Chapter Six

Steve was pacing restlessly. "I need to go after the husband now," he growled as 'Cliff'. "If we wait much longer, he'll be too alert. I should be striking now, while he's still in shock over his dear, departed wife."

"When it's time, you'll go," one of the cronies who'd been milling about the office said in reply.

"It's past time! When you hire a professional, you should let him do his job, Dammit! Let me finish my job!"

The boss who had originally 'hired' him strode into the office with a smug grin on his face. "That's exactly our intention," he told 'Cliff'. "Follow me, please, and bring your weapon."

"Look," Steve argued, following the man out of the office, "I'm perfectly capable of offing one grieving husband, all by myself. I don't need a baby-sitter to slow me down."

"Maybe so," the leader said, "but that's not where we're going." Three newly-hired, armed enforcers filled the hallway behind them. "I expect you to finish the first job first."

Uh-oh. The man headed down a long hallway, and Steve had no choice but to follow. They stopped in front of a small, dingy barred cell at the very end of the hall. Inside the cell, lying on the concrete floor, bloodied and unconscious, was Jaime.

The leader looked expectantly at his hit man. "You got her, but not good enough. This time we made it easy for you. Go ahead - finish her off."

Steve's mind raced through every possibility in less than a second, and none of them were acceptable. That second of hesitation was all the boss had needed to see.

"That's what I thought...Colonel."

Steve tried to keep the ruse going. "Excuse me?"

"When Frank said you only took one shot, instead of emptying the gun at her, I wondered -"

"One shot is all I usually need. More would be too risky, draw too much attention," Steve insisted.

"Don't even bother. I know who you are. You just confirmed it; a professional would've shot before I'd even told him to do it." He looked toward his new helpers. "Put him in the cell with his wife. We'll take care of them later, after she's awake. I have some very special plans for Mrs. Austin, and I want her husband to hear her scream."

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Buffy knew Oscar would most likely fire her for insubordination, but she completely disregarded his order, made one quick stop and headed back toward New Destiny's compound. She would be going in as herself this time; 'Caitlyn' was useless to her now. Buffy intended to do whatever might be necessary to save her friends.

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Steve sat on the concrete next to his wife's pale, unmoving form. He flinched at the sight of the bullet wound he'd inflicted. Jaime, why weren't you wearing your vest? It wasn't as bad as it could've been, hitting her in the lower left quadrant of her abdomen, but it was bad enough to flood his soul with guilt. She began to move, just slightly, and he thanked whatever luck they had remaining for the fact that New Destiny was still too short-handed (or short-sighted) to have posted a guard outside the cell. He took Jaime's left hand and leaned down close to her face.

"Jaime, if you can hear me, don't open your eyes. Squeeze my hand, Sweetheart." He waited a few seconds. Her eyelids fluttered but stayed closed, and Steve felt a weak but very welcome squeeze from her hand. "Ok, good," he said soothingly. "We're ok - for now - if they don't think you're awake. You need to stay unconscious until I can figure a way out of here, ok?" Another squeeze. "I love you," he whispered, gently kissing her forehead. Then one more thought occurred to him. "Jaime, if you hear anything you think I should be alert for, roll over and kick me, and...if you hear Buffy coming back, swing an arm out and hit me. Ok?"

Jaime frowned, puzzled and frightened, then returned her face to its relaxed, 'unconscious' state and softly squeezed Steve's hand.

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Buffy knew she didn't have much time. She moved with quiet urgency to the back of the compound and jumped the fence. She'd been issued a gun at the beginning of the mission, but she'd left that in the car, unsure of her ability to use it. Her one quick stop had been to pick up a weapon she was much more proficient with, and it was the reason she now remained in the shadows and dark corners of the complex as she formulated a final plan. In her hands, Buffy carried a very large, deadly-sharp sword.

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