Thank you to everyone who reviewed! Enjoy chapter 8. Things are getting tense!

000

Chapter 8

When Yuna saw the look on his face, she turned around in her seat and followed his stricken gaze. Her blood froze when she saw her own picture plastered next to his on a very clearly marked WANTED sign.

"Oh no," she whispered, her heart sinking. "No, no . . ."

"Don't stare at it," he instructed quietly, looking straight ahead. "If we panic now we'll only draw attention to ourselves."

"H-how can they do this? We've only been traveling together for a day, how can they know who we are –"

He grabbed her arm, forcing her to look at him before she started babbling in French. "Yuna, listen to me. We have got to stay calm. Can you sit still and keep your voice down?"

Trembling, she nodded. She realized that she had unwittingly dug her fingernails into his wrist, and quickly released him. He did not react. She sat back in her seat and took a deep breath, trying to slow her pulse.

"How can the police have our pictures? I have no record, and you should not even exist to them," she whispered, fighting to keep from staring at the poster.

He glanced around, his voice grim. "I'm not so sure the police are behind this. But they're involved now, and they're going to be looking for us. We just . . . we have to keep going. Stay hidden as often as possible," he said, more to himself than to her. His eyes landed on an ATM machine at the other end of the station. "You should get more cash out."

She nodded and got to her feet, aware of every muscle in her body. There were cameras everywhere – she knew she had to look casual, innocent. Don't walk too quickly, but don't dawdle. She could feel him watching her back, silently encouraging her.

At the ATM machine, she withdrew as much cash as she dared to carry on her person. Ignoring the few people who were staring at her curiously, she stuffed the euros into her purse and made her way back to her seat. She sat down and saw that his hand was lingering near the gun, concealed under his shirt.

"Good," he told her. "We can do this. Just trust me."

"One of my best friends is a policeman," she replied, her eyes downcast. "He is going to see that poster, and . . . what will he think of me? What about my father, and Auron –"

His hand found hers, squeezing it gently. "It'll be all right. As soon as we get to Zurich and look in the bank vault, you are going to go to the police and tell them everything."

She looked up at him sharply and nearly shouted, "What! Pour-quoi?"

"Tell them the truth. Say that I kidnapped you from the hospital and held you hostage. I threatened to kill you if you tried to run. You go to them, you say all this, and they're bound to listen to you. Like you said, you've got no criminal record," he explained.

She shook her head. "I can't do that."

"Yuna, listen –"

"No, you listen to me!" she shot back, struggling to keep her voice down. "Whoever is behind all this wants me dead too. Even if I were to do all that, go to the police and say those things, I would still know too much. I'm not safe, and I won't be, until it is done. Dead or alive, we are finishing this together."

He gave her a long, measuring look. "Yuna, there's only so much I can do to protect you, and the longer you stay with me the harder it will be to turn back and save yourself."

She stared back levelly; no way was he going to budge her on this one. He sighed heavily.

"I don't like it. It's against my better judgment, but if you've made your decision . . ."

"I have."

They fell silent, neither daring to the look anywhere near the poster.

Time passed slowly. He kept looking at the clock, counting the minutes as they dragged on. It would be time to board soon – either they would be making an escape, or they would be trapped on board. He wondered if the enemy, the police or his former associates, would be waiting for them on the train. Was it a setup? Was he blindly leading Yuna and himself into an ambush?

The gun in his jeans was a constant presence in his mind. He knew how to handle it, but with only six bullets left in the magazine, the damage would be minimal at best.

Yuna was motionless at his side, staring vacantly into space. She had withdrawn into herself some time ago, tapping into whatever inner strength she had. She was stubborn as hell, he had to give her that. Most people would have run away screaming from a situation like this, but not her. She was operating on more conviction than he himself had, and he wished he could understand why.

"Time to go," he said at long last, standing up. He took her arm in his and guided her towards the boarding platform outside, where a few of the other passengers were heading. She held onto him tightly, keeping her eyes down.

They gave their tickets to the man standing by the entrance to their car, who barely even glanced up at them as they passed. Inside, they made their way down the narrow aisle to find an empty compartment. His eyes roamed constantly, taking in every face they passed. He knew there was no way to know for sure who was an attacker and who wasn't, but he made sure to study each person as closely as discretion would allow. The man flicking a cigarette out the side door could be signaling to others hiding nearby that it was time to move in. The woman typing away at her laptop could have a gun or knife hidden in her coat, and know exactly how to use it. As they moved further down the train, he observed every window, every emergency exit, storing their locations in his memory.

Eventually they came to a vacant two-seated room. It was small, but private. Immediately he closed the door and pulled down the blinds while Yuna silently took her seat. Then he went to the window and felt around the edge, noting with an inward groan that the glass was firmly bolted in place, and it was too thick for him to break on his own. There was nothing lying around that he could use to batter through it. The vent was too small for them to climb through. If they had to make a run for it, they would have to venture out into that cramped, narrow hallway.

Yuna gazed out the window as the train started pulling away. She had taken her sunglasses off, but kept them close at hand in case someone came knocking. Her hair was tied back again.

"I think I should tell you who my father is," she said quietly. He looked up at her sharply. "You have a right to know, I suppose. It doesn't really matter now, anyway."

He watched her, waiting, refusing to rush her on this. "Sure."

"His name is Braska LaRoche. He used to be in charge of the French Ministry of Defence, but earlier this year he announced his candidacy for Prime Minister of France. According to the news, he's . . . quite popular. He is probably going to get elected."

The wind left his lungs all in a rush. Jesus Christ. He had tried to assassinate the future Prime Minister of France?

He leaned forward and rested his face in his hands. This was important, he knew, but there were too many missing pieces to complete the picture.

"Tell me everything you can about him. I need to know it all."

Yuna started from the beginning. Her father entered the political scene shortly before getting married. He started off as a campaign worker before he gradually rose up in the ranks, eventually gaining enough momentum to land at the top of the Ministry of Defence. His main objective was to obliterate organized crime; apparently various international mobs like to operate through France, where security is more lax than in other parts of Europe. He had successfully brought down more than his fair share of crime bosses, heavy hitters from the Russian and Sicilian families, and even the Yakuza, not to mention dozens of gangsters in the French mafia. It's no surprise that he would be a prime target for both the mob and any group associated with them.

When Yuna finished, he sat back in the chair and stared out the window, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "So, whoever sent me after your father must be an affiliate of the mob, someone who stands to lose something if Braska makes office."

"If he becomes the PM, he will have even more power to go after the crime families. I told him he should not be so public and outspoken about it, but he is so passionate about bringing them down," Yuna sighed.

He allowed himself to listlessly follow her gaze. "The people I used to work for aren't some petty crime family out for revenge. What I can do, the way I fight . . . I've been seriously conditioned for this kind of thing. Some pissed off Italian family wouldn't put in the kind of money it would take to train someone like that. I'm thinking I come from a military background; black ops, most likely, or something like it."

"Why would a military organization care about the affairs of a French politician and his war on organized crime?" Yuna asked, frowning.

He shrugged a little. "I'm not sure. Maybe the mob is in bed with the government, and doesn't want an idealist getting in the way of their business."

Yuna closed her eyes, looking suddenly very tired. "All we can do is wait and see what we find in Zurich. We should get there early tomorrow morning, before sunrise."

"Get some sleep," he offered. "I'll stay awake."

She opened one eye and smiled slightly. "Menteur. You will pass out the second I do."

He smirked. "Trust me on this one."

Nodding, she curled up on the seat with her arm tucked under her head. Minutes later, her breathing became slow and regular, the only sound in the compartment other than the train wheels pounding on the tracks.

000

Yuna awoke sharply as the loud, shrill hiss of the engine brakes pierced her ears. She felt the pull of the train struggling to slow down, the sudden impact nearly throwing her from her seat.

Her companion grabbed her and hauled her upright, his dark blue eyes searching around them for signs of danger.

"What is happening?" she gasped after regaining her balance. "Why are we stopping?"

He moved to peer through the blinds covering the glass on the door. Yuna grabbed her bag and quickly put on her sunglasses as he cautiously stuck his head out into the hallway. "See anything?" she asked.

"No," he replied absently, beckoning her to follow him. "Stay close – we're getting off. I don't like this."

She hastily moved to his back. He reached behind and gently forced her to hug the wall the way he was. His other hand was inching closer to the gun hidden in his jeans.

"Mesdames et messieurs," a voice on the PA system said suddenly, making Yuna jump. "The police have requested that we stop immediately to allow them aboard. It is merely a random search and we will continue on to Zurich shortly after. Please stay in your compartments and be ready to cooperate."

They exchanged meaningful glances when the door to the next car suddenly banged open. A man in dark, forgettable clothes marched forward, a silenced handgun raised and aimed squarely at them. Yuna screamed before she could stop herself, and her companion rocketed forward into the other man. A muted gunshot sounded off, and Yuna could not be sure if anyone was hit, but the blond had tackled the attacker without any sort of hesitation. They fell, both of them silent, a mess of limbs and fists. A moment later and the gun had somehow been wrestled away from the stranger, skidding on the floor before thudding into Yuna's foot. She stared down at it for a moment before stooping to pick it up.

A sickening crack grabbed her attention. Her friend stood up the attacker's body, his lip cut and bloody, and sure enough there was a bullet hole in his arm, leaking darkly onto the carpet. The other man was lying flat on his back, his head resting at an angle that could only mean his neck had been broken. His eyes were fixed right on Yuna. She stared back, feeling suddenly very cold and naked.

Her companion gently took the gun from her rigid fingers. "You okay?" he asked, his breathing slightly heavy. She nodded and then tore her eyes away from the body, focusing instead on the wound in her companion's arm.

"You're not," she pointed out, gesturing to it. He glanced down at it as if seeing it for the first time.

"It's not too bad," he assured her. "But we should keep moving. There will probably be more coming."

As he spoke, the window next to Yuna shattered and a searing hot pain made her gasp and double over, clutching at her ribs. A thin line of red began soaking through the rip in her shirt where the bullet had grazed her.

Before she could even stand upright her friend shoved her down onto the floor and reached out the window, pulling the assassin indoors. His face was a mask of cold fury; Yuna, still in shock, only dimly registered the way he drove his thumbs into the second attacker's eyes, shoving up towards the brain. The man's screams somehow felt far away, echoing even after he stopped kicking.

The door to the car behind them opened and two more men poured into the aisle, guns at the ready. Yuna made a strangled noise in her throat as they started firing, covering her head in her arms. Her companion jumped in front of her, and suddenly both guns were in his hands. The one that was not silenced seemed nearly deafening in the crowded, metallic hallway, but it only took two shots before silence settled again. One man fell with twin holes letting light into his skull, while the silenced gun took out the other, right through the throat in one try.

A moment later she was lifted up, and his eyes were peering anxiously down into hers. "Yuna –"

"Grazed," she said, becoming more and more aware of the burning sensation in her side now that the shock was wearing off. "Could have been worse."

He pulled her towards the emergency exit, keeping an arm around her waist for support. "I'll get you fixed up as soon as I can," he promised her, pushing the door open. The train had nearly stopped, and there was hardly any breeze stirring.

"Which of us is the doctor?" she reminded him, wanting desperately to let her head fall against his shoulder. She felt his body lightly shudder with a humourless laugh as they climbed over the rail (she, a little unsteadily).

"You can give me directions," he offered politely, before jumping away from the rail and pulling her after him.