A/N: As promised, here is the slightly extended version. I wrote this while binge watching the West Wing (hello, new obsession). Thank you to those who reviewed chapter six!

Just a note - IRA, if anyone doesn't know, is the Irish Republican Army, or Irish Republican Areas, contextually depending.

Again, please review! Tell me what you think of this. I'm staying home sick today (they say it's a cold, but I think I have the Plague), so I'll be doing a lot of writing. (:

"Are you ever going to properly introduce me?" Danielle asked the next afternoon after she'd panicked a suitable amount at the gaping hole in the middle of the kitchen. Alex had a disturbingly apathetic disposition towards the whole thing, but every now and then she caught him staring at the charred crater on the countertop. His face was a cryptic mask; she couldn't tell what he was thinking, even though his eyes narrowed in on the wreckage with cold, singular focus. He radiated tension in every movement and after a few hours it was starting to affect Danielle. She jumped out of her chair every time he so much as twitched.

Now, after her question, Alex pulled his gaze away from the file he was reading. "What?"

"To the. . . others." Danielle vaguely gestured upwards. Heavy footsteps had been echoing across the ceiling all morning as the SAS unit revested Alex's studio for their own needs. They were the SAS unit who, coincidentally, had been bodyguards or whatever for Alex wherever he worked last and had appeared around the same time she did, after her cards were caught off. Alex left, then, and suddenly her accounts were all restored.

Danielle made a mental note to interrogate him about that as soon as possible because every instinct she possessed was screaming that something wasn't right with their presence; obviously, the SAS put Alex on edge. Should she be worried too?

"There's really not much to know about them," Alex said.

"Real names would be a nice start. Clara probably things you live in a zoo. So," Danielle started ticking names off on her fingers. "There's Ben, Luke, and Snake. . .Quinn, Eagle called him, I think. And Eagle. Who uses that for a codename?"

"For his aim," Alex said almost absently. His eyes were fixed on the remnants of the microwave again.

"What?"

He glanced at her. "With a gun. Because he's a soldier."

"Right."

"That's what he told me."

she sighed. "Okay, Alex."

Now he turned to fully look at her, his brow wrinkled with confusion. "What?"

"Nothing." Truthfully, Danielle felt off-kilter enough before she arrived at Alex's place. Clara hadn't talked to her since last night - well, the more accurate version was that Danielle had avoided Clara, leaving before she woke up to go hang around the academy for a while before classes started. After class, Danielle hurried to Alex's building before Clara or any of her other friends had a chance to track her down. She didn't want to face what Clara said, not yet.

You can't keep hiding from people.

The worst thing was that Clara was absolutely right. Danielle just . . . she didn't want to think about the day when she would have to stop hiding.

"You've been acting weird all morning," Alex said. "Did anything else happen?"

"Because you look like a soldier!" She tugged at her braid, almost missing the startled look passing over his face. "You look. . . intense." And it reminds me of August.

He was silent.

She slid the file away from him and flipped through the papers inside. They were all plans and statistics for various caterers - all except one sheet, which was a detailed hand-drawn floor plan of the Palace Theater, which was not where this reception was going to be held.

"You should probably tell me what this is," she suggested as casually as she could.

Alex plucked the paper out of her hands in a carefully controlled motion betrayed by the tense cords of muscle standing out in his forearm. He was impossibly tense, ready for battle.

"Just a drawing."

"A completely accurate drawing, to scale, it seems, of a place you've only been once."

"Danielle. . ." there was a hard edge to his voice that she hadn't heard before, and she closed her eyes for a long moment to try and gather her scattered thoughts.

"Clara and I had a . . .disagreement. I'm going to call Tom and see if he knows some place I can stay." Pushing her chair away, she left the kitchen and flopped onto the couch with a heavy sigh. Talking to Alex was sometimes like yelling into a pillow: sound traveled slowly with much effort involved.

She was tired. She was so tired of constantly looking over her shoulder, wondering when her time would run out, wincing around the pain ingrained into every muscle and bruise.

She didn't want to run anymore.

When Tom finally answered his phone, she didn't ask about dorms or flats. Instead she greeted him, took a deep breath, and asked, "You're studying law, right?"

"Define studying." His tone was light. She could practically hear the smirk in his voice, and bit back a grin in favor of scoffing. Bright voices echoed around on his end; he was out somewhere, probably with his university friends "Yeah, I am."

"I need you to help me file a case."

Silence ticked away the seconds as a door slammed shut and the voices muffled. When Tom spoke again, it was much quieter. "A case about. . . August?"

"Y-. . .yes."

"Danielle, I want to help you, but I'm not a lawyer. I'm in my second year."

"Could you at least help me figure out the exact laws that were violated?"

He grunted. "I can think of about twelve off the top of my head. Yeah. I can help you with that."

Relief flooded her anxious nerves. "Thank you, so much."

"That's what friends are for. Hey, I'm at a match, so-"

"Oh! Sorry! Yeah, are you coming by Alex's later?"

"It's fine! I was planning on it, yes. Two hours?"

She nodded, then realized he couldn't see. "I'll be here."

"Okay. Uh - bye, I guess."

"Bye." Before he could end the call, she hung up and rested her head on her arm, twisting sideways to favor her injured shoulder. Maybe she could just stay there and let Alex figure out all the catering and invitations. The reception wasn't even her idea, it was Clara's pet project from four months ago for everyone in their ensemble. Danielle didn't know if she was still supposed to be working on it.

She hadn't slept well the previous night. Her dreams were haunted by nightmares, specters that had lived with her almost as long as her necklace.

Her fingers instinctively grazed the metal of the flat, silver cross. It had been a present from her father, she knew that much even if no one else believed her. Of course her father had come back for her - he'd promised.

But then he hadn't bothered returning. Just dropped off a gift that tarnished within two months, and never appeared again.

Twelve years later, here she was.

Alone.

Danielle swallowed. Her throat ached. The last thing she needed now was to get sick, but nothing ever worked out the way she wanted -no, needed- it to.

Hopefully Tom wouldn't be scared off by sickness. He hadn't run from bruises.

Sniffing, she pulled herself off the couch and went in search of a tissue or paper towel. Alex aimlessly flipped through the file as she walked by.

Danielle found a mug that wasn't broken from the blast and, with difficulty, swallowed it. She grimaced.

"Are you okay?" Alex rasped. He cleared his throat.

"I think I'm getting sick," she replied, slamming the mug onto the counter. "I can't even swallow water."

His eyes darkened. "Sorry."

"it's not like you infected me."

"I wasn't apologizing for that."

"Oh." She wiped her watering eyes. Yep, she was sick.

"It's incredibly disturbing when something blows up inside your house."

"I bet." Danielle sat down next to him. "what happened to your old microwave?"

He said nothing.

Danielle gasped. "You didn't have an old one! I was there when it was delivered. The man said-"

"Danielle, shut up. Please."

Her mouth snapped shut. She'd never heard Alex speak like that; It didn't even sound like his voice.

"Oh," she whispered, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest. "Okay."

"Maybe you should leave.

"You can't just send people away when you're mad at them."

"I'm not mad."

She frowned. "then what are you? Scared?" she meant to taunt him, but he almost visibly recoiled into his thoughts. It was practically laughable to think what her life had become. All she knew anymore were half-truths and vague lies, and this was not In her job description but it was also the only place she was safe from August . He wouldn't have the guts to touch her with soldiers around.

"Danielle."

She didn't look up, but she heard his sigh. "Look, I know you have your own problems. I don't want you to..."

"Feel responsible for you." She kicked the table leg. "Because...why? I'm not worthy of your secrets? You know a hell of a lot more about me than most people, and you don't seem to care that this could affect your image or your job because, when you look at the basis of my agreement, I'm basically a prostitute!"

"Stop." he clenched his fist. "look, you won't have to do anything for him. I heard you ask Tom to help you build a case. I'll help you too. Okay?"

"What do you know?"

"A lot more than you think."

She groaned. "Alex. Please, tell me the truth. Once."

"My uncle worked for the government."

"And? Oh. That explains the soldiers."

"Yeah." Alex tossed the file across to her. "So, caterers. I'm thinking traditional?"

"You don't know what means, do you?"

That drew a grin out of him. "Nope."

She smiled despite herself. "You know, for such a smart person, you can be awfully stupid."

Alex was heartily sick of looking at prices and seating tables. Somehow Danielle managed to last a solid two hours pouring over the details, with an ever-worsening cold to boot. Personally Alex would rather slog forty kilometers in pouring rain and hail than talk about flower colors (weren't they all basically the same?) but Danielle seemed happy, so he silently sat through the excruciating details while they waited for Tom to arrive.

Danielle finally got off the phone with the florist, beaming at him after a long argument haggling over prices.

"I did it! Got 'im down to three hundred."

He grinned. "Nice."

"I know this probably isn't your first choice of how to spend your morning, but I really appreciate the help. I have no idea what I'm doing."

"You seem to be doing fine."

She laughed. "No. Clara's a force of nature when it comes to this."

A key turned in the front door knob and Tom stepped in with his backpack slung over one shoulder. His hair stuck up in all directions. Grass clippings clung to his socks and shoes, which he kicked off inside the door.

"Hey!" he said, sounding out of breath. "Sorry. Football match."

Danielle's eyebrows shot up. "You didn't tell me you were playing!"

"You didn't tell me you were sick," he replied, sauntering into the kitchen. She shook her head, grinning, but sobered when he sat down and pulled out a stack of textbooks about British law.

Just like that, any semblance of normalcy vanished. Alex crumpled up the floor plan of the Palace theater before Tom had a chance to notice it.

Danielle reached for her phone. "Can I call someone?"

"You don't have to ask," Alex said. "Go ahead."

She slipped away.

"Any word from K Unit?" asked Tom as he wedged open a thick book and slid it further up the table.

"No. Except for them tramping about up there."

"I ran into Wolf in the lift."

"Oh?"

"He had parts of a weight machine."

Alex groaned. "You're kidding."

"Nope. Any news on the bomb?"

"No."

"Damn. This is what, the third one?"

"Pathetic attempt."

"Huh." Tom zipped up his backpack and kicked it aside.

"They're testing me," Alex said. His suspicions solidified as he spoke. "They don't know if I was ever a spy or not." it was the only explanation that made sense.

"Ah."

Danielle reentered. "Clara's coming over."

"I thought you were arguing." Alex watched her perch on the edge of the table, feet dangling off the floor.

She shrugged. "We worked it out. So, Tom - what will I need?"

"Well," Tom began. "We'll need testimonies, obviously, a lawyer who can broker a restraining order and actually handle this. He -or she- will probably want to talk to your neighbors, maybe obtain photographic evidence for the trial."

"Photographic. . .?" Danielle's worried eyes flicked to Alex, who awkwardly patted her on the shoulder.

"Um. That's definitely not something we'll be doing. Don't worry."

"I wasn't," she said quickly, probably lying.

The doorbell rang. Hopping off the table, she hurried to answer it.

"You have a doorbell?" Tom muttered.

Alex gave him a pointed look. "No one uses it."

Danielle let a familiar black-haired girl into the flat. "Hi Clara. That's Tom Harris. You already know Alex."

Clara nodded to Tom. "I'm Clara Li."

"You got here fast," Alex said. "In the neighborhood?"

"There's a great shop down the street."

He inclined his head in acknowledgement as she dropped a dark purse on the table and sat down.

"So, has Dani told you about August?"

"Yeah," Danielle said quietly, her eyes on the white tiles. "They know."

"All of it?"

". . . yes?"

Clara squeezed her shoulder. "It's okay. This isn't Parliament or anything."
Parliament. Alex felt his blood run cold: something Ben had mentioned last week about Danielle's assailant matching the description of someone else, a case he worked but was inconclusive. . .

Maybe this wasn't a good idea. He shouldn't have offered to help, but it was too late. Clara asked for a general overview of domestic abuse cases, and Tom began explaining the nuances to her in great detail with a lot of highlighting and sticky notes.

". . .and see, with that law-" Tom stuck another post-it-note onto the page of one of his textbooks. "That depends on the intent, not just the act. We can come back to this one. . ."

Clara scooted her chair closer, leaning forward to peer over his shoulder at the cramped text. Her hair fell over her face like a curtain. "Okay. So intent matters too?"

"Of course it does. That's the difference between murder, which is broadly defined as killing with the intent to kill, and manslaughter, which is when you don't mean to kill someone but you do."

"What about drug laws?" she asked.

The light went out of Danielle's eyes as she wiped her nose with a tissue and tossed it in the general direction of the trash can. She slumped forward like a puppet whose strings were severed. She looked, in a word, ill. Alex didn't think it was just because of the cold.

He rocketed to his feet and strode briskly to the door. Laws, lawyers - all of it would be useless if someone higher up in the power chain was free to step in and wrap the proceedings in enough red tape to strangle everyone involved.

He told himself that he wasn't doing this for Danielle, that this was for him so he wouldn't have to worry about adding another drug lord to his list of enemies, because he knew he couldn't save people anymore. He hadn't kept Jack alive or prevented Tom from getting shot in the leg - there was no reason why he should be allowed to keep this stranger, this colleague he barely knew, alive. That would be the cruelest twist of fate -the ones he didn't know where the ones that got to stay.

His entire life was the laughingstock of the fates.

Alex didn't knock as he shoved open the door of his former studio and approached Ben, who sat on the ground with a menagerie of files spread out around him. Snake lounged in a folding chair, his feet kicked up on a rickety table, and held a cardboard carton of takeout that he ate with a plastic fork. Missing were Eagle and Wolf.

"Hello," Ben muttered when Alex stood over him, not looking up from the files. "Need anything?"

"Yes, actually." Alex waited until he glanced up. "I'd like to know more about that inconclusive case you mentioned."

"Because. . ?"

"Danielle wants to file a case against an August somebody. He's the one who assaulted her. You mentioned Parliament-"

Ben motioned for him to sit, and Alex did. The older agent looked terrible - dark circles smudged under his eyes, sandy hair unkempt. He didn't just look tired, he looked old, like someone who had been around so long they had forgotten their age. There were ghosts that haunted his face, living behind his eyes and possessing his mind. Memories, voices - they were all the same, spectres of past mistakes that never let go.

Alex knew that because he had them too. So did Danielle, and Snake, and everyone who dreamed of terrible things.

"There was never enough evidence to prove anything, Alex." Ben's voice was tired, too. "It probably won't help."

"Bullsh-"

"Cub, give it a rest," Snake said.

Alex stretched around to face him. "Are you kidding? You saw what that man did to her, and now you're telling me to have her drop it?"
"No, Alex, I'm telling you to stop being so angry and ask nicely. I'm sorry if we're interrupting your life, but we're here because of you and this case. I'd be the first person to condemn Jones for what she's doing but it isn't our fault and Ben's not the culprit."

Alex was stunned into silence as Snake went back to eating his dinner as if nothing happened. The medic never spoke so forcefully, he was the level-headed one.

He did have a point, though, but Alex sure as hell wasn't going to admit that outloud. Then he'd have to say that he wasn't angry at Ben, no, he was angry at himself for being such a massive failure at the one thing he was supposedly groomed for.

Ben shuffled the files into a pile and pushed it away. "I'll look into it, Alex."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah. I know." Ben gave him a look that was half understanding and half forgiving, despite the exhaustion written all over his face, and Alex felt another stab of guilt. "Come on. I'm taking you out."

"To?"

"Wolf found something you need to see. Bring Tom. He saw the delivery man, right?"

"I think so."

"Good."

"Fox, why is Tom necessary for this?"

Ben sighed as he stiffly got to his feet. "So he can identify the body."

"Body?" Tom asked for the hundredth time. "Like, dead body?"

"Dead, deceased, il est mort, all of the above," Alex muttered, slouching down in the back seat as far as his seatbelt would allow.

"I've never seen a dead person before."

"Trust me, you don't want to."

Tom gave him a pitying look that Alex shrugged off as he stared out the window of Ben's car. Snake had elected to stay back in the studio to watch over Danielle and Clara should anyone else decide to try and blow up another microwave, which had the added opportunity of speaking to Danielle to find out anything else about this August man.

"If you reopen the case," Alex began. "Would the courts and the police be notified?"

"Not necessarily," Ben said. "Drug crimes are usually in their jurisdiction, though, so there would have to be extenuating circumstances."

"So, an agent getting involved would be extenuating enough?"

"You're mad," Tom said. "Alex, no. Stop that train of thought now. You have another case-"

"That's on hiatus as soon as we get basic preparations done."

"Not really," Ben added, much to Alex's displeasure. "Constant surveillance, you still need to read the rest of the case files, you also have a job, we'll probably get yanked back to Brecon for training. . . ten months flies by if you're not careful."

Tom twisted around from the front seat. "Yeah, don't you have a concert coming up?"

Alex gave him a blank stare. "What?"

"The thing you were going on about a few months ago?"

"What thing?"

"Alex Rider," Tom spoke very slowly and looked at him with an incredulous face. "You forgot about the staff recital? You're playing View Tempts, or whatever. Remember? It was a solid three hours of my time that you practiced during, and we were late for the beginning of the match."

Alex's fist banged into the side of the car. He had forgotten. In fact, he hadn't even looked at the score he was supposed to be playing aside from that one time when Tom was over.

"Hey!" Ben protested. "Watch my car!"

Alex muttered an apology. "I did forget. And Vieuxtemps, Tom. It's French."

Shaking his head, Tom turned back to the windshield, his back thumping against the chair. All banter aside, a cloud of tension hung in the car. It set Alex on edge. He couldn't help but feel that he was missing something incredibly important, something that tugged at his memory.

They had entered one of the dingier parts of town. Subsidized housing crowded the narrow streets like weathered columns, streaked from soot and acid rain. The levels that had balconies were ringed with rusting iron stairs that were supposed to be in the event of a fire, but didn't look like they could support anything heavier than one of the several cats that skulked about in the rain.

Puddles of standing water sat inside potholes and other craters in the road. Some bore floating trash, others discarded food and burnt-out cigarettes.

Alex knew that as soon as he opened the door, the street would began to reek. Ben pulled the car up alongside the sidewalk and turned the engine off. He glanced back at Alex, who shoved open his door and stepped out. He didn't need Ben constantly checking to be sure he was okay. He was fine.

The rain was cold. He waited as Tom also hopped out, slogging through the puddles with a nauseated grimace, and stood beside him against the flat wall of one of the buildings.

Ben started walking down the street.

After sharing a glance, Tom and Alex followed.

Even though the rain drove everyone inside, Alex felt several pairs of eyes tracking his steps as he followed Ben along the sidewalk. He couldn't blame them for their curiosity, but ten innocent people could also mask the gaze of a killer. Ben had said *body*, and Alex assumed that whoever it was hadn't committed suicide, so that meant a murder had also walked these streets.

like you, his mind whispered.

They turned into a narrow alley that led to a run-down playground. Scraggly grass stuck up near a swingset on the verge of collapse, but the rest of the place was disintegrating. The slide listed to one side, legs bent, and several monkey bars were missing out of the set.

It reminded him of the slums in Jakarta.

Two figures hunched over a sprawling mass towards the far side, where a meshed gate opened to a narrow alley between two flat buildings.

"Is this him?" Ben asked.

Wolf turned around. His face, usually set in a scowl, looked even grimmer. "Yeah."

Eagle took a few steps back. "What do you think killed him?"

Ben examined the corpse for a few long, silent moments during which Tom stared steadfastly in the opposite direction.

Alex didn't want his closest friend brought into this, but there hadn't been any chance in dissuading Ben, and Alex didn't want Danielle dragged out to see a dead body. Something in her eyes, some fragility, made him worry that this would break her.

He knew Tom could deal with it better - not that he hadn't tried to prevent him from coming.

"You don't have to stay," he said.

Tom clenched his jaw. "No. I don't want them to ask Danielle."

"Me either."

"He was shot," Ben said at length.

Wolf jerked his head in agreement. "They beat him first."

"Is this the guy who delivered the bomb?" Eagle asked, glancing at Tom.

Tom squared his shoulders and stepped forward, shouldering past Ben and crouching next to the body. Alex hung back; he could see enough from there.

The man had ruddy hair and enough stubble to suggest that he hadn't shaved in a few days. His features could have been chiseled out of stone if not for the bruisings around his nose and forehead. A patch of shiny skin on his exposed forearm bore a tattoo, inked in dark green. The area around the words was reddened. Congealed blood dripped away from his face in the rain; Alex was pretty sure his cheekbones were shattered. The end of a pistol could have done that easily enough.

"I didn't get a good look at his face," Tom spat the words out. He looked ill. "He had an Irish accent."

"This guy is definitely Irish," Eagle muttered.

Wolf nudged the tattoo with the tip of his boot. "Tiocfaidh ár lá. This guy was IRA."

"Our day will come," Alex said. His voice rasped into the damp air. The last body he'd seen had been Julius, the boy raised by a maniacal doctor and altered to look exactly like Alex himself. It was like having a twin, albeit an evil, demented one. Julius had taken great pleasure in suggesting a myriad of tortures for Alex, the least of which made his skin crawl.

He had also laughed when Jack died.

Alex couldn't shake the memory from his mind, no matter how hard he tried to focus on the body in front of him.

"Yeah. That was their slogan." Ben sighed and glanced at Wolf. "You wanna call in an ambulance?"

"I'll do it," Eagle offered before Wolf had a chance to reply. The leader of K Unit gave him an irritated glance, which Eagle ignored in favor of dialing a number in his phone and retreating even farther from the body.

Tom quickly turned away and threw up.

Alex watched, his stomach clenched into knots. This is what he hated. This is what he had dreams about, dreams that used to wrench him screaming from sleep.

"Let's go," Ben zipped up the front of his jacket and gripped Tom's arm, pulling him to his feet.

Tom straightened again, wiping his mouth on the heel of his hand. "Sorry." He only looked faintly embarrassed; more disgusted than anything else.

"That's the normal reaction," Alex said. "If it didn't bother you, you'd be a sociopath."

"What're you saying about Wolf?"

"Oh, it bothers him," Ben said as he kicked a soggy fast food bag out of a puddle. "More than he lets on."

Tom silently slid into the passenger seat. Alex glanced around the derelict neighborhood once more, searching for any form of life moving around and finding none. The only thing that wasn't rain was trash.

There was a reason, he supposed, why the man was killed there.

No one would go looking.

"Does it ever bother you?" Tom asked quietly.

"All the time," Ben said. He turned the wipers and headlights on, then pulled the car out into the street and left the neighborhood. "The hardest part about being a soldier is realizing that you can't save everyone." His eyes caught Alex's in the rearview mirror. "Sometimes you have to help the people you can, which aren't always the ones you love. You can't control everyone's decisions."

Tom slowly nodded. The back of his head made a damp spot against the headrest.

Alex knew that Ben's words were for him as much as they were for Tom and, despite years of self-loathing and guilt, his mind fixated on those like a drowning man grasping at spiderwebs, at anything that could save him from the depths below.

Ben did sound old, much older than twenty-five.

That was the thing about war, Alex thought. It changes people.

A traffic light blinked red, and Alex fell back against the seat as the car gave a small jerk and halted.

Across the street, a grey sedan pulled up. Instead of stopping, it accelerated, and Ben swore and grasped for the gearshift, yanking the wheel, stomping the gas. It wasn't enough.

The sedan slammed into the front of Ben's car.

The windshield cracked like melting ice and Alex tore off his seatbelt, lunging forward for Tom. Tom slumped against his seat, eyes closed. Blood trickled from his mouth.

"Ben!" Alex yelled.

The older agent didn't move. No. No!

They were both wedged in front by airbags. Alex jammed his hands into his pockets - had he brought his keys? - and finally drove his house key into the nitrogen-filled canvas. With a poof, the bag deflated.

Tom's eyelids fluttered.

Ben, on the other hand, was still.

The sedan slowly backed away, its front nearly falling off, and drove away. Alex couldn't get a glimpse of the driver because the windows were tinted.

"What . . .?" Tom mumbled something, words getting lost between his mouth. He coughed and spat a wad of blood onto the floor. His eyes were glazed with shock.

"Tom. I need you to focus." Alex tried to open his door, but it was wedged shut. He threw himself sideways across the back seat and yanked his shirt over his face, kicking out at the window until he heard it shatter. He scrambled up, pulling himself out the jagged hole and starting to pry Ben's door open.

Ben's face was pale, not in a sickly way, but as if all the blood was drained from his body. It was that thought that made Alex look down and see a mass of red where Ben's right leg used to be.

Bile rose in his throat.

Tom shifted in his seat, looking at Alex with confusion. "Wasshappenin?" he winced, bringing his fingers to his mouth.

Alex found what he was looking for: Ben's phone, in the wheel well. It was slippery; he tossed it to Tom, who recoiled.

"Call Wolf - Luke."

Tom stared dumbly at the device in his hand. "He has a passcode."

"Check emergency contacts." Alex hooked his arms under Ben's shoulders and heaved, trying to drag him out of the car. The steering wheel was jammed up against his stomach with the force of the collision. Alex's breath came in gasps. His head throbbed.

"Luke Giovanni?"

"Yeah," Alex gasped. "Sounds like him. Call."

The ringing sounded out into the empty street as Alex tried again to haul Ben out of the car. There was a nasty gash across his forehead and his leg. . . Alex didn't think about that. He had to get him out of the car.

"Ben?" Wolf's voice echoed into the car.

Tom blinked at Alex, who lunged across Ben to grab the phone. "Wolf?"

"Cub?" The man's staticy voice sounded more than a little annoyed. "What-"

"Car wreck. Ben's hurt." Alex rattled off the intersection they were at. "Hurry."

The call clicked off.

Alex pressed his fingers against Ben's throat, searching for the spot where his pulse fluttered against the skin. Finally, he found it.

Ben's pulse was rapid but weak, a sign of his body going into shock and shutting down all unnecessary functions, but given the amount of blood from his leg, there was only so much his body could do.

Alex gritted his teeth. He knew that if Wolf didn't arrive soon, Ben Daniels would bleed out.

He could only wait.