Alex Hardale suddenly realized with a head-splitting intensity that he had fucked up and he had fucked up really bad! There was no going back and there was no going forward with what he had done. He couldn’t go back; after all, the past couldn’t be changed. And he couldn’t go forward because certain death or worse, torture, awaited him. Though he knew he had no choice but to keep going forward and not worry about what awaited him though he could trouble himself with worrying about what he had done or rather, what he hadn’t done. He guessed that anyone could worry themselves with what they had done but how could you exactly worry about something that you hadn’t done; something that you hadn’t done but were supposed to have done; something that you had simply fucked up? There were no other words for it. That’s exactly what he had done.

He had made a major mistake. But it was all right wasn’t it? After all, everyone made mistakes. Yeah, but none had ever been a mistake like this. His mind had seemed to betray him and he had nothing else to answer or to fall back on. He had nothing else to step up and take the blame. He had to take it all since it all belonged to him and no other. But again, how could you worry about something that you hadn’t done?

It was simple.

Look behind you Alex, his mind told him firmly, gripping him within its unyielding grasp of confidence and determined demise. Surprisingly, he obeyed like a goat to its herder. What else could he do? Mr. Hardale sat in the driver seat of the bucking beast they called a Mercedes and darkness surrounding him. It was early morning and the sun was just beginning to raise in the sky he found that it was still hidden by hideous dark clouds filled to capacity with snow and ice; snow and ice that still rained down on the monstrous vehicle as it forced its way up the white, now hidden mountain highway towards Portage, Maine.

The barking wind of the quickly forming blizzard outside crashed against the side of the Mercedes, threatening to push it off the road and off the mountain so it could fall to an untimely death, and Alex would have been terrified, if he had been in any of vehicle. But the gray 560 SEL Mercedes’ engine (“The Tank”) barked in protest, answering the wind’s bark with one of equal intensity to prove that it wasn’t going to back down. And the car never did. It was a monster built for this weather, built for these back mountain roads, and built for the power that was held within it. It would take these winds to the pits of Hell and never stop swinging until its life was over. And that’s why Alex Hardale loved the car with all his heart, loved it as if it were his own child.

Look behind you Alex! His mind repeated just as firmly as before but with a hint of anger held inside it. But he had already turned—and turned only for a moment but he knew what it was his eyes sought. And as he saw it his own question was answered with a mocking, laughing voice in his head. Whose voice was that? Who did it belong to?

But it wasn’t a question that needed to be asked. Alex knew whose voice that was. He knew it all too well though he had only met the man once in his entire life. It was the deep, rasping, cruel voice of Jackson Agner. And the man’s words still hung in Alex’s ears as if he had just heard them seconds ago: “And let me warn you now Mr. Hardale. Don’t you fuck this job up! If you fuck it up then not only will you be in a bad situation but so will I. I hired you to do this job—I recommended you to my friend—and if you fuck it up then I won’t be trusted to hire anymore people and you won’t be trusted to be hired anymore Mr. Hardale. If you fuck it up then you’ll reap the consequences alone and you will not drag me down or so help me God I will fuck you up! I have power Mr. Hardale and I know how to use it!”

Yes, Mr. Hardale had made a mistake and a horrible mistake at that. His eyes saw the silver briefcase that his mind had wanted him to see; the briefcase was sitting alone on the large back seat of the Mercedes, closed and alone, with twenty-five thousand dollars hiding within its closed sides. Jackson Agner had given him that money to complete a job—it was his career! —and he had made a mistake.

Alex turned back around and focused on the road again, watching the darkness outside wash over the car and then disappear into the other darkness surrounding that. The high beams were lit and blasting their strength out into the icy road like brilliant torches hanging in the mouth of a treasure cave. But there was no treasure out there. The only treasure for miles was in the briefcase and Alex doubted that he’d ever see the other twenty-five thousand. Hell, he doubted he’d ever see another sunrise again.

A stirring next to him caught his eye and in spite of what was happening, Mr. Hardale actually found himself smiling. He couldn’t believe it. Turn Alex, his mind spoke up again, this time with mockery and amusement. Turn and look beside you. Who’s there Alex? A brief pause as if waiting an answer but Alex didn’t turn. Turn around Alex! Peek-a-boo! But this time he did, obeying again as he had done before.

And he saw her. The woman was sitting in the seat next to him—just waking up from sleep actually but nevertheless, he saw her and realized that she was there. He had known she was there but he had refused to believe it. Had he been drunk the night before? Had he simply been crazy? Something wrong had happened and now she sat in the seat next to him with eyes closed and head hanging against the door as she slept. She was beautiful, he couldn’t deny that, much more beautiful than her picture, but how could he had done this?

The woman sitting next to him was a woman who wasn’t supposed to be living. A woman who wasn’t supposed to see daylight ever again, a woman who was supposed to be dead by his hand! She was a woman that he was supposed to have murdered! Emily Walton sat next to him in the passenger seat of the Mercedes and just seeing her in all her beauty was enough to finally drive the fact home. He had made a mistake and he knew he was going to pay the dire consequences for it.

The previous night’s events ran through his head like an evil storm; much like the storm currently raging outside but with much heavier winds and striking skies.

The house looked right. Hell, most of the houses in the neighborhood looked alike but according to the information, provided to him by Jackson Agner along with the money in the briefcase, that was her white BMW sitting in the driveway and the house matched the description and picture. If it wasn’t the right house then he’d be waking someone up at—he checked his watch and laughed—at eight o’clock. He didn’t think he’d have a problem. The only people that slept at eight were either extremely old or extremely tired. Besides, a couple lights were on in the first floor of the house so it was safe to say that someone was up and about.

After all his years in this business, he had learned many tricks. And knowing when and where to strike was one of them. He knew how to spot people, run from people, avoid people, and most importantly, kill people. He knew this wouldn’t be a problem though deep down he still thought it was a bad idea; an idea completely unreasonable under the circumstances. But all he had to do was remind himself that fifty thousand dollars was at stake and after all he had to eat didn’t he?

The Mercedes was parked on the curb across the street from Emily Walton’s house and the streetlights did no good to light up the inside of the vehicle. Alex Hardale sat alone in the dark with his eyes and full attention focused on the large white house across the street. He pulled his Model 8000 Series, eleven-shot Beretta—silenced now so as to not disturb the neighbors—out of its holster, which hung over his left shoulder and checked to see if it was loaded, doing his final runs and checks before advancing on the house. It was loaded and ready; he was ready to go in and finish this job once and for all.

Holstering the Beretta once again, Alex pushed the driver side door open and stepped out of the Mercedes into the swirling snow, biting ice, and snapping wind of the steadily increasing snowstorm. He glanced around the late night, abandoned suburban street, now dimly lit with the occasional lamp here or there, causally as if he’d lived in the house next door his entire life. This was just another trick he had learned over the years and it had worked quite well in the past.

Mr. Hardale closed the door and locked it, not wanting to take the chance of anyone driving away in his car and losing the twenty-five thousand for good. The key found its way into his pocket as he started across the street, buttoning up his black overcoat with leather covered hands—to leave no evidence behind—and tightening the black scarf keep his neck warm. The weight of the holstered Beretta, bumping into his chest with each step, was a comfort that he had come to love and realized that he couldn’t live without. The weapon was more comfortable then the clothes on his back and quite handy in needy situations.

With head held high, still sweeping the street for any signs of human life, (sweeping quite casually and carelessly to the untrained eye) Alex Hardale could be called a man with no business in the world—a man simply focused on his own home after a long days work and perhaps a glass of wine afterwards, nothing more. Or to others he could be called Death—a blackness trudging through a white world focused on his next prey; in this case, an un-expecting, innocent woman with no other worries in the world. This time Death’s prey would have to die to satisfy an unjust cause and honor a man’s choice through thick and thin. The man’s honor would be the woman’s undoing simply because he had to pay his bills.

Alex stepped up on the sidewalk and started down the pathway that led to the Walton’s front porch, a large roofed porch lined with chairs and a couples’ swing, with back straight and head still held high, completely ignoring the empty street now. Now, it was too late for anyone to do any good if they were even out there. Nothing else mattered to Alex except the front door of the Walton house, which was bordered by two windows—one on each side—and they were both lit from the light burning brightly in the main hallway of the house.

Snow had settled on Mr. Hardale’s shoulders and dark black hair, making it look as if he had terrible dandruff, as he ascending the four steps and stopped in front of the big black door of the Walton house. His gloved finger found the doorbell and rang it once. His hand fell again and he clasped them formally behind him, turning around only twice to see if anyone was watching. There was no one. This was going to be much easier then he had thought.

There was no answer; no call; no footsteps; no sound whatsoever from inside the house. Alex tried again, ringing the doorbell a second time before returning to his formal stance. It was a good way to make first impressions on people who didn’t know their lives were about to end in bloodshed and agony. God it was a hard job but the money was good. But Alex still couldn’t help thinking that he was getting rusty in his later years. He swallowed calmly, feeling no sweat on his brow and no increased heart rate. It was reassuring to feel that he was still as calm as he had always been in previous years and previous jobs.

He went to ring the doorbell and third and final time and stopped. “Hang on.” It was a woman’s voice and that made him feel much better. “I’m coming, hang on.” He relaxed. He hadn’t wanted to knock the door down and he felt relieved that he didn’t have to now.

Footsteps suddenly reached his ears—still as good now as they had been in his younger years—as rapid footfalls approached the closed door. They were hurried and light but he could still hear them over the howling wind surrounding him.

A woman’s face suddenly appeared in the window to the left of the door and large dark eyes seemed to study him curiously before the beautiful face disappeared. From what he had seen, photos and now, she was a beautiful woman and when the locks on the inside of the door were unbolted and the large door was swung open, he realized that he was looking at the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

The woman standing in the open doorway of the house was indeed the same woman in the photos that were hidden in the silver briefcase on the back seat of Alex’s car and that put a name to her: Emily Walton. Her pictures did her no justice. She was much more beautiful in person then he had ever expected to see. Alex found it surprising that his mouth wasn’t hanging out and that his eyes weren’t wide and blank with stupidity but once his game face was on, there was no turning back and no removing that face until the job was done.

Emily wiped long straight black hair out of her face and seemed to study Alex Hardale for a second time, attempting to put a name to his face. Her furrowed brow was enough for the man to see that. One arm was resting on the doorknob and the other in her pants pocket and most of her weight was on her right leg. Dressed in casual, comfortable home clothes, Alex thought she was more beautiful then if she had been wearing a dress and heels though he called himself foolish since he had never seen her before and never would again after this very night. Large dark eyes stared up at him beneath that furrowed brow, still studying his facial features with a certainly blank mind. I’m sorry Mrs. Walton you can’t put a face on an apparently invisible killer!

She shook her head, with long hair swinging carelessly, and tilted it sideways with curious eyes, apparently still lost on the man’s features. “I’m sorry.” She started in a low, uncertain, soft voice. “May I help you?”

Alex was silent for a moment, completely unaware of his lost mind. He had just been taken aback by the woman’s beauty and innocent features—innocent voice even—that he hadn’t heard what she asked or even that he was supposed to speak.

He shook his head just as uncertainly as she had as if he was trying to waken himself from a daydream of some sort. What a picture! Two completely dazed people face-to-face, one with an absent mind and no defense, the other with a mind void of everything but the other person and armed with a Beretta meant to take the other’s life. One an unknowing victim, the other a professional killer hired to do the unthinkable. It surely was one to tell the children!

Alex laughed nervously and put on the most charming smile he could muster, a smile that had dubbed him handsome and even gorgeous to other woman who didn’t know a thing about him. “I’m sorry Mrs. Walton?” He formed a question to affirm that he indeed had the right house.

Don’t be an idiot! His mind yelled back at him commandingly. You know you have the right house and the right woman. Don’t fuck this up! Isn’t that what Jackson Agner had said right before Alex had left the café? It had been. You just don’t think you can go through with it! Could he? Of course he could. You’re growing rusty Alex. That’s going to be your downfall. Don’t worry! Don’t be rusty and don’t start caring! Not now! His mind was right.

She nodded. “Yes, that’s me.” Again, she regarded him with that slightly terrified expression on her face. “May I help you?”

“Ah yes, you may actually,” Alex continued, unclasping his hands and holding one out to her friendlily. She took it and shook it, releasing it afterwards, returning Alex’s smile with a small one of her own. “I’m Alex Hardale. I’m a friend of your husband’s.” He never lied about his name to any of his victims. He figured that if he was going to be the end of them then they should at least know who’s killing them. He considered it fair for what he was going to do—at the absolute bidding of others, not himself.

She crossed her legs nervously and smiled again, a beautiful smile of white teeth and lovely lips in Alex’s opinion. “A friend?” She raised an unsteady eyebrow and looked past Alex at the empty street beyond as if trying to see if anyone else was with him. “A friend of my husband’s?”

Alex nodded, meeting her stunning dark eyed gaze. “Yes, a friend.” He paused and swallowed again. “I’m actually a business partner, if you will. I wouldn’t be where I am today without your husband’s help. I owe him one.”

“So you work at the company with Samuel?”

Was that his name, Samuel Walton? That was new news to Alex. “Indeed I do.” His smile never faltered, neither did his gaze as he stared down at her with his cold dark eyes, which he though had actually softened after seeing her beautiful figure—a thing that he couldn’t have missed if he had tried—and lovely eyes.

Mrs. Walton closed her eyes and rubbed her head in embarrassment. “I’m sorry…Mr. Hardale, is it?” He nodded. “Mr. Hardale, I truly am sorry. Where are my manners? Please come inside.” She moved aside to let him in and after wiping his boots on the mat he stepped into the welcoming warmth of the brightly lit hallway with a smile and examining eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t want you freezing out there in the storm. The weather’s rough right now and I don’t expect you to stand alone in the dark outside.” She closed the door and started down the hallway with Alex following. “Would you care for some coffee?”

“Yes, I’ll take some please,” he called from behind her as they stepped through a door-less entryway and stopped in the mouth of the large kitchen. An island counter with stools surrounding it stood directly in front of them with the sink and a window behind it, directly opposite the doorway. Pots and pans hung above the island on a rack and the cool green marble counters were lined with applications and dishes of all sorts. It was obvious that Samuel Walton did well at his job and brought back some good money. But right now Alex wanted to kick himself for saying that he’d accept coffee. Sure, it was all right for him to start small talk with her but to kill her was his job—what he had been hired to do—and he needed to finish it and be on his way as soon as possible. Portage, Maine was calling to him because that’s where the rest of his money was waiting for him.

It appeared that she already had some water boiling and taking two mugs from a cabinet above the counter she poured two cups of steaming coffee with milk and sugar in them. “Please, have a seat Mr. Hardale,” she told him, motioning to a stool resting against the island counter. “I don’t expect one of my guests to stand.” He obeyed, undoing his scarf, letting it fall open against his overcoat, and then undoing the top three buttons of his coat to give his hand easy reach for the Beretta hiding beneath the coat.

He sat down and leaned forward, resting his arms on the counter with relaxing calmness. She stood on the other side of the island, still pouring milk into his coffee, with her back turned to him. And he told himself that if he wanted to strike now would be the perfect time, when her back was turned, and she wouldn’t feel anything. But he just couldn’t bring himself to do it yet. Apparently it was much harder then he had at first thought.

Emily turned then and handed him his coffee. “Thank you Mrs. Walton.”

“Please, call me Emily,” she answered, taking her seat on a stool across from him. He didn’t feel all that comfortable with his back to the doorway of the kitchen but he had gotten farther then he had expected so he wasn’t going to argue.

“All right Emily, thank you.” His voice was low and peaceful and still quite steady for what he was about to do, for what was going through his mind. He had to kill him and yet he was calm about it. He could be called an evil man; hell, he could even call himself an evil man but he was just doing his job. Sure, he knew he was probably going to Hell but he figured that by then he’d be dead and wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore. There were no bills to be paid for in Hell so he was going to enjoy the money while he still got it. He couldn’t call himself a peaceful man because of his career but then he guessed that no one really was a peaceful man. Everybody had his or her faults and it just so happened that professional killing was his fault. He couldn’t help that. It was just his strange fate, wasn’t it? “Are you expecting Samuel anytime soon Mrs. Walton?” He paused before adding, “Emily?”

She smiled shyly at his corrected mistake, merely a slip of his tongue due to her company. She quietly and slowly sipped at her own coffee and slowly nodded. “Yes, I expect him home pretty soon. Why do you ask?”

“Oh no reason Emily,” Alex perfectly lied; lied quite naturally actually. He took a long sip from his own coffee, noting that it was good, and smiled around the mug. The warmth of the coffee and steam felt good after he had spent some time out in the freezing weather occupying the outside world. “I just wanted to know if he was coming home soon.” He eyed her cautiously, doing his damnedest not to give anything away (he never did). “And I just wanted to know if I could stay until he arrived, wait for him you know? But only if you don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” she answered, waving the question away as if it was nothing. She put her mug down and tilted her head again, eyeing Alex just as strangely as he had eyed her before, with a questioning look floating across her face. He met that questioning gaze with a forceful—yet gentle—stare of his own, with hard eyes matching her force with his own strength behind them. “No, I don’t mind you staying at all. Do you have business with Samuel?”

Alex nodded, not quite sure where she was going with this but knowing that if he didn’t play along then she’d surely make him for what he really was and why he was really there. “Yeah, I need to talk to him about something at work. It shouldn’t take long. I’m sorry to come here so late but it’s kind of sudden and I don’t like letting important matters lay unattended for too long. I promise I won’t take him away for too long.” He smiled and actually chuckled. “I promise I’ll be out of your hair and on my way in no time.”

“Oh, I assure you that it’s no problem at all Mr. Hardale,” Emily replied, still staring at his face from across the island counter with large, uncertain, somewhat cautious eyes. He didn’t like the look of them. It was as if she knew something that he didn’t and he wondered again if he was getting rusty. She picked the mug up again and took another brief sip before continuing, “So, you’re a friend of Samuel’s huh? A business partner you say?”

“That’s right.” He was keeping true to his story until he finally decided to end this little game and get if over and done with. The warmth of the coffee and house in general felt much better then the cold air outside surrounding his car and he desired to stay in here as long as possible until he needed to leave. “I was actually talking to him today about the company and advancements that need to be placed and who they need to be placed on. We were having coffee in a nice little café in downtown—what was that place called again? —ah, I guess it doesn’t matter, and we were brainstorming about some ways to better the company. You know, bring in more customers, more employers, and more money here and there.”

Her hands, which were still holding the coffee mug, shook slightly and suddenly and the mug nearly fell to the marble counter with a shattering crack but the woman managed to grab it just in time, recovering from her sudden fault. Alex showed no expression in his emotionless face but he noted that something had triggered this falter in her hands. Perhaps something had frightened her, perhaps not. It was hard to tell.

But Alex did note the sudden change in the way that she regarded him, with wide, worried eyes and a slightly open mouth, as if not sure how to continue and still struggling for words. He noted small beads of sweat on her forehead and cheeks—it was good to see that his eyes were still good—and he noted how she hastily wiped her long black hair out of her face, fitting it behind her ears in a hurry as if something was rushing her. He also noted her quickened intake of air, as if she had jogged a short distance to catch up with someone on the sideway to relay a message. She knew something that he didn’t and he didn’t like this sudden change in her stance, sitting or not.

Emily put the mug down on the counter and hid her still shaking hands in her lap, leaning forward a little more until her midsection was almost resting on the countertop. Her eyes, wide and apprehensive, lowered to the mug and then fluttered up at him as if something was stuck in her eyes, before they shot back down to the mug again. He wasn’t foolish. He knew something was wrong.

“You say you had coffee with my husband earlier today?” She asked softly, slower, raising her eyes up to his face again, studying him, and looking for an answer within his emotionless features. He nodded, never letting anything slip into his face. “Around what time?”

Alex laughed cheerfully and shrugged. “Ah, I don’t know. Perhaps around one o’clock, maybe earlier.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure it is,” Mr. Hardale repeated confidently—something that he was still glad he could do—raising the mug to his lips again. His eyes never left hers as he tilted the mug and drank wholeheartedly, still not willing to leave the warmth of the house behind.

Emily Walton suddenly bounded to her feet on unsteady legs and yelled, “Get out of my house! Get out of my house now!” She raised an arm and pointed towards the hallway that led to the front door, with frightened eyes still locked on him. Alex recoiled in surprise and gave the woman a bewildered look equal to her frightened one—a look that he was proud of in such a short and unpredicted time period. “I don’t know who you are but I want you out of my house now!”

He shrugged and forced his own face to put on the mask of surprise, alarm, and confusion. He hoped it worked though this woman seemed to be much more cunning then he had thought. Despite the fact that he didn’t want to go through with it, not now, not after seeing her in her beauty and charm, he thought that he might just have to. He had entered her home in full spirits of murdering her though he had had some second thoughts on the long cold drive up from Portland and he had even given his name—his real name—in assurance that the dead don’t remember names or faces. But now he was afraid that she’d report him and have him locked away for good for what he had done in the past.

“Emily, what’s wrong?” He made his own voice soft and shaky, even a little afraid, which was a word that could never describe Alex Hardale’s voice, face, or mind. He wasn’t a frightened man and never thought he could ever be, not in his line of work. “What are you talking about?” He paused and looked around, stunned. “I already told you. I’m Alex Hardale. I’m a friend of your husband’s.”

“Don’t you give me that bullshit!” Emily Walton screamed back at him angrily, clearly frightened. “I don’t know who you are Mr. Hardale—if that is indeed your real name—but I know damn well that you don’t know my husband!”

“That’s not true!” How long did he have to keep up this bullshit? How long did he have to keep up this lying ordeal before she either gave up or he ended her speech forever?

“I know it’s true, Mr. Hardale!” Mrs. Walton replied, just as firmly as before with fear wavering in her soft, graceful voice. She pointed towards the doorway again but he didn’t move, plainly frightening her with this unacknowledged moment. “You couldn’t have possibly spoken with Samuel earlier!”

“But I did,” Alex lied, just as perfectly as before, putting on his most innocent, bewildered expression.

She covered her eyes with a trembling hand and started to weep into her palm, before letting it fall back to her side with tears flowing down her cream colored cheeks. “No, you didn’t have coffee with my husband earlier.” She repeated softly, clearly breaking down, finally realizing that she was defeated. “You couldn’t have because I just talked to him not long ago. He’s on his way home now.” Alex raised an eyebrow, not knowing what she was getting at. “He just arrived from Seattle today. His flight didn’t land in Bangor International until seven o’clock so don’t give me that bullshit.” She paused and wiped tears from her eyes. “What do you want with me?”

“Nothing.” His voice was soft and sympathetic. “Nothing at all. I just want to talk with your husband Emily.”

More tears began to leak out of her eyes as she met his eyes with her beautifully dark ones, not disrupting with tears. “Don’t lie. No. If you don’t leave now then I’m going to call the cops and have them arrest you.” She started around the counter with head down and eyes uncertain; she was now trembling all over in unnerved fright.

Alex’s stool fell backwards and slammed to the floor with a bang as he shoved it back and jumped to his feet, unconscious of his right hand flying into his partially unbuttoned coat and gripping the handle of the Beretta. It was a flash in less then a second. Just as quickly, the Beretta was in his hands, the hammer was dropped—it only took him a mere second to do all this after long years of skilled learning and work—and the silenced barrel was directed straight at Emily Walton’s forehead; her beautiful eyes were resting and staring wide and terrified just below its line of sight.

His warrior’s stance was firm, unyielding, and unmatched. Standing sideways with the Beretta held in relaxed hands and pointed directly at the woman who he was supposed to murder, Alex Hardale strengthened his voice and lowered it, making it deep, firm, and frightening. This worked well to scare people. “You’re not going anywhere near a phone Emily! You’re not going anywhere at all!” She stopped dead in her tracks, stared with unbelieving eyes at the cocked and ready handgun, and screamed bloody murder at the top of her lungs. “Shut up!” Surprisingly, she obeyed. “Please don’t make another sound Emily. Understand?” She nodded, with tear filled eyes first looking at his face and then at the gun held firmly in his unyielding hands. “Don’t look too frightened Mrs. Walton.” He motioned towards the stool with a slight nod of the gun. “Please, take a seat.”

She nodded and slowly moved back around the counter, taking her seat in the stool she had previously occupied. “Thank you.” Alex leaned over and picked his stool up, straightening it back where it was. He took his seat and slowly laid the gun down on the counter, with the barrel still pointed across at the woman. He swallowed calmly and started again, “All right Emily. I’m going to sit here and finish my coffee and I don’t expect you to go anywhere. All right?” She nodded again with blank eyes. “Good. I recommend that you finish your coffee as well. It’s quite good.” He picked up his mug and took another sip, never letting his eyes waver from her tear-streaked face. He sighed and put the mug down between his hands to keep them warm. “I don’t think we got off to a good start Emily. My name truly is Alex Hardale, I’m not lying about that but it’s true that I don’t know your husband. In fact, I’ve never met the man in my life.”

“Then why are you here?” She asked softly, in a strained voice. “Are you going to rob us?” Alex chuckled and shook his head. “Are you going to, you know,” she lowered her eyes in shame and terror and actually looked very embarrassed despite her fear, “do things to me?”

Mr. Hardale laughed and took another drink from the cooling coffee, shaking his head once again. “I guess I can be called an evil man Mrs. Walton but I’m not that evil. No, I don’t do things like that. I respect people—in a sense—but I’ve never done that and never plan to.”

“Then why are you here?” She continued in a soft whimper. “Are you here to hurt my husband?” He met her eyes and for a second he thought she could actually read his mind because her eyes grew in even more terror—if that could be said to be possible. He shook his head, this time much more slowly. Realization finally struck her and it showed on her face. “Are you here to hurt me?”

Alex sighed and lowered his eyes, straightening his coat as he did. He pushed the coffee mug forward and pushed the Beretta aside, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the counter as he did. Resting his chin on his hands, Alex continued, “I’m not going to lie to you Mrs. Walton. I’m an evil man when it comes to my career. I’m a hired killer…a professional killer, if you will. I was paid by a man who wants me to kill you.” She gasped and he could see that she was thinking about screaming again. “A friend of your husband’s—well, not exactly a friend but rather an acquaintance, who’s apparently not on good terms with your husband—wants you dead Mrs. Walton. And I am the man that has been hired to do it. To get rid of you in other words.” Her head fell forward and she began to weep loudly.

She raised her head again, with her face covered in tears and visible dread and pain, and she motioned to the gun with an unsteady hand. “Then what are you waiting for?”

“Because I’ve had a change of heart.”

“More of your bullshit?” She screamed back at him through tears and coughs. “You’re a hired hit-man! A change of heart?” She wiped tears from her eyes but fresh ones took over. “You can’t have a heart with what you do. You’re soulless inside!”

“Hey!” Alex yelled back across the counter at her. “Watch it! Just because I chose this job doesn’t mean that I have no feelings inside. I have a heart…I feel things. I’m not the tin-man inside!” He sighed and lowered his voice again. “Listen to me. It was a long drive up here and I was thinking the entire way; hell, I’ve been thinking ever since I saw your picture. I don’t think it’s right that I have to kill you—an innocent person because someone wants to advance in his or her career and they can’t think of a better way. I find it very unreasonable and I don’t know if I can do it.” He sighed again, in defeat of all things, and ran a gloved hand through his hair. “I was actually thinking about thanking you and leaving before you started screaming at me. I had no choice but to draw the gun on you.”

“Then why are you telling me all this?”

He didn’t exactly know how to answer. Why was he telling her all this? Hell, why was she still alive? “Because I wanted you to know. Someone else might be after you and I thought you had a right to know what someone wanted me to do. But I want you to know Mrs. Walton that I’m not an evil man. I can’t do this. I’m retiring now…I can’t do this job anymore. It’s unreasonable and unfair that you have to die because of someone’s greed. I refuse to do it.”

But she gave no reply. She only stared across the green counter at him with large unbelieving eyes and honestly, that was all he expected from her. He looked around the room and softly continued, “Listen, I don’t expect you to believe me Emily. I don’t expect you to trust my word, I don’t expect you to do anything but sit there and weep. Hell, I know I’d do the same thing if I were in your situation. But I just want you to know that I’m not here to hurt you—not anymore at least.” She nodded, slowly, unsurely. “But I need to know a couple things before I leave, all right?” She nodded, just as slowly as before, with stunned eyes still regarding him from that beautiful face. “Dose your husband own a pharmaceutical company in downtown Bangor?”

“Yes, but why does that have anything to do with this?”

He shook his head. “No, there’s no time to talk. So he does? All right. There’s a man who owns a rival company—a business rival against your husband—and he’s the one who wants you dead. I wasn’t given his name because I spoke with someone else but from what I hear, this man wants to join the two companies and become a business partner of Samuel’s and that’s why he wants you dead. He wants to scare your husband, not harm him.”

She tilted her head slightly and Alex found it quite beautiful when she did. “What?” A puzzled look had just fallen across her beautiful face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about Mr. Hardale. I don’t think there is…”

She was cut short as the front door opened with a muffled creaking. “Emily?” A pause as the door was closed. “Honey, are you home?” Emily’s eyes grew but once she saw Alex’s warning gaze, she fell silent, knowing what he wanted.

Mr. Hardale looked at Mrs. Walton and put a finger over his lips. He lowered his voice. “Your husband?” She simply nodded, silently. “All right. Don’t make a sound or I’ll be forced to use this.” He picked up the Beretta and slowly—quietly—got to his feet, hiding the cocked handgun behind his back as he turned towards the doorway of the kitchen and started forward. He was amazed that the woman didn’t make a single sound as he left the room behind him.

He put on his best smile as he quickened his step, advancing towards the man in the entry hallway, who had his back to him. The man had put his black briefcase down and was slowly taking off his coat, relaxing as he did. After all, it was his house. “Samuel!” It was a loud, warm welcoming voice that burst from Alex’s lips. “Glad to see you home buddy.”

The man wheeled around on suddenly shaking legs with wide eyes and a bewildered expression covering his face. He was a middle-aged gentleman with balding black hair, hard features, and surprisingly gentle eyes that didn’t match the rest of his hard facial features. His eyebrows were raised questioningly as he spotted Alex, who was quickly approaching him, and Alex could see the man tense up in alarm.

He pulled his coat back over his shoulders in stunned confusion and turned around to fully face Alex. His voice was loud, commanding, and clear—like that of a true businessman’s. “Who are you?” He paused and looked over Alex’s shoulder. “And what are you doing in my house? Is my wife here?” Alex nodded, slowing as he approached the man. “What did you do?”

Mr. Hardale looked destroyed. “Nothing at all. She’s in the kitchen having coffee. We were just talking.” He held out a gloved hand to the man standing in the doorway and though Alex was acting as if this was his own house, the man willingly accepted his hand with a brief shake. “Alex Hardale.” He studied the man’s bewildered features as he withdrew his hand. “You don’t remember me Samuel? I’m disappointed buddy.”

Samuel Walton seemed to study his features for a moment before slowly nodding. He lowered his voice and leaned close to Alex. “Mr. Hardale?” Alex nodded. “Alex Hardale?” As if it changed anything but again, Alex simply nodded. Samuel Walton lowered his voice and suddenly eyed Alex suspiciously. “Are you the man who was hired to kill my wife?”

Alex suddenly found himself in utter puzzlement as he was taken aback by the man’s statement. How the hell did he know that? Alex Hardale decided to play along the best he could. He slowly, cautiously nodded showing no emotion in his expressionless face. “Yes, I am. Why?” He paused and raised an eyebrow. “How do you know about it?”

“It was partly my idea,” Samuel answered, just as quietly. Alex showed no expression though this was completely new information to him. “Sure, Emily’s great and beautiful and I was once in love with her but she’s holding me back. I want to expand my company and she doesn’t seem like she wants me to succeed any further. I can’t be held back.” He laughed and started towards the doorway to the kitchen with his voice still low. “And the president of a company doesn’t look too good to employers if he’s divorced. That means he can’t keep his personal life together so they have to ask themselves, ‘Is it wise to go along with him? If he can’t keep his personal life together then can he keep his company together?’ Do you get what I mean my friend?”

Alex nodded, flabbergasted. This man was insane. “Perfectly.”

Samuel Walton slapped Alex on the shoulder and broadened his laughter. “Then I see it’s good that I got home now. I see that my idea went to good use. I see that you are quick and very good at what you do Mr. Hardale.” He was still nearing the doorway but all his attention was on Alex. “I’m glad that you finished your job fairly quickly. That means less trouble for me. Thank you Mr. Hardale.”

They entered the kitchen and though Alex saw Emily with a stunned expression across her face, he was afraid that Mr. Walton didn’t see his wife, alive and well sitting on a stool across from them. Oh shit! Alex yelled to himself as Samuel turned his head, still laughing. His eyes fell upon his wife and his smile immediately faded to a disgusted frown of hatred.

Alex stood behind him and the man turned around with a snarl distorting his face. “She’s not dead?” The man ignored his wife’s sudden gasp—a horrified thing of astounded confusion. His eyes, now blazing with intense fury of realization, never left Alex’s face; the face of a killer now contorted with unfamiliar compassion for a woman who he had just met, had coffee with, and ironically was supposed to have killed. “You didn’t do it yet?” His anger was directed at the man—the supposed professional killer—who stood behind him.

“What?” Emily frantically asked in bewildered horror. She got to her feet and dropped the coffee mug from her clammy, trembling fingers. It shattered against the green marble of the counter, painting the deep forest green with blackish-brown splotches like that of dead trees. Fragments of the mug and coffee shot outward and as the echoing ringing died down, Alex realized that none of them paid any heed to it. Her red-rimmed, tear filled eyes—wide with unbelieving certainty—stared across the counter at her newly arrived husband. “Samuel?” Her eyes flickered between them but she got no answer or sign of emotion from Alex’s grave face. “What’s going on?”

“We’re taking care of unfinished business honey,” Samuel hissed back angrily, still not taking his eyes from Alex’s face as if driving the fact home to this man—a fact that said, “You fucked up Alex? You fucked up bad!” He was reading Alex’s face for answers but none were to be found. “Honey, I just found out that my sources are unreliable and in order to get business down you have to work around those sources.” He gave Alex one final glare before turning around to face his wife with a peaceful smile splitting his face; his back was now turned to Mr. Hardale. “You know the old saying, ‘If you want something done, do it yourself!’”

With an amazingly quick speed, even surprising to Alex, Samuel Walton reached into his opened coat and drew a fully loaded magnum. Anybody who could see his face would have revolted in terror for all sanity had left those still-human eyes and middle-aged features vacant. Though Alex was standing behind him, the man’s hideous, snarling features invisible to him, he could see by Emily’s startled cry that something inhuman had replaced Samuel Walton’s face. But nevertheless, the magnum was not lost to Alex’s sight.

“This is where you stop holding me back!” Mr. Walton screamed across the counter at his wife. That peaceful smile of a second ago had been the man’s last shred of humanity. “This is where it ends Emily! This is where I advance and you fall!”

He dropped the hammer and eased the trigger of the magnum back.

Alex Hardale grabbed the man’s left shoulder in an iron grip of determination and pulled back. Samuel had planted his feet well and only stumbled back a brief bit. Alex took a wide step forward in return until his breath could be felt on Samuel’s neck.

Emily Walton screamed in frozen fear with eyes still glued on the man who had once been her husband; who had once been human.

The first blast of the gun, slightly muffled by entering human flesh, abruptly silenced Emily with her echoing scream being chased by the gun’s own scream. Emily moved aside but never let her eyes leave her husband’s shock covered face.

“Samuel?” Her voice was shaky, uncertain.

The man didn’t answer. The magnum dropped from his weakened grasp and clattered to the floor where it sat quietly, threateningly. A thin stream of steady gray smoke rose from Samuel’s back and drifted over his right shoulder as silence fell over the kitchen. Alex’s left hand was still on Samuel’s left shoulder and gripped in his right hand was his still smoking Beretta, which was pressed against the man’s back. A pool of dark blood was already beginning to form at Samuel’s feet. Mr. Hardale pushed forward, releasing his grip, and Mr. Walton fell forward onto the counter, darkening the green marble with his leaking blood.

Mr. Walton grunted through thick blood and slowly turned to face Alex. Spitting blood from his mouth in heavy globs, he reached towards Mr. Hardale with shaking hands and Alex’s reply was to fire two more deafening shots into the man’s chest, finishing him off once and for all. Samuel uttered a soundless scream and fell motionless against the counter and stools resting below it.

Emily walked around the counter, swinging wide of both Alex and her dead husband, as Mr. Hardale flipped the safety of his Beretta back on and holstered the weapon once again inside his partly closed coat. Mrs. Walton began to weep, as she looked first at her dead husband and then at Alex, with uncertain fear still present in her facial features.

“He…he tried to…” she began through tears and coughs, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands though it did her no good. “He tried to…my husband tried to kill me!” She turned her full attention away from Samuel’s corpse and focused on Alex. “He tried to kill me! Why would he do that?”

“Because he didn’t appreciate what he had and he was an idiot for doing so,” Alex replied gravely, moving away from Samuel Walton as well. He turned to Emily and studied her. “Are you all right?” She nodded, slowly, and gravely, giving her husband one last glance. She would have shed more tears had the man not tried to kill her but she didn’t care about what happened to him now. Her love for him was gone…in a single instance like the wisp of smoke that had risen from the end of the Beretta’s barrel. “We need to get out of here Mrs. Walton.”

She stopped and regarded him with a fear that he didn’t think he deserved. Sure, he was an evil man—he accepted that fact—but now was not a time that he needed to be reminded of it. He had just saved this woman’s life and she looked as if he was going to kill her next (and he didn’t exactly blame her for being scared of him). “We?”

He nodded, extending his hand to her. “Yes, we.” He motioned for her to move over to where he stood, now in the doorway of the kitchen, but she didn’t move. She merely stood her ground, giving him a questioning look of complete distrust and terror. “Let’s go Mrs. Walton. Please.” He softened his voice the best he could. “Let’s go Emily, please. We don’t have much time.”

She shook her head violently, raising her arms as if to protect herself and then uncertainly dropping them again back to her sides. It was the stance of a confused, frightened individual who didn’t believe a single thing he or she was hearing. “No. I’m not going anywhere with you Mr. Hardale. I will not put my life in your hands; after all, you were the one sent to kill me but instead my husband tried to kill me! I don’t think I can believe anything that’s happening right now and to hell if I’m going to believe a perfect stranger sent here to end my life!”

Alex sighed and looked down the empty hallway towards the front door of the house that seemed to be calling to him. “Listen to me Emily. We don’t have much time and we certainly don’t have time to sit here and debate about it.” He closed his coat and retied the scarf around his neck. “You don’t have to come with me, it’s up to you, but I’m just trying to help you. I warned you that someone other than me might have been sent after you and was I wrong?” He pointed to Samuel’s dead body and shook his head. “No, I wasn’t wrong. And I don’t know how many more might be after you Mrs. Walton. I’m just trying to protect you because I couldn’t bring myself to go through with it. But others aren’t like me.” He sighed again and started out the doorway, stopping when he realized that Emily wasn’t exactly following him. “Emily, I’m trying to protect you!”

“Why should I believe you?”

He wasn’t going to lie. “You shouldn’t trust me. But I’m telling you that I don’t want anything to happen to you. If you come with me I can keep you safe. But you have to trust me.” She moved forward a couple feet and this made hope jump up inside of him. “The man who hired me to kill you wasn’t like the rest of my employers. He was different; he was much more dangerous and I think that he could do some harm. I’m just trying to protect you; that’s all I’m asking. If you want to be all right, then come with me, please.”

She didn’t know what to say or what to do. She couldn’t trust this complete stranger and she couldn’t stay at her house where her husband had just died after trying to kill her. “All right, I’ll come with you but I think I’m making a big mistake.”

Mr. Hardale laughed nervously. “Let’s hope you’re not.”

Alex took Emily’s hand and helped her into the hallway where they nearly jogged to the front door and pushed it open. She grabbed her coat and purse at the front table before she left the house—her house and husband—behind. Alex walked out first with Mrs. Walton behind him. She closed the door and followed him down the front path and out into the dark empty road. The snow fell on them with freezing certainty and the wind picked up, catching Emily’s open coat and whipping it up around her allowing the cold ice, snow, and wind to hit her and freeze her bones. She pulled it closer and slowed down.

Alex’s echoing footsteps were the only ones that reached his ears and with bewilderment now displayed on his face, he stopped with hands in coat pockets but only silence answered him. No other footsteps reached his ears and this frightened him a little. Sure, he had just met the woman but he was worried about her and what might happen to her.

He turned, crunching snow and ice beneath his feet, and saw her standing in the road about ten feet behind him with head down, hair swaying in the growing blizzard wind, and arms crossed uneasily beneath her breasts. She looked at him with downcast eyes of mixed emotions.

“Where are you taking me?” She asked in a soft, unpleasant voice. She looked down the road as if looking for someone to run to for help but they were all alone on the dark road with the cold surrounding them like an evil flood.

He looked around and finally turned his cold dark eyes on her. “We’re going to Portage, Maine.” He fell silent for a minute to let it sink into her mind. “I have to meet someone there and settle some disputed business that I think took a wrong turn. After that I was thinking about going to Montreal. I think it would be better to get you out of the country for a while and Canada’s right on our way.”

She tilted her head questioningly and opened her mouth to answer but he didn’t let her.

“Emily,” Alex continued strongly, not allowing her to speak, “I can explain everything once we get on the road. It’s not safe to be around here anymore. We have to get going now and I can make good time tonight still, trust me. We’ll be in Canada before too long. But right now we have to go; end of story.”

He slowly extended a gloved hand to her and waited patiently. He was certain that she’d change her mind and run back into the house and what would he do? Hell, he’d just get into his Mercedes and head up to Portage alone, no problem. But instead, to his surprise and hers as well it seemed by the expression on her face, she moved forward and took his hand. He turned and led her to the Mercedes, opening the passenger door for her.

She got in, he closed the door, and went to his own, opening it as well. Soon they were both in the Mercedes-Benz and the beast-like engine was roaring in protest of having extra weight to carry. He threw the car into Drive and started down the road with the high beams blaring across the road and into the yards of the neighbors of Emily Walton and Samuel Walton, whose lives had just changed in a single night forever.

Emily stirred again in the seat next to him as Alex’s mind came back to reality and forgot about what had happened the night before. He looked over at her in all her beauty, a beauty that he thought was breathtaking, and then turned his attention back to the dead, dark world outside where the ice and snow still fell from the sky like that angry flood that had washed over them the night before in the dark street in front of the Walton’s house.

Mrs. Walton stirred again in her seat and Alex turned to look at her in the early, still dark morning, and saw her eyes slowly open. She stretched and wiped her eyes tiredly, moving slowly. She must have still been tired from the previous night’s excitement of death and mayhem.

“Good morning sunshine,” Alex said, smiling over at the woman in the passenger seat of the Mercedes-Benz. He brought his eyes back to the road as she suddenly sat up with a gasp of uncertain realization and began to look around with wide eyes.

She was silent for a moment. Her head swung back and forth between the windshield and the side windows before she finally began to relax again. The blizzard raging outside wasn’t anything new to the eye and it had been the only thing in the world—in their part of the world—for the last week or so.

Emily turned her head to look at Alex and returned his smile with a small one of her own. She stretched again and leaned against the door and cold window on her side of the Mercedes. The heat was blaring inside enclosing them in a bubble that kept them comfortable compared to the world outside of the vehicle.

“Good morning,” Emily’s soft, whispered voice faintly reached Alex’s ears. She sighed and turned to look out at the dim blackness—almost light—that was beyond her passenger side window. “Were you driving all night?”

“Yep, sure was.”

She smiled at the window and watched as blurry, distorted shapes of trees and rocks, cliffs in most places, flew past the car with ice and snow coating it. “Where are we?”

Alex coughed into a gloved hand, took a look out through his rearview mirror, noting that the nearest headlights were a mile or two back on the mountain road, and answered, “We’re not too far from Portage. But we are quite a ways from Bangor, which is a good thing.” He seemed to think it over a second before adding, “We’re about thirty miles past Ashland. We went through their not too long ago. Portage isn’t far at all now.”

“Good.” She pushed herself away from the window, with head high, and turned to face him with curiosity filling her large dark eyes. “Why are we going to Portage again Alex? I thought you wanted to get out of the country? I don’t like this…I don’t like any of this! You can’t just expect me to buy all of this and be all right with it!”

“You’re right,” Mr. Hardale replied calmly. “I don’t expect you to buy any of this. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if you still don’t trust me. I wouldn’t be surprised if you want to kill me for what I did to your husband but none of that is my problem really. You just have to take my word for it Emily. I want to protect you. I’m done with my work, I retired, I’m through, and I don’t want to see anything happen to you.” He paused and swallowed heavily. “I’m supposed to meet a man in Portage and I’m going to finish some business and then we’ll leave. He has something for me and I want it; he can’t keep it from me any longer.” Alex had to keep himself from turning around and looking at the silver briefcase on his backseat.

Emily raised an eyebrow of curiosity battling fear. “Are you going to Portage to meet the man that hired you to kill me?” Fear was hiding in her voice and Alex’s was ignorant of it. He had been doing this for too many years to count and he knew what voices sounded like. He could tell the difference between anger and fear or between humor and passion. He knew all the tricks and all the sounds that could be made within a human’s throat. He simply nodded. “What’s he like?”

Not wanting to answer the question, Mr. Hardale decided that it would be better is she answered it herself. He looked over at her, met her curiosity with his own silenced determination, and asked with a frown set upon his face, “Are you sure you want to learn about this man?”

She hesitated, clearly considering what would be better for her, and slowly answered him with a slow nod of her head.

“He’s dangerous; pure evil.”

And calling a man who hadn’t killed anyone in his entire life, no one to Alex’s knowledge anyway, was quite foolish considering that Alex couldn’t remember the faces or names of his victims; innocent people who he murdered with no remorse for money and the dozens of nameless faces kept piling up inside of his head. He was sure that he’d forget all about Samuel Walton by the end of the month. So was it the truth to call Jackson Agner an evil man or did it seem more reasonable—more logically if you will—to consider Alex Hardale, renowned hitman and essential murderer, eviler? Alex didn’t want to be compared to the devil but it arose in his mind quite frequently that he was indeed a devil of a different kind.

“I just met the man a day before I showed up at your house—I was talking to him only two days ago though it seems like a lifetime now,” Mr. Hardale continued in a grave tone. “He said a friend of his truly employed me to kill you but it appears that his friend was indeed your husband though at the time he denied having ever spoken with your husband—he said his friend didn’t want Samuel dead and now I see why. I agreed, having not had a job in a while, and so I left to complete my job.” He glanced at her nervously and saw the fear once again in her face. “Emily, I assure you that you need not fear me. I have retired; I couldn’t bring myself to kill you. You had no part in this game of there’s and sadly I played along until last night—I was naive to their trick.”

“And you’re going to talk to him?”

Alex nodded, slowly, reluctantly. “In a way. I actually have other matters that need to be resolved with him but they are but minor parts in the whole picture.” He turned his holstered pistol through the fabric of his coat and found himself soothed by the feel of the handgun; it was a comfort that he didn’t think he could live without. Perhaps it was the only comfortable left to him in this pathetic world. “In fact, I don’t think I’m truly retired yet. I have but one more job to finish.” He sensed Emily tense and chuckled nervously. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to harm you. But I do need to put an end to that man’s life.”

“You’re going to kill him, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am,” Alex replied, matter-of-factly. “Emily, you don’t understand. Jackson Agner is perhaps the most dangerous man to either of us right now. If he finds out you’re still alive then either he’ll hire someone else to kill you or he’ll simply kill you himself. And knowing that I failed, gave in if you like, then he’ll kill me as well without a second thought. He warned me once not to fail—not to fuck this job up—and I did. He wants my head and surely yours as well. The only way to keep us both safe is to kill him and get out of the country for a while. It’s the only way.”

Mrs. Walton still looked horrified. “This man, Jackson, he’d do that?”

Alex nodded, turning his attention back to the dim road ahead of them. They were traveling on a mountain road and it was narrow with a view of the mountain to their right. A large cliff rose against the driver side and the cliff doing downward on the passenger side looked—even in the dim early morning light—as if it fell hundreds of feet to the level ground below. Alex had to be careful.

“To ensure his own safety he would. But no matter what, I have to find him in Portage and end this. He has something of mine and I want it before I live his corpse for the rats.” It sounded greedy, truly it did, but Alex didn’t rightly care. He had problems of his own and fifty thousand dollars for doing nothing but killing his own employer was well worth it. Besides, he would be doing the world a favor by getting rid of Jackson Agner. He hadn’t felt right about the man since he had met him.

“What does he have for you that’s so important that you’ll risk your life for it?”

There was no way to sugar coat this or make he look like a better person in this picture. But he had no choice. He didn’t have to turn his head to see the glare of uncertain fury that she was directing his way. He could feel the stare burning into him with a heat of sound anger. “Look in the backseat.” She obeyed, turning in the leather passenger seat of the Mercedes with a squeak to look at the backseat. “Do you see the silver briefcase?” She nodded, turning back around and regarding him with a questioning look. “There’s twenty five thousand dollars cash in that briefcase. And Jackson has twenty five more waiting for me in Portage and I intend to get all of it.”

“You were paid fifty thousand dollars to kill me?” She was outraged and Mr. Hardale heard it. He nodded. “So, it’s just like that?”

“Yes, it’s just like that Emily and there’s no changing that,” Alex answered. “And I intend to get the rest of my money when I kill Mr. Agner. He’s not going to keep it in his cold dead hands. I have much more use for it then he does!”

“Unbelievable,” she whispered hoarsely.

“Hey, don’t judge me,” Alex said, looking at her with a ruffled brow. “I could have killed you like I was supposed to or I could have left you there as prey to another assassin such as your husband! In a weird sort of way Emily, I saved your life! And I’m going to protect you too, like I said but I’m not going to let Jackson Agner come near either of us and I’m not going to let him walk away with twenty five thousand. I just can’t let it happen.”

“And what then?” Mrs. Walton asked. “What happens after all this? After we leave Portage?”

“Then we’re going to Canada,” Mr. Hardale started with a smile on his face. “We’re going to Montreal—or anywhere else if you wish—to keep ourselves safe from Jackson’s contacts and the contacts that are after me. We’re going to be safe in Canada with no worries in the world. We can go our separate ways there.” He sighed and looked out his side window at the cliff wall rising next to him. He lowered his voice and added, “But first I’m going to take my final job and get my money. I’m going to get what’s rightfully mine. The money will be for your death Jackson, not hers.”