As Amanda would look back on the events of that night, she would better see the things that led to her collapse and form the plans that could have better served both her family and the ragtag team of convicts. If they'd formed those plans then, maybe those men wouldn't have died, maybe she wouldn't have a contract out on her head, maybe she wouldn't be wanted for murder and accessory to escape… but as she was now, Amanda was blissfully unaware of what was to come. She could never have handled it otherwise.

"Why does an artist have an off-the-grid cabin?"
"Ha. It's my former boss's cabin. When the company went under, I bought it for a stop between home and the art galleries in Chicago and Madison. It took some finagling and some folded business fronts, but I got it with little to no attachment to my name- not completely legal, but… you know how that goes." Amanda finished the last tuck under the mattress then threw the comforter to the stranger across the bed. "That's yours."
"You're one of those charmed people, aren't you?" Michael expected a laugh or a smile, but she wilted visibly before turning her attention to the next and last cot needing to be made for the night.
"I'm anything but charmed." She whispered. "Look at tonight. Miles and miles of interstate, and I'm on the exact stretch that you are exactly when you're looking for a new plan. Charmed? No."
"Tell us to leave."
"That's not what I meant-"
"It's not too late to get away clean."
"Who? You or me?"
A long silence followed as both weighed one another's reactions against that which they knew about the other. For him, the outburst didn't fit with the quiet, rosy demeanor he'd seen all night. For her, the conversation and the thought of the questions to follow had brought a well-taught misgiving to the surface. Suddenly, and without even trying, both were chary of each other.
Amanda dropped the coverlet on the last cot. "If you'll excuse me, I had better be getting to bed." She'd taken but 6 steps when Abruzzi stepped into the doorway, effectively blocking the room's only exit. "Petulance is a terrible vice, girlie."
"I'm sure yours outweigh mine…"
"Alls washed clean if we ask-"
"Move, John." It didn't matter that he didn't completely trust this girl anymore. He'd said he wouldn't let any of them hurt her, and Michael had always been a man of his word, however hard it would be to keep it.
Slowly, Abruzzi stepped back to the side but Amanda didn't take her eyes from him. He smiled almost unwaveringly until she gave him a look of utter contempt. "Don't think…" she hissed, "that I can't find a way to turn just one of you in, because I'll do it."
It looked as if John wanted to say something back but caught himself just in time. Amanda scoffed then turned back to Michael. "I'm down the hall if you need anything, but you," she looked back at Abruzzi, "if I see you wandering around, looking for trouble, do not hesitate to believe I will shoot you. Good-night."
For different reasons entirely, both men watched the girl turn and depart down the hall, hating and admiring her all in the same moment. Michael wished he could talk to her more, right now, to understand just where she was coming from on the charts. Abruzzi, meanwhile, was already forming his plan of attack… one to kill three birds with one giant stone.

Long after Abruzzi left the room and the lights were turned out, the questions were still hounding Michael. What kind of girl was this? Why would she so willingly agree to help, especially when she barely knew them? Nearly two hours had gone by and finally, Michael was giving up on trying to force his mind to rest. It didn't even matter whether he wanted to sleep or not, because every time he closed his eyes, all he could see and think of was Amanda- pale-skinned, blue-eyed, curly raven-haired, and confusing as nothing Amanda.
There were any number of possibilities as to her true identity. She could be one of the VP's lemmings, ready and willing to set up all the men for a fall, but why would she be so edgy around Abruzzi if she was a trained killer? It could very well be an act… or she could actually be a normal girl who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
"Hey, you still awake?"
"As I'll ever be." Michael stayed still, not even needing to look to know his brother was giving him the same concerned expression he'd been giving him all month. "You should sleep."
"You should too." Lincoln sat up and dropped his feet to the floor. "You're still planning."
"Thinking."
"You're planning."
Michael sighed and looked over to his brother. "I'm planning."
"What for?"
"Amanda."
"You think she's someone else's?"
"She didn't seem edgy around Abruzzi to you?"
"A little bit… who wouldn't?"
"Someone who doesn't know him." It wasn't something Michael wanted to think about, but it was possible. It'd even explain why Amanda had been so calm around everyone except Abruzzi. He could deal with a mob lackey quicker than one of the VP's.
"You think she's…"
"I don't know."
Both brothers stopped, settling their focus on different points around the room. Neither wanted to believe that they'd stumbled yet again into a conspiracy plot, but it was something they had to consider nonetheless. The slightest slip could mean death for one brother and life in prison for the other, and Michael would do anything to keep from that from happening again.
Lincoln sighed, more tired than he'd been in his life but too haunted by nightmares to rest. "I'm not about to get in on this right now. I'm going downstairs."
"You sure?"
"Yeah, and hey," Lincoln bumped the side of his brother's cot. "Try to get some sleep."
As the door closed, Michael's mind wandered almost unwaveringly to Amanda and the chance she was working with Abruzzi. Was she edgy around him or just uncomfortable? And how would she have known him prior to tonight? She'd said she didn't live around here. The lines weren't connecting and again she was a variable, able to make or break the rest of this escape.
Michael pulled his hands back comfortably under his head, considering each of the night's events until he came to the brief encounter between Amanda and Abruzzi. "Don't think that I can't find a way to turn just one of you in, because I'll do it." I'll do it.
He smiled, finally drifting into a dreamless sleep.

A body…a thunderclap… a flickering reflection of a face her mind couldn't seem to completely erase: they all haunted her dreams. Amanda awoke suddenly, bolting into a sitting position before she looked about the room. Anton still slept on the bed to her left. The windows and the door were still locked, but she couldn't shake this feeling that someone was there. Slowly, she climbed out of bed and crossed to the doorway, hoping if she saw it was bolted, she would be able to convince her mind to sleep again and ignore the familiar unease.
It was the moment she reached the door, she heard it- a dull thud from someone else's movement in the room, and suddenly, she was pinned between a shadowy figure and the wall. "Ant-" a rough hand came down across her mouth as she tried to scream.
"You'll shut up, girlie."
Every cell in Amanda's body recoiled as her mind placed the voice. It was him, the Italian who had watched her every move earlier that night. How had he gotten in? What did he want? What was he going to do? She shrieked into his hand only to cry out for a third time as he flung her head back against the wall
"Don't make me hurt you again."
Amanda could barely focus on the arm pinning her hands above her head, but she knew he was waiting for her to look at him, to show she was listening, and so she forced her eyes to settle on his face. He smiled. "Good. Now, I have a proposition for you, pretty. Our boy Michael has something that belongs to me and I need to get it back. If you find it for me, I'll leave. If you don't," Abruzzi leaned closer, "I'll kill you and make your brother wish he was dead." For a moment, he stopped, taking in the sight of the girl against him before releasing her hands and letting her sink slowly to the floor. "You have two days. Get me Fibonacci… or I get you."
Ages passed after he left, his footsteps receding softly down the hall, and still, Amanda didn't move. She could only think of tonight's sheer lunacy. What had she done? She'd let these men into her house. She'd endangered not only herself but Anton… and all because of that one night some 18 years ago, the one that was now creeping once more into her dreams.
Centuries could have come and gone as she crouched there against the wall, unable and unwilling to convince her body to move- lulled into a trance by the thoughts that made it through the painful dark and the sound of Anton's gentle snores.
Finally, she couldn't take anymore. The dull throbbing, what Abruzzi had asked her to do, and the shame over the fact that she was actually considering helping him were too much; she had to find something else to focus on.
As Amanda pulled herself up to stand, the dull ache erupted into its previous raw pain, and she found herself gripping the open door to keep from collapsing again. After a beat or two, she forced another step then another and another until, by the end of the hall, the pain had numbed to the much preferred dull twinge.
It didn't matter that she knew she should go back to bed. She couldn't do it. She couldn't face the risk that she could very well be thrown back into the nightmare from which she'd awoken only an hour ago- not now, not with what she was thinking of doing. How… how could she think- Amanda stopped in the middle of the stairs. The den's light was on and she could see the shadow of a man on the opposite wall. It didn't appear to be Abruzzi, but she warily peeked around the doorway nonetheless. It wasn't him. "Lincoln?"
He turned from the wall of bookcases. "Oh, uh."
"Amanda." She smiled.
"Right. Did I wake you up?"
"No, bad dreams. You?"
"The same- uh, listen, if you want to be alone, I can go back upstairs."
"No, no. It's fine. I just needed to come down here and think."
Amanda's mind was already churning, awkwardly searching for a subtle way to leave without giving herself away. It was bad enough that she would have to face Michael soon and get this Fibonacci Abruzzi wanted, but to face Lincoln as well? The man who'd been framed for the Vice-President's murder and hunted even within the security of a jail?
No excuse came and so finally, she dropped into one of the twin loungers, the other of which Lincoln was now sitting in, lost in thought. Both sat quietly for a long time, gazing about the rooms until their minds would settle on some remembrance or fear of what could come next. Amanda was deep in a plan for Abruzzi when Lincoln finally broke the silence. "I am sorry."
She looked at him quizzically.
"For grabbing you- we never planned on it."
"I understand … and I'm sorry too… for all that's happened to you."
"It's not your fault."
"I know." She paused. "Can I ask you a question?"
"Sure."
"How did you get wrapped up in this?"
"That," he sighed, "is a long story."
"So? We've got 3 hours until sunrise."
"Good point."
"I just want to know what I'm getting into here."
They both waited for the other to speak, half expecting a retreat into contemplative silence. Finally, Lincoln leaned forward. "I hope you're not getting into anything."
"I hope so too."
He sighed again. "Fine. There are still a few holes, but I'll tell you what I know. I guess you could say it started when Dad left and Mom died- that's when life really took off downhill, but Michael… he recovered a lot faster than I did. He always does."