AN: Hello dearies! As promised here is my update and right on time I might add. Thank you so much for the review/story favorites/alerts! I realize that the first chapter is rather short and really doesn't explain anything, so I am happy that I have snagged some interest. I really do hope to keep that and please feel free to leave me a review, ask me a question, or simply tell me how pathetic of an attempt this is at a story. I don't mind, seriously. ;)

By the way, I have nothing against the name Stefanie, it just happens to be the name that the Baron knows her by. I hope that this meets/satisfies expectations. Enjoy! ^_^

2

There was something extremely disconcerting about being on the receiving end of several firearms. Now, several were better defined as about ten guns pointed at my face with quite a few more behind. The clank of actions cycled simultaneously raised the hairs on the back of my neck. The odds were not in my favor. Still, I had escaped worse; although—at the moment—I was having difficulty calling anything to mind. Vehicular homicide was looking decidedly better than the barrel of guns I was graced with.

"Ah, Stefanie, I have missed you."

I looked from immediate threat, guns, to immediate threat, a one Ivan Mikhail Rasputin- the Baron.

"I would love to return the sentiment, but I don't really miss much these days," I returned, resisting the urge to step back as the distance was closed between us.

"Pity." I was forced to look up as a hand gruffly grabbed my chin. "Where's my money?"

As my vision was dominated by a cold, craggy, merciless demeanor, I decided two things: First, escape was non-negotiable; and second, I was not going to use the name Stefanie (or any derivative) ever again. It really was a drab name.

"Not here," I replied. That much was obvious. Here being an old derelict railway power station off the Hudson in Yonkers, New York. It was a perfect location to shoot me full of holes and dispose of the body afterwards. I knew I should have gone north from Massachusetts.

"Stefanie…" The hand released my chin in favor of idly tracing my jawline with a finger. "I am not a patient man."

I steeled myself.

"That's something you may want to rectify," I gently advised. It was not appreciated. For the briefest of moments I wondered just what had become of that infallible luck of mine. My thoughts were properly redirected as I was backhanded.

"I…want…my…money!"

Answering was not an option as I was struck a second time, a third, a fourth, fifth, sixth…seven. At seven the coppery taste of blood was present. At seven I was angry. At seven my luck presented itself. What was the purpose of an extravagantly huge, gaudy wrist watch? To tell time, no, it was there for an entirely different purpose. To snag a clump of disheveled hair, of course.

I gave an outcry as the Baron drew his hand back, presumably to continue the barrage, and my head followed. I barely registered the muttered curse in Russian before I was treated to a kick in the mid-section and the offensive clump of hair was torn from my head. I flew back into a steel beam that, oddly enough, had graffiti of a chalk outline upon it. I snorted at the irony.

"Get up!"

Glaring up at the Baron and his semi-circle of men, most of which had relaxed their holds on their weapons, I did just that. A handful of rocks clenched in my fist. Just on my feet, I found myself back in a familiar grip and front row to a peculiar new development. Shouts rang out as an arrow lodged itself in the head of the man behind Rasputin. My Russian was far too rudimentary to understand the cries that suddenly arose, but I did understand the next words to come out of the mob boss' mouth. The moment he turned back in my direction I spat a mouthful of blood into his face. Temporarily blinded, I was released from his grasp and I bolted.

Running straight toward a wall, I carelessly tossed the handful of rocks behind me. I was dominated by pain and adrenaline. So, it wasn't a surprise that I failed to notice as each stone hit a target, effectively keeping me just out of reach. Up a hill of rubble, I pushed myself harder to keep my momentum. In the next painful breath, my feet touched tagged cement and I climbed up the wall. Twisting, I jumped up toward the crossbeam. Fingers closed around rusted metal and I cried out while pulling myself up. My body was protesting profusely, but I had to keep going.

Next, I leapt to another beam barely keeping my balance. Sprinting across it, I sprang onto the next section of wall. I counted my steps: one, two, three, four, five…six—reaching—my hands clasped around the bottom rail of a catwalk. A sharp flare in my side caused me to lose my grip and I swung wildly sideways. A bullet hole appeared where I had been fractions of a second earlier. With new fervor, I righted myself and mounted the catwalk.

On hands and knees, I looked to the din below. It was pandemonium; most had taken cover and those who failed to no longer regretted the action. For the time being, the attention that had been placed on me was focused elsewhere. I was grateful for the chance respite. A blind bombardment of fire into the surrounding area brought reality back with a slap. Using the rail, I stood. An alarming feeling settled over me like prickles on the skin and I shot forward. That (the few times I had felt it), was always followed by a tumultuous turn of events. My hands fell upon the rail of the adjoining upper-walk when there was an explosion below.

I did not look back. I was harried by the need to get out. Hurry, go, keep running, don't stop…Every obstacle had to be overcome. In a haze I scaled, swung, flung, and abused my already injured self; trusting to instinct, luck to get me out. With euphoric relief, I landed upon a beam and spied my escape. It was dark and quiet- too quiet for the present goings on. I didn't trust it. There was something here that I couldn't see.

"Miss Rayes."

Crap. I clung to my handhold like a lifeline. I was too tired for this and my wary barometer just shot up ten-fold. I had not gone by the name Rayes for a very long time. Perched above me and shrouded in darkness was a man holding a bow. As he was not presently brandishing an arrow at me, I thought it safe to assume—for the moment—that he wasn't here to kill me.

"As much as I love having conversations with phantoms of the night, feet in the air, on narrow steel beams…" I paused, dizzy. "I think, I'm going to have to continue this where there is more surface area."

The aftereffects of adrenaline in conjunction with everything else were beginning to take their toll. I precariously walked across the beam and moved to a wonderful steel landing. I trusted he would follow and I was not wrong. I leaned against the railing, it keeping me standing, and studied my companion. From the waning light of the moon through a still intact window, I noted that he was tawny-haired, attractive, and most certainly dangerous. He purposely gave me space and this perked my curiosity.

"I think you are mistaking me for someone else," I began and was disregarded.

"I need you to come with me."

"Do you?" I responded immediately, shifting as my skin prickled. "Actually, I need to clean up and sleep this off; going with you really doesn't fit in with my plans."

That feeling was back and it was much worse than before. I moved away from the railing.

"Sleep it off, right."

I quirked an eyebrow at his comment before asking, "I don't suppose this is a take it or leave it sort of deal?"

"That would be correct," he affirmed.

My eyes drifted to the arrows strapped on his back and I frowned. The alternative was not promising. However, I was spared from responding as I had a bit of unfinished business to attend to. This was in the form of a large, bright spotlight focused on my position.

"Stefanie, there you are."

"Dammit," I muttered, "dammit, dammit, dammit!"

"You have some very persistent friends." Came from the bow and arrow brandishing peanut gallery.

"Mm…Spetsnaz," I explained before the spotlight spoke again.

"Stefanie, you surprise me. I am thinking we can settle this in more pleasant manner. Come down here and I'll let your friend live."

That feeling was oppressive now, and I highly doubted the validity of his offer.

"Baron, I'm afraid I'm rather selfish, and seeing as you lack a sufficient amount of funds, bribery is out of the question. Besides, he's rather cute. I think I'll go with him, so sorry to disappoint."

The Baron laughed. "Stefanie, there is no disappointment."

The spotlight shifted just enough to reveal the reason for this. It was a big, belt-fed, monster doomsday device resembling a machine gun but with a barrel the size of a postal tube. I had been stuck between a rock and a hard place before, but this time, I was trapped between Robin Hood and light artillery. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my companion's brow furrow and his lips pucker into the quintessential "ooh, I wasn't expecting this" face. Perfect. I didn't spare another second and this was good because the Baron didn't either.

My feet pounded over the landing followed closely by the thunk, thunk, thunk, of Rasputin's grenade launcher. Everything was exploding. With a new kick start, courtesy of my adrenal gland, I flung myself from my previous station. I landed belly first on a beam, aggravating my previous injury, and began slipping backwards. Futilely I tried to regain my grip but my weight worked against me. I fell. There was an eruption from above and I covered my face, bracing myself for the horrendous pain to come. I slammed into the waiting ground below, but not into rock. I would have laughed had the wind not been thoroughly knocked out of me. I had landed on a trio of old, blown-out mattresses.

This was short lived as I tried to right myself. My head swam and my body was not quite ready to be moved. The sickening mechanical sound of my demise seized my attention. I rolled off with pure determination, happy that I landed in a puddle. Now wet, I madly crawled away. The world really was not stable and all manner of debris danced through the air to shower down on me in the next instant. The next thunk was close, too close.

My cries died as they were replaced with a ringing in my ears, and a large uncomfortable weight was thrown over me. I was sandwiched between a rut in the floor and a giant spool. This saved me from having my lungs crushed, but effectively pinned me down. I struggled to push myself free but it was to no avail. The Baron's laughter at my predicament stopped my efforts. I watched with a disturbing fascination as the Baron fired one last time.

There was a huge bang that shook the surrounding area but it did not come from where I was so conveniently stuck. I stared and slowly the images filtering through my eyes began to make sense. There was a smoldering tangle of metal where the Baron had been. The spotlight was destroyed, and there were other bodies scattered about. Someone had been busy. Footfalls on rock took me from my observations and I looked up to see the man from before. He was a bit worse for the wear but not like me. It would do well to call to attention the fact that I had been the one followed by grenades, not him.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"I'm Agent Barton."

"Well, Agent Barton," I began, "I think I'm going to need some help, that is, if you still want me to go with you." I didn't bother saying that me in the company of others was dangerous, though I thought it. From his clothes, weapons, and own admission, I had deduced that he was military. This meaning that he had orders and, danger or not, I was going. Or he was a fanatical vigilante. Either way the outcome was basically the same.

"Right."

I grimaced as the spool shifted and I was pulled free. Released from my prison, I had a better vantage point over that spool, and the multiple objects that it was impaled with. How lucky: it had saved me from becoming a pincushion. Barton helped me into a sitting position and at our close proximity I saw that his eyes were a very pretty blue.

Averting my gaze, I asked, "Shall we?"

"You're just going to willingly come along now?"

"Are you complaining?" I countered. "As fun as another exhilarating chase would be, I'll take a rain check. Even if I was the luckiest girl in the world, my body won't take anymore."

"Can you walk?" There was an amused lilt in his voice.

"With help." I was immediately pulled to my feet and I wished that I wasn't. Pain flared from every limb and I held my breath, willing it to ease just a bit. Agent Barton did not press me to walk, but waited. My discomfort was obvious on my face. I opened my eyes as I released my breath, and looked at the mess before me.

"Okay." I took a step forward. I would have preferred to suffer in silence, but there was one last question nagging at me.

"Barton, did you…" I couldn't finish my sentence, so I inclined my head toward what had been the Baron.

"No, I believe that was a squib."

"…squib…?"

"A grenade was stuck in the barrel; he didn't notice and fired another."

I was lucky. I didn't say anything else and concentrated solely on putting one foot in front of the other. After an eternity, I found myself outside in the fresh night air and a waiting van. A door opened and a man, no, soldier stepped out. I was ushered inside and thankfully sank into my waiting seat. My eyes were heavy, and I was crashing. I doubted I would have lasted one more minute. There was a hand on my face.

"Ma'am, I need you to open your eyes," a foreign voice entreated me.

"Can't…" The word was slurred.

"Sir?"

"Don't…worry…its normal," I mumbled before I passed out.