.”

“I have no cell phone service here.” I lie. “How am I supposed to call anyone to get you the money?”

He scoffs, but as he pulls his own phone out of his pocket, to check the service, it gives me a split second to run to the cutlery drawer. But as I do that, I feel something hard hit the back of my head, and the world turns black.

Ethan

I hear the scream from outside. We’re parked down the road, the three of us, sitting inside the car that I keep in Scotland. “Jesus Christ.” I growl as I open the door and dart out. Mel and Clyde are in position, next to me, as we run towards the house, but prowl as we approach closer. There is a car parked just outside, but there is no way of knowing how many men are in there with her. Mel motions for Clyde to cover him, and he scoots up a window, to see inside the house, while I draw my weapon, ready to shoot if the need arises.

Although I haven’t had basic training, Mel and Clyde and the other security team have shown us all how to protect ourselves and the people we love, since no matter how close our guards and spies are, there is never room for chances. The little house is a perfect square shape, with only the four-season porch jutting out from the back. The front porch is barren, with just a small plastic chair sitting on it. There is a small awning over the postage-stamp shaped porch, with a pattern matching the same smaller awnings over the two windows: one in the front, and another off to the side of the house. The stucco siding is slightly grimy and chipped in spots, but otherwise the house is in good shape.

I watch Mel look up into the window quickly, without lifting his head, just using his eyeline to see inside. He comes back down and lifts a finger, indicating that there is only one man inside with her. He mouths to us both that it’s Mackenzie. “Fuck.” I mutter.

Clyde whispers. “There’s no way he’s working alone. His partner in crime is somewhere. Watch your back.”

I nod, crawling to the back, while the boys out front figure out a way to get inside without blowing their cover. The four-season porch has a sliding door, which I try, and note that it isn’t locked. As I slide it open slowly, on my hands and knees, I thank God that it isn’t loud or squeaky, as the front door may be. Once I’m in I note how tiny this little place is. I see Nathan Mackenzie holding Freya to his body, clamping her mouth shut with his hand, while she breathes heavily against his palm.

I’m on the floor, crawling, hiding behind the couch, when I see her bolt towards the kitchen drawer, and that’s when he smacks her on the back of the head with the butt of the gun, and she drops like a sack of potatoes. “You son of a bitch!” I shout, tackling him to the ground. His gun skates across the linoleum floor as I punch him in the face, taking huge satisfaction in the sound of his nose breaking under my knuckles.

Nathan fights back, punching me in the kidney, and I land on the floor, as Freya wakes up and screams. Mel and Clyde come running inside from the back sliding door, the same way that I got in, and while Mel kicks Mackenzie’s gun further away from him, Clyde points the gun at Mackenzie’s head. “There will be no more of that, sir. Stay where you are. Put your hands behind your back.” He instructs, and he sets his foot on the center of Nathan’s back, as his belly is to the floor.

Freya rises slowly. “Ethan. How did you know I was here?”

“Let’s just say there are eyes everywhere, lass.” I explain. “Are you okay?”

She rubs her head. “I’ve got one hell of a headache. Worse than a hangover.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t fuck her.” Nathan seethes, his voice jarbled slightly, with his cheek pressed to the floor.

“And you’re lucky I don’t shoot you right here, asshole.” I seethe, while I watch Mel make a call, assuming it’s to the police, from the corner of my eye.

Freya walks to the bedroom, when suddenly I hear her shriek. I look up and see that someone was hiding in the bedroom, and I mentally chide myself for not clearing the rest of the house first. I also think that Mel and Clyde are severely out of shape for stakeouts and takedowns, as I watch the man pull Freya’s hair from behind, forcing her aggressively against the barrel of the gun.

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