The Last Time:

The job had seemed easy…right up until it went terribly, terribly wrong. Fiona got a text in the middle of their meeting with a photo of the babysitter in a pool of blood while their two-year-old son looked on from his playpen.

They raced. They called Sam but he was out of town. He raced back anyway. They called Maddie. She was on her way immediately, but she was twice as far away as they were. They called Barry and Seymour and even some friends at the police department. Still they raced, flying through traffic in Michael's tank of a car.

Their little cottage in the Florida backwoods was supposed to keep them safe. It was supposed to keep them hidden, out of sight, off the grid…but now the endless, winding driveway was excruciating.

Fiona fidgeted and unconsciously pressed her foot on an imaginary gas pedal…even though it was Michael doing the driving.

They rounded yet another curve as the car shook and a ball of flames appeared above the tree lines. They gripped the car doors and looked at each other.

"Oh God," Fiona cried.

Michael stepped on the gas but it wasn't enough for her. Before he knew it she was fumbling with the door.

"Fiona!"

She stumbled out of the car, sprinted around the back and cut through the woods on foot. Michael revved the engine and cut her off at the next curve as the road opened up to their broad, green lawn. Flames were bursting out where windows used to be.

"Fi! Fiona! Stop!" he yelled at her as he struggled to put the car in park and leap out after her.

She stopped and turned to him. "No, Michael! I can still get him!" She moved closer to the five foot wall surrounding the house.

"Fi stop!" His voice was cracking. "It's already too big. You'll never make it!"

"I have to try, Michael!" She fumbled for her keys to open the gate.

"Fi, no!" His voice was breaking. "I can't lose both of you!"

She realized her keys must still be in the car. She turned back to look at him. "Michael…I…" She didn't know what to say. She grabbed a hold of the iron gate and started to climb it.

"Damn it, Fi!" He sprinted across the yard and arrived at the gate just as she landed lightly on the other side. "Fiona stop!" he cried, but she wasn't listening. She stood up swiftly and headed for the burning house.

His mind clouded with desperation, he did the only thing he could think to do. He pulled out his gun, aimed, and shot straight through her shoulder. Her feet tangled beneath her and she fell to the grass.

He shoved his key in the lock, swung the gate open and ran to her. There were tears streaming down her face as she stared at him. He ripped off his shirt and pulled her back and against his chest as he pressed the shirt against her to stop the bleeding. Another explosion rocked the building and sent sparks flying in every direction. He pulled her around quickly and shielded her with his body. She shrieked in pain and her whole body shook with frustration and despair.

"Damn it, Michael," she screamed. "Damn it!" Her voice broke as she started coughing from the smoke.

They could hear sirens winding their way up the long, back road to their cottage. They stared at the giant inferno engulfing the life and the family they'd finally managed to cobble together.

Coughs still wracked her body and his eyes were burning too from smoke and tears. He lifted her carefully and carried her back to the car, away from the flames. He set her down in the backseat of the Charger and continued to hold her wounded shoulder.

"You shot me," she whispered, looking up at him.

"I did," he agreed, gravely.

"You shot me on purpose." Fire trucks and ambulances pulled up beside them.

He shut his eyes against the tears and kissed the top of her head. "Yes," he told her. "I shot you…but only because I couldn't stand to lose you."