"Why didn't you take the shot?" He asked.
"Do you even know why you're supposed to kill me? Look at us. Look what they make you give." Jason Bourne said to him.
Paz heard the agents scrambling to assist behind him. He heard his boss come closer. And he saw the finality of Jason Bourne's decision in his eyes. He wasn't sure why, but he lowered his gun as Bourne turned and leapt from the roof.
And for the first time in his career…Paz flinched as a gunshot rang out.
As Bourne's body slammed into the water below, Paz turned and watched as Noah Vosen holstered his weapon and turned away. Paz didn't wait to hear what the man had to say. He hurried from the roof as silently as he had come. He moved with purpose, making sure that no one noticed his slight limp or made aware that his head was pounding. And he was pretty sure that he broke a couple of fingers earlier as well. He reached the street and dissolved into the crowds of people.
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On the roof, Noah Vosen realized his mistake. He turned to his agents. "Find the asset and take him out. We need to tie up all these loose ends." His agents nodded and hurried after Paz.
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Paz was starting to slow. His leg was killing him and his head felt like it was going to explode. He heard rushed footsteps behind him and froze. He turned to see the agents from the roof top running after him. Shit. This was not what he needed. He started moving faster, gritting his teeth against the pain. He wove through the sparse traffic, pushing his way through pedestrians as well. He knew he was going to be taken down soon. Just when he thought he pulled away, he heard the familiar snick of a silencer and then felt the impact and searing pain in his left arm. Son of a bitch. The impact drove him forward, but he knew he would die if he stopped moving.
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Samantha Barnes sat in her car at the stop light, trying like hell to stay awake. It had been a long night at work, and a longer week was ahead of her. She stared at the light, the red blurring slightly, so she shook her head to clear it. The lights flashed vividly across the windshield. Great…just what she needed. A migraine. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temple, turning her impatience for the light into a feeling of gratitude. She was starting to feel better when something large slammed into the side of her car. Sam barely stifled a scream as a large man folded himself into her compact car. With deft hands, he pushed the seat back, allowing him more leg room. As she moved to flee her own car, the man's hand snaked out and grabbed her roughly by the wrist. His fingers were wet, as if he rubbed sweat from his brow. Her gaze snapped to his face and she cringed. Well no wonder. He was a mess. In a panic, she pushed against him, trying desperately to disengage his hand. She froze when he leveled the weapon at her.
"You are going to do exactly as I say. You get me out of here, and I will leave you alone. If you don't help me, we will both die. Do you understand?" The man hissed.
Sam swallowed hard. "Y-Yes," she whispered. She glanced at the road. "The l-light's green." The man released her wrist and Sam quickly moved the car forward. She peered at him from the driver's seat. "You don't need the gun."
The man stared somewhat blankly at her before realizing that the weapon was nearly in her lap. "Just get me somewhere safe. Somewhere other than here." She caught him watching two men as they turned a corner.
"Friends of yours?" She asked.
"Just keep driving." He didn't even glance back. Instead, he leaned back into her seat and took several deep breaths. Sam realized that his breathing was labored, and he winced every time she hit a bump.
Sam drove until she reached her destination. The man said he needed somewhere safe, and her safe place was her house. Though she knew it wasn't smart bringing an armed man to her home, she felt as if he truly needed some help. The townhouse she owned outside of New York City wasn't huge, but it fit her every need. She pulled into the garage and put the car in park. "Now what?"
The man leveled a gaze at her. "We go inside." He slid gingerly from her car and stalked over to the driver side. As soon as she stepped out, he grasped her upper arm and steered her towards the house. "Do not panic. I will not hurt you."
Sam nodded. His grip seemed to loosen slightly as she fished her house keys from her bag and let him inside. She flipped on a couple more lights as she walked through her house. The man released her as he swept through each room. Sam shrugged. Whatever calmed him down. She headed straight for the bathroom to change. As she opened up her linen closet, the man grabbed her harshly on the shoulder and spun her around, pinning her back against the door as he held his forearm to her throat. Sam struggled to breath and she clawed at his arm to relieve the pressure.
"What were you doing? What were you reaching for?" He asked softly. He wrapped a hand around her throat and pulled her away from the door, squeezing tighter as she fought. He wrenched open the doors and pushed her clothes and towels onto the floor.
"Clothes! Clothes!" She gasped. The man released her quickly. Sam staggered back, rubbing her throat. Her hand came away sticky and she looked down at her fingers. They were smeared with blood. "Oh my god." She gasped. The man glanced at her and then at her hand. "You're bleeding."
The man tried to laugh, but failed. "Brilliant observation." He winced as he put his gun in the waistband of his jeans.
Sam gently took his hand. The man stiffened but let himself be lead into the bathroom. With Sam's urging, he sat on the toilet as she rifled through drawers. "You need to…ah…take your shirt…off." She flushed and the man grinned. He carefully peeled off his jacket and then his zip-up hoodie before carefully peeling the shirt from his body.
Sam swallowed hard as she took in the man's tortured body. The amount of scars he had…my God. He'd have a couple more by the time she was done taking care of the gaping hole on his shoulder. She swallowed hard as she looked closely at it. The wound was red and angry, no doubt hurting like a bitch too. And as a trauma surgeon, she had seen her share of wounds like this. Someone had shot this man.
She placed the things she gathered on the counter and stepped back. "It's going to hurt, taking the bullet out. And I don't have anything for the pain."
The man raised his head and looked her straight in the eye, "I've had worse." And Sam sadly, believed him. God, what a life to live.
"Okay, so you know then that I need you to stay still." She leaned in close and smoothed her hands out around the hole. His body tensed and he shivered. "It won't take long. Deep steady breaths now, okay?" And she started. Except for a few hisses and grunts, he was an amazing patient. It took almost 30 minutes to fish the bullet out, clean and stitch the wound.
By the time she was done, the man was sweating heavily and breathing fast. He was clammy and pale, and damn it, looked like he was going to pass out at any second. If guys were after him, who's to say they wouldn't find him here? She cleaned up her materials and moved to stand in front of him. Cupping his face gently in her hands, she raised his head to meet his eyes.
"What is your name?" She asked. He shook his head, his lids lowering. "I need to know. I want to know."
His eyes cleared somewhat and he sighed. "I can't…not safe."
Sam frowned. "I'm not safe anyway because I know what you look like. What is your name?"
The man stared at her for some time. Then, in just a whisper, as he struggled to stay conscious, she heard him say, "Paz."
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Sam was able to get him into her room and onto her bed before he passed out. This was not good. Not good at all. She sat on the bed next to him, lightly dabbing his forehead with a damp cloth. He was burning up. He needed some antibiotics and fast. She carefully turned him onto his side and pulled the gun from the waistband of his pants. It was caked in blood. She palmed the metal and walked back into the bathroom. She grabbed a wash cloth and started to clean the weapon carefully. She had never fired one, never held one, and having that power in her hands scared her to death. As she focused on cleaning off the weapon, she never heard the back door open. As she became lost in her thoughts, she never saw the shadow that crossed behind her. And it was too late when a heavy weight slammed into her back, an arm clamed around her torso pinning her to the sink, and a callused hand covered her mouth before she could cry for help.