A/N: Yes, I know I promised to update TLWL – but I'm suffering from writer's block on it! I know exactly what I want to say but it isn't coming out . . . ah, I'm pathetic, but enough about that.

This is the sequel to my story 'Full Throttle'. To fully understand this story you kind of need to have read my other one, but considering how it's insufferably long (sorry 'bout that, but those of you who have read it know that really couldn't have been helped) then you might just be able to pick it up as you go along, and of course if you have any questions feel free to email me.

This story takes off three years after the end of Full Throttle. Um, I could tell you what happened in between those three years but all of you will pick it up along the way. Oh wow, this is a really long author's note so . . . to cut it short … er . . .

I dedicate this to everyone who reviewed Full Throttle! You guys were my inspiration for this story, you and your demands for a sequel.

Intro

0259

Redgate Prison

No POV

Moonlight soaked the black cape of night as a dark figure huddled in the corner of the prison. Hidden by shadows the figure's back hugged the brick wall, his breath hanging in frosty clouds before him. He wrapped his coat closer to his body, the chill that hung in the air cutting through the fabric protecting his body. Beneath the overgrown coat his t-shirt was soaked in warm red liquid – freshly spilled blood. He barely moved.

Within his mind he began to count, trying anything to pass the time. How many more minutes did he have? Five? Three? Two? Less than one? He began to shake even more violently. If not he'd die out here, alone in the darkness, with nothing but the cold to keep him company.

Suddenly a light blared out of nowhere. The formally dark prison was suddenly ablaze. Through the light that now shone from each window the man could make out shadows moving swiftly. He kept closer to the wall than ever before. This was it, he would die now. It was all over. He wrapped his arms further around his body. There was no sense in dying in such agitation. Better to make the process as painless as possible . . .

And then he saw them, way out in the distance. Blink . . . blink blink . . . blink . . . blink blink blink blink . . . the code. With a sudden burst of energy the man leaped from the shadows, his near frozen legs suddenly a blur of motion. The surrounding sound melted together as he raced opposite to wind, the rushing in his ears deafening him to all but his own thoughts. Somewhere in the distance he could hear yelling, whether it was in his direction he didn't know.

He could see the gate, tall and threatening, and the cutting wire that ran across from it. And there was the sign, the sign that he'd been looking at for the last three years. 'Warning: Electrocuted – Do Not Touch'. The man didn't slow down, but he closed his eyes for a brief moment in a silent prayer to Allah that his friends had managed to come through . . .

No, he instantly corrected himself. Not his friends . . . he didn't have any friends. They worked for him. That was it. Nothing else bonded them together. He grimaced as the cold wind flew in his face. His eyes stung. Don't think . . . he told himself as he leaped through the air towards the fence. Don't think . . . just do.

There it was, the fence, flying towards him at an alarming speed. The sign kept flickering before his eyes. Electrocuted . . . do not touch . . . "Stop thinking!" he screamed at himself. The fence flew in front of him, there was nothing he could do to stop himself from touching it. And then . . . he rammed into it . . .

He clutched to the fence with his raw hands and instantly jarred himself for the shock he was sure would run through it. But nothing happened. His workers had come through. They'd managed to cut off the energy cycle. He instantly began to climb, working his body up the slippery metal rungs. His clothes felt heavy against his skin, weighing him down to oblivion. A few more yards . . . don't stop . . . just a few more yards . . .

And then he was over, running down the valley with reckless abandon. Freedom . . . it felt too good to be true. His chest tightened, his internal wind gone. Jail had not done his body good. The lights approached faster, closer. And then . . .

"Abbas?"

His name cut him like a knife. Three years since it had been used . . . since he'd been called it . . . three years of Prisoner 29736. But he wasn't Prisoner 29736 anymore, but nor was he Abbas. He was like a snake, continually shedding his skin.

"Shut up, you fool," he snapped, wrenching open the Jeep door and falling into the backseat. "Call me that again and I'll have your head." He pulled off the thick leather jacket that had saved him from possible hypothermia, followed by his blood soaked t-shirt. "From now on it's Ahmad. Ahmad Hussein."

And with that, the Jeep plunged into the cape of night, as seconds before it left sirens began blazing in the prison. The message: One Escaped Convict.

0347

Harm and Mac's House

Harm's POV

Rrrrriiiiiinnnnnggggg.

I feel myself rolling over in the bed, away from the ringing. I bury my face into my pillow, my body lying limply on the bed. From beside me I can feel Make shifting over to my side and reaching over me to grab the phone.

"Mackenzie," she grunted into the receiver. A long pause followed by a yawn of, "for you" as she handed me the phone.

I wiped my eyes tiredly, blinking away the sleep. "Yeah?"

"Harm, it's Clay." He sounds agitated.

"What's wrong?" I whisper, watching as Mac rolled over back to her side of the bed and promptly fell back asleep. I crawled out of bed slowly, my eyes still weary from lack of slumber as I pulled on a sweatshirt overtop of my t-shirt.

A catch in his breath and then – "Abbas."

I felt my heart stop. "What?"

"He's out, Harm."

For a second I just can't breathe. "What do you mean he's OUT?" I'm panicked. "They can't release him. He's in prison for LIFE."

"I know that," Clay's voice is a whisper. "As of forty five minutes ago, Ali Abbas broke out of prison and is no where to be seen. He managed to kill a guard on his way out. One of the patrol men says he saw lights flashing at the bottom of the valley near Redgate but he can't be sure, meanwhile we're having the scene checked out."

His voice is so robotic, cracked under the pressure of his career. "And . . .?" I prodded, tension suddenly sweeping my body.

"I don't know, Harm," Clay whispered in desperation. "He's just . . . gone."

I could feel panic starting to spread within me. My heart was racing, this loud rush had overtaken my ears. "But they're going to find him, right?" I'm practically screaming. "I mean, he can't have gotten far. He wouldn't have risked it . . . would he?"

"I don't know," Clay said, his voice layered with internal conflict. "I think it would be awfully hard for Abbas to get out of the country – we've already got an alert for him out using Interpol. But evidently Abbas had outside help, and who knows how long he's been planning his escape? Abbas is a careful guy, and he'll wait whatever amount of time to get what he wants."

I closed my eyes. I knew that. In my case, it had been fifteen months. "I'm coming down," I whispered softly, my hand gripping the phone to my ear.

"Harm, that's not necessary," Clay said tiredly. "I'm already here. You just get some sleep."

"I won't be able to after this anyway," I said, walking down the hallway. "And I'll probably end up tossing and turning so much I'll wake Mac."

Clay heaved a sigh. "Fine."

"See you in thirty."

"See you."

I hung up the phone, this cold feeling of dread running rampant within me. Abbas back. It seemed almost unreal. That face that had haunted my dreams months after we'd returned from Italy, that cold merciless voice that accompanied him, I thought I'd never see him again. I wandered down the hallway, phone in one hand and the other stuffed in my pocket. I approached Hunter's room cautiously, opening the door silently as I knelt down beside his bed.

In the moonlight that filtered in from his open window he looked more like Mac than ever, though during the day traces of me were more pronounced. He rolled over in his bed, towards me, as though he sensed my presence. His clear blue eyes fluttered open for a moment, blinking with slumber. "Morning?"

"No," I whispered in answer, stroking the back of his head gently. "It's still night. You can go to sleep."

Hunter promptly heeded, snuggling up close to my hand. I watched him for a moment, his chest rising and falling with each breath he took. Abbas had done some good things. If it weren't for him, who knows if Mac and I would have had Hunter, or if we'd married, or even come close to anything beyond friendship. I sighed, standing up as I quickly adjusted Hunter's quilt, rubbing my eyes as I did so. I walked back to Mac's and my room almost ghost-like, quietly gliding through the shadows, and began to dress.

I was just putting on my jacket when –

"You're going?" I turned around back to the bed where Mac lay, blinking sleep from her eyes. She looked exhausted and I felt badly for waking her up.

"Yeah," I whispered, reaching for my shoes. "I'll be back in the morning."

Mac squinted at me. "What time is it?"

"Late," I bluntly elaborated, grabbing my watch and wedding ring off my night table. "You should go to sleep."

Mac nodded wearily. "You should too."

"I will," I whispered softly, walking out of the room. "Later."

Same Time

CIA Headquarters

Director Clayton Webb's Office

I leaned back in my office chair, my feet resting on my desk as my eyes fluttered closed for a moment of rest. I rubbed my temples with my hands, willing myself to recharge on energy. Kovac was nuts for loving this job, I thought savagely. But then again he was just plain nuts.

My life was hectic ever since I'd been made director. With barely six hours of sleep at night I was barely home, I lived in my office. The only days I took a little time were when Jake came to visit me. My eyes rested on the photo of him I had framed and placed on my desk – my one sign of personality. He was short for his age, rake thin, with Vera's same wavy auburn hair and my eyes – though he looked more Vera's than mine. Jake was grinning happily at the camera, looking more like his namesake than ever before. It had been nearly two weeks since I'd last seen him and it was killing me.

I smiled almost to myself as my fingers lightly ran themselves over the glass covering. The last time I'd seen him was his third birthday party when the Rabbs and the Roberts had come over. It was the last time I'd seen Vera too. I mean, well – REALLY seen Vera. I see her ever day at the office, but for like a second in passing down the halls. The last time we'd spent any time together was at our son's birthday party, and the time before that I can't even remember. We never saw much of each other any more.

I sighed, rubbing my forehead exasperatedly. Where had it all gone wrong? I kept asking myself that question but I never got the answer I was looking for. I kept replaying that day we'd left Italy, perhaps closer than we ever were before – both of us still mourning the death of Jake Holter, but everything after that was like a haze. I was made director, Abbas went to trial. He struck a deal with the FBI that got him life imprisonment instead of the chair, and the judge wouldn't overrule this decision no matter how hard I plead that Abbas was dangerous. And see where that got us.

But Jake's death had shaken us. Jake and Vera were infinitely closer than Jake and I were – I knew that and couldn't refute the fact. And somewhere in the mayhem that became our lives, we stopped finding time for each other. And when Harm and Mac married two months later, we were barely on speaking terms.

"Hey."

I looked up to see Harm standing in the doorway, shaking the rain off himself in a dog like manner. "Hi."

Harm walked over to where I sat, taking note of Jake's picture on my desk. He picked it up, smiling as he did so. "Cute picture," he said, putting it back down. "School one?"

"Yeah," I said sort of offhandedly. "Last month."

"I know," Harm nodded. "Hunter got one too." He looked next to the picture where there was a hand scrawled note from Vera on one of my notepads with the time and date of Jake's Parent-Teacher Conference – tomorrow at six. "So . . . you and Vera . . ." he trailed, not really sure where to begin. "You guys still . . . together?"

I looked down at the ground. "I haven't talked to her since Jake's birthday." I knew the admission would cost me something.

I could feel Harm's eyes on me. "And Jake?"

My throat tightened. "Well, I've called him . . . I talked on the phone with him two days ago, right after he got home from school." I fell silent

"Clay, this is job is ruining you," Harm whispered. "I see your son more than you do."

I held my head in my hands. "I can't help that . . ." My voice is pleading. "I try, Harm, I really do try . . . but I'm away so much and here all the time. I'd be there for him, I would, but I can't do that and this job. It just doesn't work."

Harm was silent.

"Look, I know what you're thinking, but I don't," I began but Harm cut me off.

"You have no clue what I'm thinking," he murmured almost to himself. He suddenly looked up at me, his blue eyes flashing. "Are you planning on telling Vera?"

My voice caught in my throat. "I don't know," I confessed, looking down at my desk. "Not tonight . . . actually, probably not tomorrow . . . well, depending on when or if Abbas is caught . . . not immedi – oh hell, I don't plan on telling her unless it's necessary," I finished.

Harm nodded, "I don't plan on telling Mac either."

I raised an eyebrow at this. Harm was big on the whole honesty issue. "Why not?"

"She'll worry about me," Harm replied bluntly, his eyes staring out the window, this strange emotion washing over them. "I don't want to scare her." Harm turned back to me. "We're going to have to go after him, aren't we?" he asked. "He isn't going to come after us anymore, is he?"

I was quiet for a minute and then, "I don't think he will."

Harm nodded silently. "Then we're going after him."

I shook my head. "No."

"No?"

"Well," I corrected myself. "Yes and no."

Harm raised an eyebrow. "Yes and no?"

"We're not going after him," I elaborated, standing up from my desk, "I am."

"Oh no, you're not," Harm bit back immediately, his blue eyes flashing. "You're not taking on Abbas alone."

"I'm not taking on anyone alone," I retorted. "I'm just not including you."

"You can't do that."

I sighed, "Yes, I can. I'm the director and you're one of my agents. You're not in on this one, Harm."

Harm surveyed me for one long moment and then, "I guess you won't be taking Vera either then."

I shook my head, "No."

"Clay, you can't protect us, no matter how much you try . . ." Harm began but I cut him off.

"Well, I can damn well try."

Harm refused to relent. "I'm going with you. I don't care what you say, Clay, if Abbas is out there he's a threat, and I'm sure as hell not going to sit around and do nothing about it while you go off man hunting."

We stood there just glaring at each other for a second, both daring to defy the other's statement and then I turned away. "Fine," I said hollowly, staring out the window in a trance-like state. "But Harm, let's keep this between us. You remember what happened with Abbas last time."

"I know," Harm whispered, standing beside me in front of the window. He smiled in grim amusement, "How could I forget?"

I watched as the rain pelted down from the angry skies above and I thought about Abbas stabbing the guard and running away, the blaze of prison lights behind him and shivered. "I wonder what Abbas is doing right now . . ."

Same Time

Location Unknown

No POV

Abbas surveyed himself in the mirror with grim satisfaction as he drew the pair of scissors across his forehead, snipping strand by strand evenly short, creating a younger appearance upon his face. He picked out two colored contact lenses from his small container and placed them in his eyes, blinking back tears as he did so.

Just you wait, Clayton Webb, he thought as he settled himself into the cot that would serve as his bed for the night. Just you wait . . .

A/N: Bad? Good? Rocked? Sucked? Review and tell me!Please let me know whether to continue or spare you the torture! lol, I have a flare for drama . . . and heading off to bed now, it's about one thirty in the morning.