023

For the thousandth time, Kaitlynn Stryfe checked to make sure the rumpled and sweat-dampened piece of paper that was covered in Kyle's chicken scratch was still in the pocket of her skinny jeans. She felt somewhat reassured that she still had the address of Gambini's warehouse on her, even though she'd already committed it to memory on the long flight from Vancouver. It had been impossible to sleep on the plane and her anxiety was at an all-time high. Her perfect manicure had been destroyed as she'd systematically gnawed off each nail in succession, leaving them bitten so far down her fingertips ached.

Her dark hair was secured in a braid that lay over her shoulder, and a military-style cap shaded her eyes from view. She waited near the baggage carousel, her eyes flicking over the other passengers milling through Newark Liberty International Airport. Time had lost all meaning to her, and when she looked at her cell phone to see that it was 3:45, it could have been night or day if not for the tiny letters that said PM next to the time. Already half a day behind her husband's captors, she hoped against hope that she wasn't too late.

"C'mon," she muttered, watching the conveyor belt for the first hint of spinning. It remained still and her patience started to wear thin. Resisting the urge to let loose the frustrated scream that was building, she again turned her back on the damned contraption just in time to see a man walking briskly away from where she stood. She only caught a glimpse of him in side profile for a second, but she instantly knew who it was. "HEY!" The word left her lips with an ear-splitting shout, causing all heads in the vicinity to turn but his.

"Goddamn it," she grumbled, abandoning her post near the baggage claim and running after him. Her Louboutins clacked against the floor as she sprinted after him, catching him before she was even winded. Grabbing the arm of his jacket from behind, she gave it a jerk to halt his movement. "What the hell are you doing here?" She almost snarled the words, glaring up at him.

"Oh, Ms. Stryfe! What an unexpected pleasure to see you." These were the words of the Armani-clad Marco Petrillo, carrying a bag over his shoulder that matched his suit. His black hair neatly pulled back from his head as he began to sport a ponytail. "What am I doing here? It is an airport, Ms. Stryfe. If function holds true to form, it is very likely I am either departing or arriving here in Newark. A pleasure to see you too."

A long suffering sigh came from between her lips as she let her hand drop away from touching him. "Clearly," her eyes remained fixed on him, as intense as he'd ever seen them. "I meant why are you, of all people, in New Jersey? It just seems a little funny to me that my continued wild goose chase brings me here to cross paths with you." She didn't believe in coincidences any more. Not where Gambini was concerned.

"Well I want you to take solace in the fact that your wild goose chase is very likely to come to its end here in this very state." He added, readjusting the strap from his carry-on bag over his shoulder as he spoke. "We must catch up again soon, perhaps at another piano bar. I do enjoy seeing old friends." A bit of a smile began to play on his face now as he held up a finger. "I do hope the next time we meet, you will be in a better condition than you appear to be at the moment. You are just a bit disheveled." He glanced down to her hands and the ragged fingernails. "I love what you've done with your nails, by the way."

Normally she would have bristled at the comment on her looks, but right now she didn't care. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she thought of what Kyle had told her less than twenty-four hours ago. "You were more than happy to take my money in that damned little piano bar, but you weren't too keen on telling the truth, were you?"

"I beg to differ, Ms. Stryfe. I did tell you the truth. I answered every question. What reason would I have to lie?" He looked a bit offended, as though she had just called his mother some horrible name. Placing his hand to his chest as though he were almost having chest pains, he replied. "But as someone we both are familiar with has said, I don't play poker with my cards facing the opposite direction."

"The games," she rolled her eyes, "I'm so sick of everyone tap-dancing around the truth— I didn't ask you about switching Kyle's gun because I didn't know he was there. You could have volunteered that information," she paused, "but you chose not to."

"Oh, Mr. Kilmeade! A very angry young man, but easy to talk to. I didn't tell you about it, because it was irrelevant. A red herring. He had no way to do anything, so he is not even a player in this game other than the fact he wanted to kill his own brother. It's almost biblical, isn't it?" He mused, thinking about that for a moment before he continued. "He was preoccupied with his girlfriend while the event in question took place. Cute girl too, I could easily be distracted by someone like that myself. Even if she is a bit spasmodic. But they all move the same in the dark, don't they?"

"You're disgusting," she murmured, keeping her voice low so the people passing by couldn't hear her, "what did you mean when you said my chase could end here? What do you know, Marco?" She said his first name very deliberately, shying away from the pretense of manners.

"I know a great many things. I know I was summoned here, work calls, you see. And I am quite confident you and I are heading to the same destination. And call it some kind of prophetic foreshadowing, but I have an overwhelming sense someone is going to see their end today. After all..." He shuffled a bit on his feet. "It's not as though I'm in the greeting card business, now is it?"

The color drained from her face at his words, leaving her looking even worse than she had before. "That bastard," the words came out between clenched teeth, "are you here to kill him then?" She took a step closer, as though she was planning to attack him here in the midst of a public place.

This brought a bit of an interested expression to his face as he looked at her body language. "I would suggest rationale in this instance, Ms. Stryfe. I am not working for Mr. Gambini today. But I do appreciate your obvious attraction to me. In either case, I do suggest calming yourself down before you cause a scene. We are in an airport after all." There was a heavy note of sarcasm in his voice as he spoke.

She smirked, finding herself attracted to his audacity even though she found him physically unappealing. "You wish," chuckling softly, she stepped back as requested. "Fair warning, sweetie... if I find out you're there to kill him, I'll..." she trailed off, trying to keep her emotions in check.

"Your husband is not my intended target today, Ms. Stryfe. My employer has given me very direct instruction to ensure that Mr. Stryfe walks away from this particular meeting. In other words... I am on your side. In a manner of speaking." He peered around behind her body for a moment. "Though admittedly I'd rather be on that side...a little motel room." He leaned in to whisper. "I find disheveled appealing as well."

One perfectly shaped eyebrow rose as she considered his words, "make that happen, and I'll see what I can do about compensation." Leaning in closer to him, she lifted her hand to touch his cheek, managing not to gag or flinch at the movement. Her voice dropped to a seductive whisper, "do you have a gun I can borrow, sweetheart?"

A wider smile broke out over his face as he shook his head. "Ms. Stryfe, there is not the firearm in existence I can't gain possession of. I will take you with me, if you wish." He motioned towards the exit doors of the airport, stopping himself. "We will need to make one stop on the way. But after that, your husband will be a free man."

"And Anthony Gambini will be a dead one."