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Eva

I rush toward Jonathan’s handler.

“Are you okay?” I check his vitals. I search his body for injury. “He’s fine. I don’t even think he’s been hurt.”

Jonathan helps him up by his shirt collar. “Your wife is dead in the hallway,” Jonathan says, straight to the point. “And you’re fine?”

“I wouldn’t say I’m fine,” Alfie says. His face is drawn. His shoulders are lightly shaking. I know shock when I see it. I have a feeling Sherri’s death hasn’t hit him yet. He’s still in the moment, soaked in adrenaline. In the next few days, or the next few weeks, his old life will quietly die. His whole world will change. But for now, he’s at the beginning of the end.

“Whose blood is this?” Jonathan asks. Is he suggesting that Alfie had something to do with what happened to Sherri? Alfie starts crying. Jonathan is not dissuaded. “Answer the question.”

“She put us both at risk.” Alfie hiccups. “They didn’t give me a choice. I know you—of all people—understand.” Jonathan’s grip around Alfie’s collar tightens, like he is preparing to strike. “You told me to track her handler down!”

“I didn’t tell you to kill her,” he says.

“They made me do it! They said I had to prove my loyalty. What was I supposed to do?” Alfie gazes down the hall, where death hovers in a cloud we can all see. He seems to pull himself together for a moment, riding the waves of his grief. “They asked me to give you a message.”

“What’s the message?” I ask.

“They’re going to kill you both.” His voice is chillingly calm. “There is no way out, and you are absolutely fucked.”

Jonathan takes a deep, cleansing breath and then releases him. “He’s all yours.”

I step forward. “We need to know who’s running the network. Who’s the administrator?”

“I haven’t the least idea.”

Jonathan gives me a look. I sigh, then lift my gun to Alfie’s temple. He cowers, starts to snivel again. “You must know something,” I encourage.

“It never seemed important who it was,” he says. I cock my gun. “Blowing a hole in my head won’t give you any answers.”

“This is my fault,” Jonathan says. It’s not a question.

Alfie scowls at him. “I wish I could blame you, for everything. But I did this to myself.”

“What do we do?” I ask.

It’s practically a rhetorical question at this point, but Alfie still answers. “I suggest you run and hide, and hope that eventually they decide you’re not worth the effort.”

I laugh once in surprise, then realize he’s not joking. That really is our only hope, that they’ll just decide to stop. Decide we’re a waste of resources. Whatever happens, we’ll spend the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders. They’re after us, just like they were after Andrew. They eat their own.

“Let’s get out of here,” I say, lowering my gun.

“You’re not going to kill me?” Alfie asks. “God knows I deserve it.”

“No,” Jonathan says, stowing his weapon. “I’m getting tired of killing people.” This is a pretty staggering admission from Jonathan.

He follows me out, although neither of us has any idea where to go.

Life is so twisted. I finally find the right guy, and an invisible network of murderers wants both of us dead.