A Bounty To Be Paid. (Closed)

Melissa watched as the man told her that she would be murdered if she left him. She knew that he was right. Whatever had happened back at that motel was way beyond her comprehension. If he left her there in the middle of nowhere, she was as good as dead as well. So, as he turned around and got back into the truck, she dutifully repacked her bag and stowed it a little safer. Then she slipped back into the pass where seat and turned her head to look at him.

"Let's get one thing straight. I'm not going to put up with you ordering me around. I put up with it for too many years as it is being married to Frank. I don't know you and you don't know me. However, I will tell you now what I told the cops. I did NOT murder my husband." Melissa said, a little bit of her temper rising as she thought about the situation that she found herself in now.

"Let's get one thing straight..."

As he listened to Melissa's declaration about what she was no longer to tolerate -- from life but mostly from him -- Max began to realize just how fucked up his situation was becoming and, likely, would continue to be for the near future. This was supposed to have been an easy job, a Midnight Run. Fat chance.

"Get some sleep," he told her after reaching behind her seat to retrieve a blanket that had been used on many a stakeout. He tossed it into her lap. "It'll be a couple of hours before we get there."

A he aimed the rig toward the freeway, Max added with a softer tone than she'd heard from him since they met, "I can't guarantee anything ... but ... I'll try not to be the total asshole you think I am."



Two hours later:

Max gently slowed the pickup into a 24 hour fuel station, parking such that the overhead lighting didn't shine down into the face of the sleeping Melissa Morrison. He'd shed his utility belt -- including his cuffs, baton, Taser, mace, and more -- and donned an oversized coat to hide his handgun in the small of his back. The attendant sitting behind what was surely bullet resistant glass eyed Max suspiciously, particularly after he began to use his credit card but then switched to cash.

"What the fuck have you done, Robert?" Max said into his cell after the still-awake bail bondsman answered the bounty hunters call. Robert initially declared his innocence, but Max knew better. He growled, "I have Morrison, as you know. I'm gonna drive to the beach, where I'm gonna put a bullet through her skull, robbing you of the bond you put up. Then, I'm gonna come back to LA, where I'm going to rape you wife and then kill her."

"Max, c'm'on--" Robert started, his building concern evident in just those two words.

Max continued, "Then, I'm going to rape your daughter, then kill her. What is she, 'bout 14 now--?"

"Max!"

"Got her tits, though," Max went on, ignoring the man. "Noticed that last barbeque when she was wearing that cute little pink bikini."

"I had no choice--"

"I've never been into guys, Bobby Boy," Max went on without sign of stopping, "but that boy of yours ... Rick, right? I bet fucking his ass'll be--"

"Cartel!" Robert yelled, wanting what he knew was a promise, not a threat, to come to an end. "I called the cartel. Okay? I had no choice."

"Why does the cartel want--?"

"I have no fucking idea!" Robert said.

"Bullshit!" Max spat back. They argued and discussed back and forth for a couple of minutes, and by that time Max's tank had long been filled. He replaced the hose, ending the conversation with, "I'm taking Morrison to that safe house outside Oakland, you know the address ... the one on Carter Drive. I want a State Patrol cruiser sitting in the driveway when I get there. Make the call. You do this ... you make this right ... and your wife'n'kids are safe. You don't ... and I'll cut make you watch ... after I've cut your balls off and fed them to you."

Max ended the call and turned to find Melissa staring at him, obviously awoken by his fury. He thought about their situation for a moment, during which a motor home pulling behind it a trailer passed by, heading for the diesel pumps. Max pulled the door open, snatched Melissa's phone, and moved over closer to the coach as it passed. He tossed both her phone and his into the trailer, then got behind the wheel.

"He'll call the cartel ... give them the address outside Oakland," Max said, firing up the engine and shooting away. "We won't be there, obviously." He glanced toward the coach, then back to Melissa. "They'll track our phones instead. Should buy us a couple of days to figure this out."

Traffic was getting a bit heavier as the long distance commuters began filling the highway. Fortunately, it was all heading south as Max headed them north. "I have a place where we can hide until I figure something out. 'Bout an hour."



They'd been on a narrow paved road for a few more minutes, then a gravel road for half an hour. Finally, after two miles of horribly bumpy, mud puddle filled dirt road, Max swung the pickup to light up their destination with the headlights. He turned them out and studied what was little more than a shack built out of a half dozen sheets of plywood, and a single window that was missing two of its four panes of glass.

"Home sweet home," he said softly.

He hopped out, grabbed Melissa's bags before she could get to it herself, and headed inside. It was just as unimpressive inside as out: a small wood stove in one corner; crates stacked on their sides to create shelves, most of which were practically empty; a queen sized mattress -- wrapped in plastic to protect it from the elements -- laying on the floor; a tiny card table with two old wooden chairs; and little more. He told Melissa to make herself comfortable, then after he'd started a fire in the metal stove and poured the water from a gallon he'd bought on the road in a pan to warm up, Max turned to study Melissa for a moment.

"You know I still have to turn you in, right?" he asked suddenly. "But ... I'll make you a promise. I won't do it until I know you're safe ... okay?"

Melissa stared at him for a long moment as he just kind of shrugged off what she had said. Just when she started to grow a spine, he diffused the situation with simple words. He told her to sleep, tossed a blanket on her lap that had suddenly materialized from the back seat, and told her that he would try not to be an asshole.

"How reassuring." She commented, mumbling the words as she spread the blanket on her lap and pulled it up to her chin, settling back in the seat as he pulled towards the freeway.

She had no idea when she fell asleep or how long she had been asleep, but the sound of an angry voice woke her. She glanced out the window of the truck, seeing that they had pulled into a fuel station. The man was standing outside her side of the truck, practically yelling at someone at the other end of his cell phone. There was no doubt in her mind that he might do some real damage to someone and she hoped that the damage wasn't to her.

When the call ended, he still seemed tense. Whatever situation she had found herself in, she knew it was bad. Melissa simply didn't know how bad this entire mess was. If she hadn't walked into Frank's office that evening, maybe she could have kept herself out of jail. If she had simply been wiser, she would never have taken Frank Morrison up on his offer for a new and exciting life.

The driver's door opened suddenly and he was there, reaching in to grab her phone from the center console where it had sat all this time. He chunked them in a passing travel trailer and she worried for a moment before he came back and explained why he had done what he had done.

"What cartel? The drug cartel?" Melissa asked, slightly taken back by the idea that her husband might have been involved in the drug trade. "Seriously? I mean...yeah, he smoked some weed from time to time. I did too, but he never did anything large scale."

He didn't say anything to that as he got them back on the road, pointing the truck towards this supposed safe house. Was it really all that safe? She honestly had no idea if she would ever be safe again.

When they pulled up in front of a shack about an hour later, Melissa found herself staring at it in disbelief. There was roughing it and then there was this place. It didn't even look safe to enter. She watched as he got out of the vehicle and grabbed her bag, walking into the shack without hesitation. There was little else to do but to follow. She stood in the doorway a little too long, looking around at the sparse furnishings as he finally spoke again, telling her that he would turn her over only when he was sure that she was safe.

"I could pay you to take me to Canada." She murmured, wrapping her arms around her own waist and hold herself tightly. "We would both get something out of the situation then. I don't have any intention of going back to jail."

"I could pay you to take me to Canada."

"You have no money," Max said without hesitation. "They seized your bank accounts, shut down your credit cards ... they're probably drilling open your and your husband's safe deposit boxes as we speak. Fuck, they'll be auctioning off you home and art work and all that shit normal people like me can't afford to look at, let alone buy ... and everything else, hell they'll have a yard sale out on your manicured lawn, selling it for pennies on the dollar just to teach you a lesson."

Over the yeas, many a bail jumper had offered Max money to let them go, to forget that he'd ever seen them, let alone caught them. And often, the money offered had been far more than that he was getting paid to catch them.

And yet he'd never taken a one of them up on their offer. Why? Because they were criminals. Not because of the crime for which they were awaiting trial, but for simply skipping out on their trial date. That, in Max's eyes, was as much a crime as whatever had gotten them in trouble in the first place.

Max had grown up in the strict, conservative, religious household of his extended family. And while most of what his parents and grandparents had stressed upon him had been shrugged away during the rebellion of his late teens, one lesson had stuck with him all these days: If you can't do the time, don't do the crime.

It was the reason he'd become a bounty hunter, actually. After a stint in the Army, Max had being refused the opportunity to carry a badge. Psychologically unfit, the report had stated. It had hurt, particularly since the Army hadn't had a problem with having him go after bad guys, even killing them without charge, trial, or conviction. Max had gotten past it and become what he was instead. It had been the next best opportunity to punish those who refused to face their punishment.

"We would both get something out of the situation then," Melissa went on. "I don't have any intention of going back to jail."

Max had been wandering around the interior of the tiny shack, checking it out as he once again donned his utility belt of weapons and other work tools. Stopping to study Melissa for a moment, as well as rethink what had gotten them here. There had been something hinky about the death of Frank Morrison in the first place. And then there was the shoot out at the motel. And the FBI badge. And the voice on the radio, dictating that Max was to be killed and Melissa taken to some secret rendezvous, not a police station or Federal office.

"I'm not taking you to Canada," he said as he took the two steps separating him from Melissa and snagged her by the elbow. He pulled her inside before closing the door behind her, continuing, "but ... I promise you, Melissa ... I won't take you in until I know that you're safe. I mean that. There's more to this than just a murder and a bail jumper, and ... I am going to find out what the fuck it's all about."

He clicked the door lock closed, then headed for the simple mattress laying on the floor. With a couple of quick jerks, he cleared the plastic wrap that had been keeping it clean and dry. The bed was fully made, with the blankets and sheets fitted tight, military style.

"Get some more rest," Max told her, gesturing her to the mattress. He checked his watch -- 4am -- and told her, "It's still early, and there's nothing we can do for now."

The emotions and thoughts going through Melissa were obvious in her expression and body language. Max rolled his eyes, then stepped just a tiny bit closer to her as he told her with a sincere tone, "I'll make you a promise, Melissa. Like you said, so that we would both get something out of the situation. I promise that I will not turn you in until I know what's going on ... and that I know you will be safe. I don't know if you're guilty or not, and -- to be honest -- I'm don't care. However...! You're in my care right now, and I've never let someone in my care get harmed. You can believe that."

Max could -- and maybe one day he would -- tell her stories of some of the situations he'd gotten himself into in Syria during the Second Surge, as they'd called the expanded fight against ISIS. But right now wasn't the time.

"What I ask of you is this, Melissa," he went on, taking just another tiny step closer to her. "Promise me ... for just 24 hours, promise me that you won't fight me ... you won't run ... you'll do what I say, when I say it. If you can do that, I will keep you safe from who-ever the fuck is trying to hurt you."

He wasn't sure whether his terms were enough for her, so Max added, "And ... I'll look into this murder ... of your husband, too. I know some guys who know some guys. Maybe I can get some answers. Okay?"

"I have cash. About $2000." Melissa insisted, looking at him as he insisted that she didn't have any cash and they would soon be auctioning off the things from inside of her house. "Let them have it. I took everything that meant anything to me."

Glancing towards her suitcase, she knew that he probably wouldn't understand. She wasn't some rich bitch that was only interested in wealth and appearances. She could rough it. She could eat ramen and be perfectly happy. She had done it so many times in the past that things like that wouldn't phase her in the least.

He stopped in his tracks, glancing towards her for a moment before he came her way and took her by the elbow, guiding her back into the shack and locking up the door behind her. He swore he wouldn't take her to Canada and he wouldn't turn her in until he felt it was safe. That still wasn't good enough. Those prosecutors were intent on sending her to jail for a very long time, if not sending her to death row. Her lawyer, for as good as he had been to Frank, was nearly useless in her opinion. She was very, very scared. A man like this wouldn't appreciate that in the least.

The plastic was ripped off the bed in an instant, revealing a clean bed that was already made with bedding. He insisted that she needed to get some rest. Of course it was early and of course she was tired. They had been going since he had rudely snatched her from her bed at the motel. She didn't move from her spot as he kept talking, demanding that she promise him that she wouldn't go anywhere for 24 hours. Then he would look into the case against her.

"How generous." She said, the sarcasm heavy on her tongue as she stared at him in the low light. "I don't need your pity. I won't go anywhere because I don't have a choice. Where the hell am I going to go out here?"

She was still hugging herself tightly, staring at him for the longest of moments before she finally moved to take a seat on the edge of the mattress. "I've told them all I know. I swear that I did. Those police wouldn't take no for an answer. Then they swore that they had more information on me than I was saying, but they would never tell me what. I saw him...dead...shot between the eyes. The phone was off the hook and he had a glass of liquor in his hand. No one else was home, not even the cook. They all swore that Frank had been alive when they left for the evening. I don't know when they left. I don't even know if the house was empty when I was there. It was so big that someone else could have been there and I would never have known."

She had no idea why she was telling him all of that. It was all in the court records and if he was going to dig, he would read them all. He would make his own determinations and he might hate her more after everything was said and done.

"My husband was a louse. He cheated on me almost as soon as he got bored with marriage. I let it happen, which is my fault, but I was never angry enough to hurt him." Melissa swore, looking up at the man with a long sigh. "I was trying to leave him. You can only hear that you're a whore so many times before you start to believe that perhaps something is wrong with you."

Sob story, Max thought to himself. I've heard them before, lady.

As she went on, he stuffed paper, kindling, and small chunks of fir and oak into the tiny wood stove, striking a match to start the fire. The combination of wood types and sizes would have it roaring in a moment, taking the edge off the chill of early morning. It was late in April, yet the nights of Southern and Central California had been unusually cold. Max liked California for its warm weather, night and day, so having the night time temps drop to just ten degrees above freezing was a bitch.

By the time she'd finished, Max had a pot of coffee from a tin on the stove's top, waiting for the heat that would soon cause it to perk. He dug through the minimal contents of the make shift shelves for food, finding a couple of tins and offering to share them. There was a box of crackers and another of individual oatmeal packets, but the person who had left them behind hadn't put them back in the plastic containers here for just that reason and some critter had eaten through the cardboard and eaten a good portion of the contents.

Max could have engaged Melissa in what would likely become a lengthy conversation about her guilt or lack thereof, but honestly, he really wasn't in the mood. Someone had tried to kill him tonight. He wasn't really that interested in whether or not Frank Morrison had been fucking other women and ignoring his incredible wife. And he wasn't really that interested in whether or not Melissa had been a gold digger or trophy wife or, as revenge, adulterer as well.

All Max was interested in at this moment was having Melissa lay down and shut her mouth so that he could think! As he eyed her sitting there on the mattress, Max realized that he was interested in one other thing, too: rolling a naked Melissa to her hands and knees and pounding that beautiful ass of hers until they both grunted out in orgasm. But, as that wasn't likely to happen, he was content just to get a moment of peace for now.

He was quiet after she spilled her guts, almost unusually so. He reminded her of the prison guards, men and women who were simply there doing a job. No sympathy. No pity. Just business, whether it was right or wrong.

She watched as he moved around the shack, lighting a fire and rummaging for food. She shook her head no at the offer of a meal, her stomach too tied up in knots to even think about eating anything. She hadn't eaten well since she had run away. It had been only things to keep from becoming sick, and even that wasn't very much.

"What's your name?" She asked, glancing up at him. "You know everything about me. I just figured I might as well at least know your name."

He hesitated before answering, out of habit, not out of a desire to hide his identity from her. He answered simply, knowing she would probably want more, "Max. Just Max."

He pulled an old rickety chair over to directly before the door and dropped into it, staring at her. He knew he wasn't going to get off that easily. "My name is Martin, but Max'll do. I've been doing this--" He held his arms out wide, letting her see the vest and belt he'd donned again after they'd arrived here. "--for, I don't know, a while. I was in the Army before that. I'm not married, never was, won't ever be."

He let his gaze fall to Melissa's body, not that he could see much of it the way she was hiding herself, knees raised to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs. He looked back to her face again, saying, "I like women. I like the way they look, I like the way they feel ... I like the way they fuck. But if you have any idea about using your body--" Again he gave her figure a glance. "--to get your way with me, the way you had hoped to get your way with your husband, you'll be wasting your time."

That wasn't entirely true, of course. Max had often given women things he shouldn't have or done things for them he shouldn't have after they'd parted their thighs to him. But Max needed Melissa to think she was going to have to play the game a different way, a way he hoped would reveal to him more about how they'd ended up here like this. Max was still certain she knew more about her husband and his death, though he'd pretty much decided she hadn't been holding the gun that had blown his brains out. If only he'd believed she was as innocent as she claimed, they could have gotten past all this dancing and, oh, maybe got to fucking on that mattress on the floor.

"Go to sleep," he practically demanded, slumping back in the chair a bit as he pulled his side arm from its holster. He checked to ensure there was a round in the chamber, then -- crossing his arms -- concealed it against his chest to make it available to him but less so to Melissa should she get a wild hair up her butt and make a try for it. He closed his eyes and murmured, "No more questions. We'll find some answers later. But ... not now."

"Fuck you, Max." Melissa spat as he mentioned that she had used her body to land herself a rich husband.

Her face clouded over like a sudden storm, her temper coming to the surface as he leveled that accusation at her. She had never used her body for anything but a way to make money. Stripping had paid the bills and kept her afloat during school but she had never thought in a million years that she wound ever get a husband doing it.

"No wonder you're still single. You're not necessarily a sweet talker." She said, turning and flopping on the mattress in a huff.

Max opened his eyes at the sound of Melissa rolling away from him, glaring at her. He wanted to hop up out of the chair, cross the room -- the all of 2 steps between them -- rip her clothes off to show her his version of sweet talking.

Melissa wasn't wrong about Max's being single. Not entirely. But his long time singleness went deeper than a lack of polite conversation. The majority of cases on which Max had involved some element of domestic violence or abuse involved: a husband who beat his wife, a wife who got high and left her kids in a hot car, an older family member molesting a younger relative, or something as simple and common as one spouse getting the other involved in his or her capers.

Who needed that fucking shit in their lives? Max didn't! He was happier without it. Or ... he thought he was, until now. But sitting here now, with Melissa's comment rolling over and over within the thick walls of his skull, Max was again contemplating his lonely life.

He'd only truly been in love twice in his life, and both relationships had come apart because he'd brought his work home, in a way: his fear of his own relationships succumbing to such madness had manifested as that very madness, and before he'd known what was happening, he was alone again.

A sound caught Max's attention, and he remembered the water on the the tiny stove. He found a glass jar of instant coffee, solidified by age and humidity into a hard chunk. He broke off a chunk and stirred it into a barely tolerable cup of Jo.

He found himself studying Melissa again. When she'd laid down, her head might have been filled with as many thoughts as Max's had, but her exhaustion had overwhelmed her. Either that or she was ignoring him and he carefully pulled the edge of the bedding out from one side of the mattress and folded it over her.

He was close enough to her to smell the chlorine from the pool into which he'd pushed her. He hesitated there on his knees by Melissa, studying her face. It was unbelievable that after the night she'd suffered, the woman could still look as beautiful as Melissa did. He stood and crossed to the stove again, adding a block of oak that would burn for hours, and turning to look at Melissa again, Max thought to himself, I'll never have a woman like that.

He finished his coffee, made a second, and slipped outside to sit in an ancient looking rocking chair as he watched night give way to daylight, bringing life to the forest surrounding him. He wanted to make some more calls and reached to his belt for his phone out of habit, finding the holder empty. So much for getting the answers he'd promised Melissa.

Melissa was still fuming as she lay there on the mattress for a long moment. It seemed that the men that she had the ability to run into in her life were all assholes. Frank had been one. The bounty hunter was one. Her father had been one. Maybe she was simply destined to live a lonely life. That thought made her incredibly sad and she soon had to close her eyes in order to not burst into tears.

She had no idea when she had fallen asleep, but the sound of the door to the cabin opening woke her. She lifted her head off the pillow, noticing that Max must have covered her with the blanket at some point. She watched his retreating form for a moment before she closed her eyes again. She needed sleep and it had been a while since she had gotten a good night's sleep.

When she woke, it was full light outside. Glancing at her watch, she saw that it was just before 8 in the morning. Stretching under the blanket, Melissa wondered just where Max had gotten off to that morning. He wasn't anywhere to be seen in the shack. Slipping out from under the blanket, she spotting him asleep on the front porch, his head tilted backwards. It gave her bad memories of when she had found Frank dead in his office and she quickly turned from the window.

After she had splashed water on her face and pulled her baseball cap back on, she stepped out the front door into the cool morning air. The sounds of wilderness were all around them and she wondered just how deep in the woods they really were. His comments from the night before had suggested that he wasn't the only one who used this place, but it didn't seem to be the kind of place that got used very often.

"I'm hungry." She finally said, glancing at Max as his eyes opened at the sudden sound of her voice. "Think we can go to a town and get some groceries? I've got some cash."

Max had been in and out of sleep when he heard the rickety door open. He looked left to see a newly revitalized Melissa and -- giving her a quick up and down glance -- reflected on the knowledge that he'd seen Melissa in dry clothes, wet clothes, no clothes, and dry clothes once again, but this was the first time he was seeing her in the light of day. The light filtering down through the high canopy seemed to make her glow, and Max couldn't help but give a happy smile at waking up to her.

"I'm hungry," she said after a moment. "Think we can go to a town and get some groceries? I've got some cash."

Max's smile widened farther as he thought Yeah, I bet you do. He'd had several hours by now to consider Melissa's declaration of innocence concerning her husband's death. And while he was leaning greatly to believing her, Max didn't for a moment believe that she'd walked away from that life with nothing more than a cell phone, a suitcase, and ... what did she way it was, $2,000?

But recalling her earlier criticism that he lacked sweet talk, Max kept his mouth shut. Instead he just rose and headed for the truck, saying, "There's a little market down the road."



The sign over the building they pulled up to ten minutes later simply said "Store". Once upon a time the word "General" had been on a second sign above it, but it had come down in a winter storm and the owner -- Bill Smith -- hadn't had the money or interest in replacing it. It was your typical country market, with a limited number of items and virtually no options of competing brand names, with the exceptions of the junk food, soft drinks, cigarettes, and beer.

Max filled a carry basket with canned and packaged food, some household items badly needed in the shack, and -- of course -- some coffee that he wouldn't have to chip off a block with a butter knife. He snatched up a half case of an Oregon microbrew IPA, then had Bill pull down a fifth of rum from the wall behind the counter.

As Melissa went about her own shopping, Max waited until she had her back to him before tapping the counter to get Bill's attention as he snatched a box of condoms from a rack and pocketed them. Bill's lips widened as he winked, then glanced at the woman who'd entered with the infrequent patron, turning back to Max to ask, "Sure you won't need two boxes?"

They laughed together, and about the time Bill had finished totally Max's purchases, Melissa arrived with her own. Max smirked as he grabbed his paper sack of unpaid for items and nodded toward his partner, "She said she'd pay, so..."

When Melissa gave him a glance, Max only smiled and headed out. He found an old picnic table under a big oak and sat down to wait for her, popping the cap off a bottle of beer despite it not even being 9am.

(OOC: I am sending you a question in PM that Max will ask.)

Melissa looked up and down the aisles of the small store. It seemed that Max knew exactly what he wanted and where to get it. That told her that he had come there fairly often, perhaps more than he had let on in the first place. She ignored it for the moment as she made a few selections of her own. A box of cinnamon cereal. A few boxes of instant mac and cheese. Things that she hadn't eaten in years, but had always enjoyed in the past when times were tough. She had been a damn good cook in those days, a gourmet with junk food. Time with Frank had ruined all of that.

She still remember the first day that she had tried to cook for him. He had criticized everything from the pasta sauce to the cheese bread that had gone with the spaghetti. He whined like a child, telling her that he had a chef that could cook for them. Why did she have to cook? She had been more wounded than she let on, quietly agreeing that she wouldn't cook any longer.

As she grabbed a bottle of apple juice, she made her way back up to the counter, pausing as Max told the man behind the counter that she would pay. She watched as he exited the shop, leaving her to foot the bill. Pulling out a couple of twenties, she passed them to the man behind the counter, grabbing a Coke bottle of the counter to add to the order. She wanted caffeine and sugar, maybe even something greasy to go along with it.

"Anywhere around here serve burgers this early?" She asked, her eyes drawn to the television screen behind the counter as a news story played.

"Max'll take you to the diner down the road. She cooks well enough." The man said with a shrug of his shoulders, counting out her change as Melissa saw that the story was about the shootout that had happened the night earlier.

She tried her hardest not to react as she listened to the report, taking the change from him with a nod. "Thanks." She commented as she gathered her bag and turned to leave, her heart hammering in her chest as she stepped outside and saw Max already throwing back a beer.

Placing the sack down on the table top, she paused and considered whether she should tell him what she had saw. Surely he knew what had happened just as much as she did. A man had died, shot by an unknown assailant. They had found her car and the police had already processed the vehicle, declaring that she had been there and already fled. Now she was being accused of two crimes. The thought made her stomach roll violently and she suddenly wasn't so interested in the greasy burger that had been promised.

"Tell me about your husband ... Frank. You said ... well, you know what you said." Max asked suddenly, snapping her back into the present.

"What about him?" Melissa asked as she sat on the other side of the table, her sack forgotten beside her. "I already told you everything. You didn't want to believe me. I don't really care to hash it all out again."

Max studied Melissa for a moment, sucking at his beer and opening a bag of Ritz crackers. He popped a couple of them into his mouth, crunching down upon them as he tilted the tube toward Melissa in offer. He contemplated pressing the issue of her private life some more but didn't. He instead started rambling on about the little community that surrounded them, verifying Melissa's presumption that he came here a great deal more than he'd let on before.

He went silent when a sports car skidded up to the front of the store with a pair of young babes in it. He smiled politely to them after they got out, showing off their scantily clad bodies. They whispered to one another as they headed for the store's entrance, and after Max winked to them, they laughed at him. Max hadn't expected much different from them, of course, causing him to laugh, too.

He waited until they were almost inside the store before standing and telling Melissa, "Give me a minute."

Max had a pretty good idea what was going through Melissa's mind as he headed for the store. He wondered how those thoughts changed as -- instead of following the babes inside -- he leaned into their convertible, snatched something, then returned to the table. When the girls emerged, Max called to the girls, flirting with them as they, in turn, only laughed at him.

They backed out, tires spinning to create a cloud of dust that barely missed rolling over the sitting area. Max waited until Melissa looked back to him to show her the smart phone he'd taken from the car. He shrugged, saying, "I was nice, and they acted like bitches, so ... fuck'em."

He explained that -- despite its rustic appearance -- the store had wifi and that Bill hadn't changed the password in a dozen years. They were fortunate that the phone wasn't locked, and soon a black and white image of the interior of a house was filling the screen. He tapped some icons, swiped a couple of times, tapped again, then shook his head in obvious dismay.

"That's the safe house Robert told the cartel about," he said, spinning the phone to Melissa. He pointed to a man walking about the room, and said, "but he's not with the cartel. That's Romy. Ricardo Romy Romero, son of Alberto The Blade Romero ... the number two man in The Unit ... the Chicago arm of the Romero Family. They aren't the oldest name in organized crime, or even the most prolific ... but they are probably the most violent."

He lifted his beer and drained it before saying with a concerned tone, "We've got bigger problems than we could have ever imagined, Melissa."

"I've met Romy before. Frank was hosting a party at some swanky restaurant in LA. He tried to cop a feel and I busted his lip." Melissa answered, the name meaning something to her but the identity of just who he was completely going over her head. "So Frank had a hit out on him? Well, we have to go to the cops. If you have that kind of information, it could clear my name."

She watched as Max shook his head slightly and she frowned. "You don't understand. They think I killed that guy at the motel now too. It was on the news. I'm not going to go down for two murders I didn't commit. You have to come with me to the police."

When he still refused, Melissa felt angry and betrayed. She grabbed the sack of groceries and stormed to his truck, climbing into the passenger side and waiting in a huff. She was still was fuming when he finally got in for himself, stopping by at the diner for two burgers before they headed back to the shack.

She refused to talk to him when she entered the shack again, ignoring him to the best of her abilities as she made some Mac and cheese and settled outside on the porch with her burger. It all tasted like cardboard, but she forced herself to eat anyway. And she cried as well, fat tears rolling silently down her cheeks at the injustice of everything. Why did it have to be this way? Why had this all happened to her?

Name: Carl Davis
Age: 32
Looks: https://www.kisspng.com/png-ian-some...lvator-827254/
Job: Clean up specialist

The night had been different from most nights that Carl was use to. He had received a call before the news had broken out about the hotel. The details were fairly vague; however, the instructions were clear. “So, do you have a lead on them?” He asked as he paced back and forth around his place getting some supplies to load up in his car. “Uh huh” Was the most common phrase that he would repeat. His job, in a nutshell, was simple. Clean up the messes that others made. With this being very high profile, he realized very quickly that his day was going to be far from over.

Once the phone call ended, he finished getting supplies for an extended overnight trip. It wasn’t too long before he was in his car heading into the same direction as Melissa and Max. Though he wasn’t dressed in full black, his current costume of work boots, a black shirt and jeans, along with a flannel shirt, would give him enough of a chance to blend in.

As he was driving, he turned on his GPS and entered the address to the Store that was close to where they were. While it was in the dead of night, he went a few miles past where they were, got out and started to look for a place to lay low. It was a matter of time before night turned to day and Carl had awakened from his slumber. His phone as silent as it could be was still taking him to where they were. “Damn,” he thought out loud to him, “This is most definitely the road less traveled.”

As he got into view of the cabin, he laid in the foliage, getting a good position before opening his bag and assembling his rifle. The absence of any vehicle indicated they were gone. Once he was set up with everything, he waited. Carl didn’t care how long he waited, though he had a good view when they arrived back. “She is definitely a looker,” he mumbled to himself as he saw Melissa. At about a quarter mile away, he paid attention to just about everything going on between the two of them.

There was a small wave of pity that hit Carl as he watched her tear up through the scope. It didn’t take long before the door opened back up and Max was there. Once he saw that he was sitting on the chair opposite of the door from Melissa, he didn’t hesitate. The silence of the woods came to life with a small crack as the first round left the rifle. Almost immediately, another had left. Both rounds traveled quickly as they made a straight line to the chest of Max. They both hit very close to each other and he could see in the few seconds that, combined, created that of an instant kill shot.

After firing the rounds, he stood up and started to walk towards the place. “Stay where you are, Melissa!” He shouted as he lowered his rifle. His pace quickened as he started to get closer. “I’m not here to hurt you!” Carl said as he came into view. He looked at her, imagining the more than likely shocked look on her face.

The sound that broke the silence of the woods had Melissa up on her feet, looking around for the source. It was a gunshot. After the past few hours where she had been surrounded by nothing but guns and bullets, she knew one when she heard it. Turning around to look at Max, she back peddled immediately. He was dead. She knew that, but where had the shots come from and was she about to be taken out as well?

Then she heard the voice, a man calling out to her to stay where she was. Yeah, that wasn't going to happen, she thought to herself as she caught sight of him. He was armed, but she might still have a chance if she could get into the woods and stay hidden.

The choice was made for her as she turned to run, scurrying away from him as fast as she possibly could. She knew that he might shoot her int he back, but that was a risk that she was absolutely willing to take.

Carl watched as Melissa looked at him as he came closer. The next thing he knew, she was taking off going into the woods. “Fuck!” Carl told himself as he made his way near the cabin. As he looked at Max he saw that the rounds must have killed him almost instantly.

He ejected the magazine from his rifle and pulled back the bolt, causing a round to spin out before hitting the floor. Carl reached down to pick it up and put it in his pocket. He started to take all the rounds out until it was empty. Once that was done, he placed the magazine back into the rifle and slid the bolt forward. Knowing it was completely empty, it would provide as a surprise if someone tried to use it, only to hear an audible click. As he leaned it against the door frame, he started to scan the area that Melissa ran towards.

The last thing he did was take out his handgun and switched the magazine from lethal rounds to non-lethal rounds. His employer was very insistent that Melissa wasn’t seriously hurt. As he began to jog in the general area that she ran to, he kept scanning to see where she was. “I’m here to help you!” He called out, not wanting to use her name in case anyone else was close by.

Carl wasn’t like most of the others, who were former soldiers from different parts of the military. He didn’t grow up hunting, which was evident of his tone. “The sooner we end this chase, the sooner you can get on with your life! Don’t you want that?” His voice asked with a faint echo. “You can have most of your life back, if you let me help! Your money? Your safety? It will all be taken care of,” He tried to assure her. Carl heard what he thought was some wood being broken as he looked around.

“Don’t you want to have a nice hot shower and real food?” He asked as he started to move around more, still scanning the whole area. “New clothes and a nice king sized bed to relax on?” Carl was hoping that the questions were helping her with deciding if she would be willing to resist this chase any more. “I’m not with the government and I’m not with any of the bad guys!” He exclaimed as he was growing a bit more impatient.

Melissa stood against the trunk of a tree, listening to this new man trying to convince her that things would be find if she went with him. Things hadn't been fine since she found her husband dead and she found it hard to trust anyone when they said that they would be. She ran a short distance again as he spoke, insisting that she would be alright if she would simply go with him.

"I've heard it all before! Just leave me alone and I'll disappear without your help." She insisted, calling over her shoulder into the quiet woods around them as she continued to run.

Carl closed his eyes as he listened to the sounds, hoping to hear something out of the ordinary as he slowly circled around the area. The cool air was a nice fresh break. He heard her response on how she didn’t need anyone. It was then that he heard a more distinct sound of the woods coming to life as he spun around in that direction.

He saw a small glance of Melissa as she started to run more. “I really don’t want to do this!” He told her as he un-holstered his pistol. He started to sprint towards her until he got a good view. It took a few seconds to line up the sights. He saw where he was planning on hitting and fired off several quick rounds. It took about four rounds before he hit her near the calf. Carl heard the sound she made as he watched her fall to the ground. “Don’t worry, it’s a non-lethal round, paint-based. It’s supposed to mimic the pain of a real one,” Carl told her as he walked up closer to her.

Melissa let out a short scream as pain in her leg exploded and she was sent to the ground. She slid through the forest debris, clutching at her calf as the man came up to her, explaining that it was a non lethal round. It didn't really matter to her. It still hurt like hell.

"Jesus. Why did you do that?" She cried out, looking up at him as he walked closed, a swollen lump appearing just beneath her skin.

“You were running and wouldn’t stop. Now you’re not longer running and you’ve stopped,” Carl said as he looked at Melissa while getting closer to her, his gun still out.

“Now, I’m going to holster my gun and hopefully you will be willing to help me help you.” After saying that, he did as he said, holstering his gun a few feet from her.

As he looked at her for a moment, he was thinking of what the next few steps would be. “I work for a company called The Janus Foundation. Technically we’re a think tank, though we work with different organizations at different times,” He explained as he reached his hand down hoping she would take it and accept his help. “If my company wanted you dead, they would’ve sent someone better than me. All I know is that we need to clean up this mess and get you to safety. So what do you say Melissa? Are you willing to let us help you?” Carl asked as he looked at her with some compassion in his eyes.

"I have no idea who any of your are nor what you want from me." She said as he stood over her, his gun put away as he explained what he was doing there. "I didn't kill my husband. No one believes me when I say that. I just want to lie low until this all blows over."

He was offering her a chance to get out of this mess and get to a place where she could be safe. She didn't know if she believed that in the least, but she found herself taking his hand, pulling herself up to her feet and gingerly putting weight on her still throbbing leg.

Carl listened as Melissa made her statement about not knowing anything and not killing her husband. “I never said I didn’t believe you. Personally, I believe that you’re innocent,” He admitted as he helped her up. He placed her arm around his shoulder to help her walk with him.

“I don’t think it would be in your best interest to kill him. Toss in the fact that he had a lot of people mad at him, I think,” Carl said taking a breath, “That you would be the last person to kill him.”

Carl pointed in a certain direction. “My car is a way over in that area. We’ll get to it and then drive back to the shack, alright?” He asked knowing that the answer would more than likely be that it was fine. They started to move, taking their time a little bit with her leg still being stung. “Once we get back there, we just have a few things to do and then, if all goes well,” Carl said as they made their way through the foliage, getting closer to his car, “We can make sure you get back on your feet and get your name cleared.” The last part would be tricky, but he knew enough that he should be helping Melissa clear her name when the time came.

It took longer than Carl cared for, but once they got to the car he opened the door for her. “After you,” He said cordially as he helped her in. Once she was in he got into the drivers seat and started to head back to the cabin.

There was little Melissa could to in the situation but follow the man as he lifted her off the ground and helped her to walk back to his car. He was promising that she would be cleared in everything. She didn't believe that in the least. She was accused of murder and she had run from the police that wouldn't listen to her at all. Now, she was being ushered yet another place by a man that was involved in another secret organization.

Slipping into the passenger seat, she watched as he got in on the opposite side and drove them towards the cabin. "I really don't have anything there except food. My personal possessions are in my bag and they're all I care to keep."