A Bullet Never Lies(Closed for Courage)

raiguy

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Beau Lawry buttoned his jacket up as he stepped out of his truck. The Beretta Bobcat 38 holstered in his back was barely noticeable, as were the multiple knives he had. The weapons were a precaution against the agency he worked for. He was an assassin by trade, but knew the agency he worked for would have no qualms with pulling the trigger on their own agents.

He proceeded into the building, nodding to the attendant at the desk. He hit 19 in the elevator, and waited as it slowly brought him to the offices of a company that looked like it was an architectural firm, but was in fact one of the largest companies in the world dealing in death merchants. He nodded to the security guard. They didn't bother checking for weapons, since everyone here carried them.

"Mr. Lawry, good to see you again. The job in Cuba turned out well," his boss said. No one knew the man's name, but they figured that it was for the best. If a name of an assassin was learned, it usually meant you had very little time to live.

"It worked out I guess. Perfect confluence of events and all that bullshit," Beau said. He took the offered envelope, then the briefcase, and walked out of the room.

"Oh, by the way Beau. Nice job with the clean-up," the boss said.

Beau just shook his head and turned to walk out. He rode the elevator back down, then walked to his truck. He drove a little ways to an abandoned parking garage and went in. As soon as he was parked, he removed his 38 and holstered his 45. The 38 was nice when he needed to be quick and hide it well. The 45 was his primary weapon for self-defense.

He opened the suitcase, quickly counting out the $5 million in unmarked, non-sequential bills. It didn't really matter, since he had a legitimate architectural license, and the company was known to have amazingly high, "legal" salaries. He quickly closed the briefcase, then looked at the new target.

It turned out he was now to take out a European official in broad daylight. Apparently he was causing quite an uproar in a very conservative nation. A radical even by this time's standards. Beau shook his head then dialed a number, punching in a code to show he accepted the contract on the target.
 
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Irene St. James stared out at the dawning of a grey, cold day. It would snow before too long, she thought to herself as she watched people shuffle about Chelsea on their way to work in London. She had never understood the need to go to an office to “work”. Her work was messy, yes, but it was certainly fulfilling.

She turned from the window, her tanned skin gleaming in the low light that was put off by the lamp on the hotel nightstand. She pulled on her clothes, shimmying into a slinky black dress and sliding into her black pumps. Around her thigh she had a .22 strapped and ready for action.

She stared at the man that was lying in bed. He’d been fun for a while, she thought, but that had quickly grown old. He was Russian and fun loving, the life of the party, and a man that had some very dark and dirty secrets. His cold, lifeless eyes stared at the ceiling and she leaned over the bed, closing them with a gloved hand. The poison that took his life had been fast acting and wouldn’t be detected by an ME. They would think he died of a heart attack and judging by his girth, it would be a story that everyone believed.

Double checking the room, Irene slipped into her long coat and pulled a scarf around her throat. No one had seen her come into the room and no one would see her leave. It was the hallmark of her trade as an assassin. She was silent, deadly, and extremely anal retentive when it came to details. It’s what made her services so prized.

In fact, by the time she got to her home in the heart of London, she would be 5 million pounds richer. The very thought made her smile gleefully as she slipped from the room and stopped on the street to take in a deep breath of the cold winter air. It was beautiful, she thought, adjusting the gun beneath her clothing before she began walking down the street.

As she walked home, her phone beeped, signaling that there was another job. She hardly ever met with her handler in this day and age. The company that she worked for was large and discreet, one of the top earning brokerage firms in the world according to its stock holders. She was a stock trader on paper, a negotiator that would be sent all throughout the world.

Pulling out the phone, she read over the job. A European official that needed to be taken out. He would be making a speech in broad daylight, a very public show to end a very bright political career. She didn’t really care anymore. If the money was good, she’d take it and it seemed that the money was very good this time around. A smile curled her lips as she punched in the code and accepted, readying herself for another go around.
 
Beau quickly scheduled a flight to Europe, setting up several train tickets. The speech he was supposed to eliminate the target at wasn't for two weeks, and it wold only take him 3 days at most to get there. He found his armorer for European jobs waiting for him and quickly set up a meeting.

With a black duffel bag in hand, he made his way through several back alleys in Paris, finally reaching the small shop that had all the items he needed. He went in, nodding to his man, as he started to pull weapons, ammunition, poisons as a back-up, and several notebooks to write facts down. He thanked the man with a nod and walked out.

The train rides were much faster than expected, and he quickly arrived in Napoli faster than expected. He could have flown to Napoli, but didn't want to leave a paper trail. He holed up in a little hotel across from the courtyard where the speech would be made.

After unpacking and stashing his weapons, he started to survey the area. The camera and bag made him look like a tourist. He was able to pretty well tell what everyone was doing around the spots he was scoping out, but quickly found something amiss about the girl who seemed to be doing the exact same thing he was doing.

After getting into his room late the night before the speech, he made a few calls, finding out that another agency had a hit out on the politician. He finally figured out why the girl bothered him. Oh well. The girl would have to be dealt with later. Right now, the target and the $30 million contract was his priority.

Beau decided that a cut with lethal poison would be the most inconspicuous way to kill the target, so quickly set about getting it set up, allowing for easy manipulation of a small blade and several needles as back-up. He was all set to go when the speech started. He slowly made his way into the crowd, already knowing the path the man would take, determined to intercept him first. The only problem was that the man wasn't there.

He sensed the trap right before it was sprung, the rifle rounds drilling holes into the pavement where he had been standing moments before. Without thinking, he turned, running right into the woman, who, he noticed, had a bloody arm.
 
It was warm in Napoli that time of year. It was a far departure from dreary London. Irene had to remind herself that this wasn’t a holiday but an assignment. She had checked into a hotel room that face the plaza where the speech would take place. It had a high vantage point which was great for scoping out a plan of attack. She visualized exits and entrances, scoped out possible hitches, and organized her arsenal.

Then she hit the streets. She was dressed casually, like a tourist and she surveyed the area. There was a man there that was suspicious. She knew that there was more than likely another agency out there with more people on the job, but she didn’t think that they would be working out in the open like that. $30 million was a lot of money and everyone wanted a piece of the pot it seemed.

She kept her eye on the man now. He was smooth, she thought, but not too smooth for her. She watched what building he went back into and she knew that he probably wasn’t staying there. More than likely he was in the same hotel that she was, probably on the same floor. He would have to be dealt with later, she thought.

The next day dawned clear, the sun beating down on those gathered for the speech. She was dressed in black, a stylish outfit and one that wouldn’t draw attention. She would poison the target and then slip away before the poison took effect. It was so much neater than a gun or a knife, not that she didn’t have any of that on her either.

She watched the crowd as the man from the day before made his appearance. If he got the target first it would blow her entire operation. She followed behind him, her hand in her pocket as she gripped the needle that she would insert in his skin before she went after the target.

She didn’t get her hand out before a searing pain ripped through her arm and she was flung backwards by a gun shot. A gun shot?! She looked down at her arm with a frown as the blood began to flow. More shots followed and then the man that was working the same job spun around and ran straight into her. She stared at him, her eyes wide as she gripped her arm before she turned and fled into the crowd.
 
Beau quickly followed the girl. He knew that they were both being targeted, but he didn't know why. He had recognized her as another associate in his line of work. He wondered if it had been a setup to eliminate two highly touted assassins. The competition was fierce, and he knew that his payouts were much larger per job than other assassins. He also knew that he had done some side jobs that his company wouldn't be happy about if they learned he had done them.

His mind quickly flicked back to the dossier on the politician he had seen. He mentally pulled it up, then grimaced. He had failed to see that the bold type leading each paragraph had spelled out the words MY NAME IS DEATH. They were being burned.

Beau pulled out his .45 and silencer, screwing it onto the end of the barrel as he finally reached the girl. He slapped the needle out of her hand then put his finger to her lips. He made eye contact with her, hoping she understood that he was on her side.

He heard the two men approaching, then walking past where they were. He stepped out, shooting both men twice in the back before grabbing the girl's hand and pulling her after him. He could see she was woozy, even though she was trying her best to fight it, or at least hide it.

He dialed a number, detonating a bomb that took out the whole floor of the hotel they both were staying at. It would remove any traces that they were there, especially since Beau had moved his weapons to a safehouse he had in Napoli from several years ago.

After walking quickly, then finally carrying the girl, Beau and the girl arrived at the safehouse, where he scanned his fingerprint to get in. He set the girl down then went to get a first-aid kit, ripping her shirt off and tearing it into bandages. He looked down at the wounds going through the girl's arm and back. One round had hit her high in the shoulder, while the other hit her in the arm.

He quickly went to work, cleaning the wounds, seeing her grimace as he doused the wounds with alcohol before applying gauze pads to each and binding them tightly. He covered her up in a blanket, seeing that she had passed out. Beau went to check his weapons, hoping he had what he'd need to get both of them out of Italy.
 
A bullet ricocheted off the group and struck her in the arm again, making Irene cry out in pain. She gritted her teeth as she ran, the footsteps of the other assassin behind her, telling her that he was giving chase. She had the needle firmly between her fingers and as he came up on her, she spun and tried to stab him. The needle flew out of her hand as he slapped it out of the way. The way that he looked into her eyes as they came face to face told her that he was on her side and in the same position. That wouldn’t really protect him, she thought as she felt dizzy from the blood loss.

She watched as he turned and they spotted men approaching, walking past them. She watched as he shot them with the silenced gun and she knew that they had just been burned. Why? Her mind was going through the options frantically. It had all been a set up.

His hand wrapping around her good wrist brought her thoughts back and she followed after him. Why was she following him? He might very well kill her when they were out of the chaos. She wouldn’t let that happen, she thought as she stumbled and skinned her knee before he jerked her back to her feet.

Irene didn’t even look back as their hotel blew up behind them. He was covering their tracks. Smart, she thought as her legs finally gave out and she sat on the hard ground with her head spinning in a sickening way. He lifted her into his arms like she didn’t weigh anything and he took them to a safe house.

Sitting her down on a soft sofa, she watched as he moved to grab a first aid kit. She was quick to rearrange her weapons, keeping the most potent from his view as he came back and tore open her shirt, tearing it into bandages and checking out her wounds. Each movement of her arm caused pain that made her see red. As he worked and cleaned out the wounds, she grimaced and tried to stay with him but it was all too much and soon she was out cold, hoping that he wouldn’t simply kill her. That would be very disappointing.
 
Beau sat down and waited for the woman to wake up. He figured she just passed out due to fatigue and adrenaline wearing off. He finally was satisfied that his guns were in order, and then went about searching her.

He found all of her weapons, knowing where to look. He wasn't modest in his search. He had to make sure that she wasn't trying to do something stupid.

Beau fished a cell phone out of one of his bags and dialed a number from memory. He answered a few questions in German, then dialed another number, answering a few in french. By the time he was done, he had made several phone calls and figured out what had happened that had caused them both to be burned.

He sat down and waited, fixing himself a scotch on the rocks, enjoying one of his few vices. He smiled as the girl started stirring, hoping she was waking up so he could tell her why they had both been targeted together.
 
The first thought that she had as she came around was that her head was pounding. The second thought she had was that all of her weapons had been taken. Then she realized that she was topless and covered with a thin blanket. She took faculty of herself without moving, her breathing still deep and even as she tried to listen to where the man was. Well, it seemed that there was no time like the present to make it known that she was awake.

Irene’s eyes fluttered open and she saw him sitting across from her, sipping a scotch on the rocks and looking at her like he didn’t have a care in the world. He was probably loaded to the teeth with weapons and she didn’t have hers. A terrible situation, yes, but one she could overcome.

Then she moved her shoulder and pain laced through her body. Oh, yes…she’d been shot. Twice. Alright, so this was probably the most hopeless situation that she’d ever found herself in. She would play it cool, see what he had to say, and then think of a way to kill him and be on her way.

“So, you’re a professional too. Sent to assassinate a politician. Perhaps even myself, but I fail to see why you saved me.”
 
"I was sent to assassinate the politician. You were never part of this. I didn't notice you until the day before the hit, when we were both canvasing a spot," Beau said, setting his scotch down.

"For the record, I'm not armed, so we are on even footing," he said.

"We were burned. They were tired of dealing with both of us, so our company burned us. Same company, different names. Looks like we are in the same boat. I've never met you before, and I have no quarrel with you. It's up to you if you want to survive and work together, or die by yourself," he said quietly and calmly.
 
“If I wasn’t part of your contract then why did you take my weapons?” She asked, her eyes narrowing at him as he set his scotch down. Then he answered her and she didn’t know if she believed him.

“Burned?” She’d been burned? There was no way that was possible. She was one of their best. Why would they want to get rid of her? “I’m sorry, but I believe you’re talking complete and total shit. Why would they burn me?”

Irene watched him carefully, her mind trying to think of the different ways out of this situation. She could kill him easily with nothing more than her bare hands, but her shoulder was injured and that would complicate things.
 
"You keep thinking you can kill me, and we both end up dead, you a lot sooner than me," Beau said, seeing her thoughts on her face. The girl wasn't exactly good at hiding those from time to time. He just shook his head and stood up, then pulled his shirt off, showing her he was completely unarmed.

"Now, to answer your question. They burned you because you were a nuisance. From what I've heard through contacts, you botched two jobs without knowing it. Your purse for a contract was sky high as well. It's a business that hires us, and they wanted to pay the least amount to get the job done. Both of us became expendable," he said calmly. "They didn't miss when they shot you. You just got lucky and were moving. You were burned. Accept it and we can start figuring out how to survive by ourselves."
 
“You don’t know who the hell you’re talking to, but I don’t botch jobs.” She said with a voice that was full of venom. “I work by the book and I’m damn good at it.”

She listened to him as he pulled off his shirt and showed her that he was unarmed. She relaxed slightly, pulling the blanket up to her chin as her shoulder and arm throbbed painfully. They hadn’t missed when they shot. Well, that was partly true, she thought. The bullet that caught her in the shoulder was well aimed, but the arm wound was a ricochet. She had been lucky but now she was stuck with the asshole sitting across from her.

She let out a haughty sigh and sank back in the chair that she was sitting in. Her face was pale, pain making the shadows under her eyes stand out in stark contrast. “What’s your name?”
 
"You don't get my name yet. You don't trust me, and frankly I'm still wondering why I saved someone like you. You have a big chip on your shoulder. I called several contacts, and both of them told me of two jobs you botched. You do stuff by the book, and the book missed this situation. You remember those two jobs in Somalia? Where you were supposed to kill military dictators? You used a poison not native to the region. It stank of an assassination, and didn't fulfill the contract," Beau said, a slight hint of irritation creeping into his voice. This girl didn't know enough to keep her mouth shut and stop digging a hole. She should have been dead, but he stepped in to help her. Without him, she would be dead, either from bleeding out or a bullet.

"We were burned, end of story. you get that pissy attitude with me, and the burn contract out on you will be the least of your worries. Oh, and as for who I'm talking to, your name is Irene St. James. I knew from my contacts. I described you and they pegged you. That's how I noticed the botched jobs in Somalia. Now, do you want to keep going with this pissing match, or do you want to listen to how I'm going to get us out of this clusterfuck of a situation?" Beau asked, going over to a bulletin board with maps and files tacked to it. As he passed the table covered in their weapons, he slid his holstered .45 back onto his belt at the center of his back.

Beau quickly lost focus of Irene, not caring if she tried anything. He had enough deadfalls that if she tried to kill him, she would die before being able to get out of the safehouse. There was a reason why he was known to be one of the safest men in the world when it came to getting out. He may have been an assassin by trade, but his reputation was earned by helping people get out, and safely.

He studied the map, quickly figuring out the three rail stations that would be cut off, as well as the airports and harbors. He turned around to see Irene struggling to get up and just smiled. The muscles in his torso rippled as he walked, a testament to the training he did. His body was his proudest achievement. It had been through hellish situations, and he had the scars to prove it, yet he always came back stronger.

"Irene, if you want to survive, you are going to have to get over the fact that you think you are untouchable. I don't want you to die, otherwise I wouldn't have stepped in and dropped those two hitmen back there. It's up to you. Do you want to make it out of Italy alive, and bring down the organization that burned us, or do you want to spurn your one ally and wind up dead?" Beau asked, cutting through the bullshit to get to the issue at hand.
 
“My handler gave me the wrong packet for the assassinations.” She muttered as he gave her a run down of who she was.

She sighed as he laid it all out there. They had been burned and they were in this together. She had him and him alone to depend on when the shit hit the fan. Not that she could really stomach the arrogant attitude of the American but it seemed that he did have a point.

She struggled to get up from the couch, wincing as a red haze of pain settled over her vision. She was panting, a thin sheen of sweat covering her skin as she finally got to her feet and swayed for a moment. The room was spinning in a sickening way. She’d never been shot before and it hurt like a son of a bitch. She’d been stabbed once, knocked in the head more times then she could count, but never shot.

She moved over to where he was standing, looking at the same maps and information that he was. The words and colors swam before her vision as she held her injured arm tightly against her body.

“I guess we’re in this together.” She admitted in a voice that sounded like she’d just swallowed something bitter. “What’s the plan?” She asked him, glancing at his profile and then back at the maps.

She waited for him to speak as her legs gave out from beneath her. She reached out and grabbed him by the shoulder, gasping as she pressed tightly against his side to steady herself. “I think I might be sick.” She murmured, her eyes closed tightly against the dizzy sensation.
 
Beau caught her easily, scooping her up in his arms as she suddenly vomited all over his chest. He shook his head then walked to the back room, gently laying her on the bed. He shrugged out of his shirt, throwing it in the trash.

He went to the medicine cabinet and pulled out some Oxycontin, filling up a glass of water. He walked back in to see her still struggling with the pain.

"Take these. It's just oxycontin," he said. They could talk about escape plans once she was able to move around and use her arm. He smiled as the meds took effect, watching as her eyes slowly drooped until they were fully closed. Her breathing got deeper as she finally passed out. He noticed that she looked much younger once she was fully relaxed, and was actually very pretty when her anger wasn't screwing it up. He reached down and pulled the covers up, gently settling her arm on the outside of the covers.
 
Irene was embarrassed when she vomited on him. Her stomach heaved painfully as he scooped her into his arms and took her into a back room. He placed her on a bed and she squirmed in the pain that was making her dizzy. When he came back with a pill and a glass of water, she looked at him with concern. She’d always been told not to take a pill that she didn’t procure for herself. He could very well poison her and leave her to die.

He seemed sincere though and he had talked about how they were in this together. Why would he poison her if they needed each other? Irene took the pills and swallowed using the glass of water. She lay back against the pillows and moaned in pain. It took a few minutes before her eyes began to droop and the pain in her shoulder turned into a beautiful numbness.

He was watching her intently, but there was a moment when she ceased to care. Her eyes closed finally, her mind struggling to keep them open until it too gave up the struggle. Her breathing got deeper and she distantly felt a blanket being pulled over her body and her injured arm gently tucked outside the covers before she drifted into nothingness.
 
Beau quickly got to work, getting all of the needed equipment together, as well as making sure his projected route would take them out of Italy, where they could either stay together or go their separate ways. That would ultimately be up to Irene.

He laid the weapons out on the table, going over them meticulously, making sure each one was safe, but as deadly as possible. He quickly got lost in his work, exhaustion and time meaning nothing. He looked up after getting the two packs set up and the route planned, realizing it was already morning. He smiled again and went over it one last time. If they waited until Irene was mostly healed, it would give them the best window.

Beau flew about the kitchen, making a hasty breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon. He didn't know how she liked her food, so just did it the way he would like it. He didn't go over the top, remembering her stomach's volatility of late. He made his way back to the room with the two plates and smiled, seeing Irene awake and sitting, propped up by the two pillows behind her.

"Breakfast?" he asked, gesturing with the plate.
 
When she woke up a few hours later, she felt hazy and sluggish. Irene swiped at her eyes with her good arm, sighing as she tried to shake the cobwebs free. She pulled herself to a sitting position, wincing as pain laced through her arm. She looked around the sparsely decorated room, trying to get a better read on the man that was now trying to help her.

Then he walked into the room with a plate full of egg and bacon and toast. Irene’s stomach rolled at the thought of greasy bacon, but she forced it down and looked at him with a nod. She poked and prodded at the food before she started to eat, glancing at him every so often.

“So…um….what’s the plan?” She asked him, her voice and mind still foggy, but she was becoming more lucid as time passed.
 
"We can't do anything until you can move without feeling nauseous. Let's just take it easy until then. Besides, my plan won't work. Now eat your greasy food. It's all this safehouse had. Sorry if you don't like it, but I don't want to go outside either," Beau said as he dug into the meal, grimacing at the flavors. He rarely ate eggs, but figured he needed all the nourishment he could get.

He leaned back thinking. If the girl could become functional within two weeks, they could make the plans work. He just needed her to be able to carry a gun and shoot it while he hotired the car needed to get them to the landing pad outside of a friend's ground. From there, the helicopter would be able to get them out of Italy, but it depended on her being able to shoot, and stand up straight without pain.

"We will talk more once this plan can be carried out. Until then, there's no point in talking about it. It might change, it might not. Let's get you better and we will go from there," Beau said, finishing his plate.
 
“It’s okay.” She said with a shrug of her shoulders, knowing that if she was going to get along with him she needed to make an effort. “It’s better than nothing.”

She ate what she could but it was a lackluster effort. Irene was soon handing him back the half full plate with a sigh. She listened to him say that there was no point in talking about the plan until she was better. Well, at least until she could move her shoulder without wanting to throw up.

“When are you going to tell me your name?” She asked him, settling back on the bed and resting her injured arm on the bed carefully. “It’s only fair that I know yours if you know mine.”
 
"Fair depends on the view of a person. My name is Beau though. Nothing else matters right now, since we could very well end up dead if things don't go perfectly. Now then. How do you want to spend your convalescence?" Beau asked.

He got up and started leaving the room, then turned around. "Oh, what are your preferred weapons? I want to make sure you have them just the way you want them for this escape plan. I can get most any weapon, so just let me know when you are ready," he said, then left the room.

Beau went back to his workbench in the back room. He clamped several guns into place and started working on them, changing the poundage for the trigger, or the sights, or other small things that would make the gun more natural to shoot for him. He smiled as he settled into his work, calming down and forgetting the situation they were in.
 
“Nothing is fair in this business.” She said as he started talking about fair. “I just have to trust that you aren’t going to kill me the first chance you get and you’ll have to trust the same from me.”

She sighed, knowing that she was at the mercy of the man before her until her shoulder healed up. Right now she couldn’t fight. In a few days…that was a different matter.

“Knife and .38.” She said when he asked her what her preferred weapon were.

“And more pain killers, please.” Irene asked as she settled back into the pillows, her face pinched with pain and pale yet again. He didn’t have to give them to her. He could let her suffer, but for some reason it seemed that she’d found the only man in this business that actually gave a damn.
 
Beau smiled as he came back in, setting her custom .38 and knife on the table. He had done a complete overhaul of the gun, and even grooved the stock on the handle to allow for the knife to be comfortably gripped. He did the same thing to his .45s. He held out the painkillers and some water, then went back to planning.

Normally he wasn't this particular, but with his life in serious jeopardy, he knew everything had to be perfect. He started paying attention to the chatter, using old contacts that no one knew about, wire taps, anything he could get his hands on.

It quickly became apparent that they were both burned because they knew too much about the company, and had become too big of a threat to the governing members of the corporation. They didn't want any one assassin with too much power, and that was what Beau and Irene had done. They had shown that they were still in the prime of their lives, and still getting better with each kill. What Irene lacked in minor areas, she made up for in sheer number of jobs done. Her two jobs that were botched were important, but lost in the sea of other jobs. Beau didn't have that problem, but he became known as a "perfect" hitman. His target never escaped, and he always left a trace. The only problem was that he wouldn't kill women and children. If they were present, the job took longer, which cost money.

The organization didn't like that, so had burned both of them. Beau quickly started to plan their escape in tandem with ways to get back at the organization, like assassinating key players, or removing safe houses the organization used. He normally didn't do revenge, since it was bad business, but this was one exception where his enemies would severely underestimate him.
 
Irene thanked him as he brought back in a few weapons and placed them on the table. She was even more thankful when he held out the painkillers and some water. She faded back into darkness as the pills numbed her pain and she was able to sleep again without the nauseous rolling feeling.

Her dreams were strange, a sense of foreboding coming over her as her dreams turned dark. She moaned as she tossed and turned on the sheets, whimpering as a thin sheen of sweat broke out over her skin. She woke screaming, sitting up in bed and noticing that it was dark in the room. Her shoulder throbbed, her heart pounding as she was quick to get out of bed and stumble through the house to find Beau.
 
Beau was in the living room, making some calls, a worried look on his face. He had just found out that his safehouse had been dropped. He saw Irene stumble into the room and quickly scooped her up, grabbing two bags. One was full of clothes, the other of weapons. He made his way to the garage, gently depositing her in the front seat of his humvee. He knew it was a sore thumb in Europe, but it was the only vehicle he could make as safe as possible.

He dropped the bags in the back seat, then went around to the driver's side and quickly started the humvee, pulling out of the garage and weaving through the close streets. Once he was far enough away, Beau hit a switch and blew the safehouse up. He never took chances.

"Well, we have to start early. If you can drive and not collapse, we can probably run and gun to get out of the country, but it's up to you. We can also lay low somewhere and let you heal. It's up to you though. What do you want to do?" Beau asked Irene as he weaved out of the city.
 
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