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by Mary L. Schmidt (Author)
"What did you just say? The senior officer (Special Agent Thompson) of the two men from Homeland Security, that both Nancy and Kim knew prior, repeated, 'Rob and Liza Caldwell were taken out as a hit' in Boston last night and we think their assassin is the agent handler extraordinaire, who put out the hit job on the President, and on you, Kim, last November. The hit man's name is Jeffrey Sanders, we don't know any alias, ethnicity, or if male or female. Security cameras were disabled before the actual hit. Rob and Liza were asleep when it happened early this morning. A silencer was used, and neighbors heard their dog barking non-stop and became worried. The couple checked on them, found them dead in their bed, and called 911. The police detectives could tell it was a professional hit and called us. Special Agent Hughes and I flew directly here from Washington, DC. A note left at the scene read, 'Two down, eleven to go' and the eleven to go are most likely both of you, the President, and people unidentified. Make no mistake. The hit man will take out anyone with you, when, NOT if, they find you."
***
"How dare you take out my two best assets! I'm coming for you, Kim, and your friend, Nancy! Never mind, my best assets died in a roll-over accident! They were after you, Kim! Now I'm going to finish the job! Both of you and yours are going down! I know where you are and who you have in your life! Tit for tat. The same back to both of you!"
'The Gallery Loft of Evergreen' was Kim's heart in the world of art and creativity. Kim stepped lightly down the stairs from her art gallery's second floor, all five feet, three inches of her trim body sporting seafoam green eyes, and curly blonde hair that bounced with each step.
"What is up, Nancy? Need some help?" With a paint brush in hand, a smock over her top, and sporting dark blue skinny jeans with rugged black leather boots, Kim stopped dead in her tracks when she saw the two men. Fear gripped her heart and lungs tightly, and she barely breathed as she stared at both men.
Oh my...no...never...not again...why are those men here of all places... fear caused her blood to feel like ice as it coursed through her jarred and shocked body...Steve and Gary are dead, killed in the accident...Nancy and I are safe now...no assassins are after us, no assassin is after ME...both died in that wreck...both bodies had positive identification...this is not happening...it can't be happening...NO...Steve and Gary are dead...get a grip now, Kim...close your eyes...then reopen...only Nancy will be there...except they were there...
Paul never saw the large black dual cab truck, with a black bull bar in the front, hit him at an angle that directly threw his Land Rover over and into a rocky and briar-filled ravine coming to rest on the passenger side, driver's side wheels spinning in the air.
The agents coordinated together so they all arrived near the same time. With bewildered occupants, they drove through their assigned gate and to the building that housed the FBI (Federal Bureau of Investigation).
