Bryan lay in bed, looking up at the ceiling. It was three o'clock, one hour until the Ghost came to get him. Sleep never came to him, between his nerves and the voices on the cassette player, playing over and over in his head. He could still hear her screaming and the man's grunts. He sighed and pushed the comforter back, settled on the fact that he wouldn't be sleeping any time soon. He got out of the bed, the wooden floor cold under his bare feet, and made his way to the attached bathroom. He stepped under the warm spray, letting the water run over him, he closed his eyes as it started to work some of the tension from his muscles. He heard the room's door open and then close again. Probably just Etta with the information. He let out another sigh and grabbed the soap.

With a towel wrapped around him, he made his way back to the bedroom. Just as he had suspected, the folders and some fresh clothes lay on the dresser, along with a black duffel bag laying beside it on the floor. He smiled to himself. Etta had been the only real mother he had ever had. He would do anything for her, just like he would for Craig and Angel and he knew that they would do the same. He didn't know what he would do if it was him in the Ghost's shoe’s. If it was Angel that had been taken rather than the Ghost's sister. Yes you do. The thought surfaced from the back of his mind. He didn't deny it; he couldn't, because if it had been Angel instead of Annemeria, he'd be doing exactly what the Ghost was doing now. He looked at the clock; he still had thirty minutes before she would be here. He sighed once again and got dress before stuffing the folders inside the duffel bag and heading downstairs. The smell of blueberry muffins and coffee led him to the kitchen.

Etta stood at the sink, rinsing a pan. A platter of fresh baked muffins and cups of coffee sat on the island. Craig lend on the island, his eyes boring into the counter with such force that Bryan was sure it would bust. Angel lend against the wall, her gaze on the floor. Etta had finished rinsing the pan and turned around, seeing everyone just standing around. “I didn't get up at two in the morning to cook and have it go to waste.” she said. Bryan could tell by the bags under her eyes though, that she hadn't gone to sleep, Angel and Craig too. “Bryan, eat.” she said, sliding the platter closer to him. “That goes for you two too.” She said, sliding the platter towards Craig and Angel after Bryan had reluctantly picked up one of the still warm muffins. He bit into it, the sweetness of the cinnamon made his taste buds sing and he smiled just a little. Nope, nothing could beat Etta cooking. He washed the muffin down with the coffee, the Irish creamer; Etta had sweetened it with, mixing nicely with the cinnamon of the muffin.

After Etta made sure everyone had eaten they made their way out onto the porch. The November breeze pulled lightly on Bryan’s still damp hair. Everyone was quite. The Ghost would be here soon, just ten more minutes and he would be on his way to Moscow, Russia. Ready to help the assassin in rescuing her young sister and face the man that had taken her. He wasn’t sure what he was getting himself into, all he knew was that he may not come back. Getting tangled up with one of the best in the business wasn’t a good step up, but he didn’t have a choice. So he was standing on his handler/foster father’s porch waiting for her. It hadn’t been exactly ten minutes when the Ghost, Alexis Johnson pull up in front of the Grand Victorian. He hugged both of the women, kissing them on the cheek and shook Craig’s out stretched hand, before walking down the wooden steps and shutting the door behind him as he climbed in next the Ghost.

Bryan reclined the chair as far as it allowed. Perhaps one the greatest things about having money, not having to worry about the cramped confinements of sitting in the coach. He looked over at the woman sitting next him, Alex Johnson, a.ka the Ghost, one of Los Angeles’ greatest and most feared assassins. They had only been in the air for a hour now of twelve hour flight. She had been sitting quietly the whole time, looking blankly out the window. He knew though, that she was thinking. Going over everything in her head, how to get in, get her sister, kill Peters, and to get the hell out with ease. Bryan had a feeling though that it wasn’t going to be that easy. Peters, an overlord of Los Angeles’ underworld, wasn’t going to go down without a fight. It didn’t matter though, not to the Ghost anyway. Her mission was to retrieve her sister, no matter what. She had come to Bryan for help. Bryan had agreed simply because he didn’t have a choice. In a business like this is was either kill or be killed and he wasn’t to fawned of that second option, so here he was, on a flight to Moscow, Russia with one of the best.

She must have felt his eyes because she turned and met his gaze. He could tell that she was trying to hide what she was feeling. He could see it in her eyes, the anger, the terror and the guilt. The bags under her eyes also told him that she hadn't slept. Without thinking, he reached out and grabbed her hand, squeezing it. He felt her tense and then relax just a little. He wasn't sure why he felt that he needed to comfort her. After all, she had originally been hired to kill him, but he still squeezed her hand and held her baby blues. She smiled a little and nodded. He nodded back, letting go of her hand. She turned her attenuation back to the window. He looked down the aisle, his eyes coming to rest on a baronet sitting a few rows up. There was something familiar about the woman; he just couldn't put his finger on it. He placed the feeling into the back of his mind, making a mental note to keep a close eye on her. “Get up.” He heard the voice, knew that it was the Ghost. He opened his eyes, sitting up. He looked around. People were getting up from their seats. They had landed. They got up, grabbed their carry-ons and joined the stream of people.

The Vnukovo International Airport was busy, as it was known to be. They grabbed the rest of their bags. The Ghost locked her arm around his. “Ready?” She was talking about playing the part of a newly wed. She had told him about it on the way to the airport back in the States. They were now Joseph and Julia White, here on honeymoon. He grinned,

“Yes dear.”

She shook her head, though he could see the faintest of a smile tugging at her lips. As they walked, he looked out the big windows that took over the front wall. Cars lined the parking lot; he wasn’t interested in them though. He scanned the reflections in the glass, looking for the baronet. He found her, by the bag drop. She seemed to be wrapped up in what she was doing. She didn’t even glance their way, but the feeling of familiarity was still there along with a gut feeling she was there for a reason. He’d learned along time ago to trust his gut. Him and the Ghost kept moving.

The street was just as busy. There was no way they were going to be able to catch a taxi at this time so they walked down the street. They looked in the shop windows as though they really were here for amusement and nothing more. Bryan kept his eye on the baronet, who was keeping back a few feet. The Ghost seemed to be in deep thought about the red dress that fitted the mannequin in the window. He wondered if she had noticed the woman. He pulled her closer and lend his head down, as if to kiss her cheek. “The woman in the blue, brown hair. On your left…”

“I know.” she whispered, lending into him. “There’s an ally a block down, how about we see who our follower is.” Her breath in his ear made his muscles tighten. He grinned, brushing his lips against her cheek before pulling away.

“Why not? Let’s go.”

He could feel her eyes on him as he led the way, his hand wrapped around hers. Even though the sun was well in the sky, the alley was dark. The old, over filled, trash bins were covered with rust and some type of liquid that dripped from one of the many bags it contained. It smelled of urine and vomit. It stopped at a brick wall. They hid in the shadows that the wall provided. Forty…thirty. He counted the seconds in his head. He felt the slight twitch of the Ghost’s hands and then the cold metal of a blade against his hand. She handed it to him by the hilt. He was surprised. When had she the chance to slip it up her sleeves?

The soft click of heels on cement filled the alley. He narrowed his eyes and his muscles tightened. Twenty. They both sprang from the shadows.



-To Be Continued-