iii.

Reese plunged around a bustling corner, doing his best to keep on the heels of his quarry. Whalen led him across several streets clogged with rush hour traffic and through a few crowded sidewalks with no sign of fatigue. Reese appreciated the man's stamina but wanted to make him pay for the truck he'd barely dodged. That kind of glancing blow was hard on a suit jacket.

Whalen darted around a pack of tourists and made straight for a park, vaulting over a bench as he went. Reese plowed through the brush and ducked under a low branch. The guy was good but he had to be better. Private military or not, he was not getting shown up by this kid.

Whalen risked a glance back over his shoulder and Reese noted apprehension in his eyes. But it was buried beneath a detached sort of calculation. And the squinted gaze darted from Reese to two other spots over his shoulder before he moved on and hurled himself over a low sloping wall. Reese went over the wall himself seconds later and made the sharp turn after him into the deeper portions of the park. He knew what lay ahead: a sunken path twisting toward a stream. Shaded, less populated. An underpass of a high walkway that made a long cobblestone tunnel.

Ambush, Reese thought. Good spot for it, too.

It made sense. Whalen had shown quite the knack for strategy in the few minutes of their chase. Reese decided straight in was the best option and gathered himself. Besides, he liked to make an entrance.

He rounded the corner of the tunnel and dove into a low forward roll. Whalen lunged, pushing off the wall—going right over Reese's back and face first into the dirt himself. Reese moved with the momentum and put Whalen in a hold but the kid slipped out of his grip. His sharp elbow jabbed into Reese's knee and he let his leg drop under him, throwing himself sideways as he went down to tackle Whalen for sure this time. Whalen applied his elbow to Reese's side next and grabbed his wrist, writhing. Reese managed to keep his legs pinned and grunted out, "Stand down!"

He must have put enough authority into the command because Whalen paused for the briefest of seconds. Reese barreled on, keeping his voice as level as he could with an elbow in his lungs. "I'm not here to hurt you. I want to help you."

Whalen tried one last twist, got a leg free for leverage. But he stopped and turned just enough to look Reese in the eye. He considered him for a long moment and Reese made sure to stay still. Appear as nonthreatening as was possible when he was still holding down half of Whalen's body.

Whalen took a deep, shuddering breath. "You're not from ASI."

Reese shook his head once, eyes never breaking contact. "Nope."

Whalen relaxed and Reese let him go. The kid put his back to the tunnel wall, chest heaving with the effort to get his breath under control. Reese lurched to his feet and stepped back. They stared at each other for another minute. Whalen's eyes narrowed, mouth tightened into a line. "Then who the hell are you?"

"Someone who helps people," Reese answered. "You seem like a guy that could use a hand."

Whalen snorted. "You want to help me so bad you'd chase me down?"

Reese shrugged and twisted his mouth into a rueful grin. "I like a challenge."

"Fair enough," Whalen snorted. He slumped against the wall, letting go of fight-or-flight tension. Reese let his shoulders relax a bit, to give a show of ease, but kept his stance ready. He still wasn't putting a last ditch attempt past Whalen. Then what he'd actually said clicked in Reese's brain.

"You thought I was ASI?"

Whalen nodded, silent.

"Any particular reason that would send you off like a rocket?"

Whalen smiled, eyes dark. "Well, they've only tried knocking me off twice now. Can't blame a guy for jumping to conclusions. But if you're not ASI, who are you?"

"My name's John," Reese said.

"Hi, John." Whalen gave him a sarcastic little wave. "Who are you really?"

"Just a guy that helps people," Reese said, meeting Whalen's gaze without wavering. "Not working for anybody. It's just me and my friend."

Whalen stared back. "And your friend is…?"

"Tech support. I do the heavy lifting. And the running."

"I noticed the running," Whalen laughed, incredulous. "And you guys do this out of the goodness of your saintly little hearts? For real?"

Reese shrugged. "Crazy, isn't it? Keeps me out of trouble."

Whalen sobered at once. "If you help me, I'd get you into a whole world of trouble, man."

Reese nodded once and took another step back. He let his eyes stray to the tunnel entrances and checked his concealed holster with measured movements. "I'm aware. Why are they after you?"

Whalen pushed himself to his feet, settling into a ready stance. "I used to work for them," he said, face hard. "Was on a protection detail in Afghanistan, some stupid package we were supposed to deliver. Didn't even know what was in it, but apparently someone wanted it bad. We got hit hard." He looked to the floor, brows furrowing. "We got off the message that the package was destroyed before getting overrun. Guess that was all the bosses cared about. No one came to see if any of us survived."

He raised his eyes to meet Reese's and he could read grief and anger in the man's gaze. Reese tilted his head to one side, understanding all too well. "You want answers."

"Kind of makes you curious what they valued so much more than our lives," Whalen said. His hands curled into fists. "My guys were good men."

"Hey," Reese said. He kept his voice soft and jerked a thumb toward the tunnel mouth they'd crashed through. "I get it. But let me guess: I wasn't the only one chasing you just now."

Whalen gave him a feral grin. "You were just the fastest."

"Then what say we work through some of that aggression before we get those answers? Much more fun with even odds." The rhythmic slap of running feet was becoming audible from up the path. Whalen tilted his head forward and loosened his shoulders.

"Age before beauty," he said, gesturing toward the entrance.

"No, no," Reese smirked. "Ladies first."

Reese picked up on the eighth ring. "Yes?" His voice was steady, no sign of exertion. Finch thought he should have caught up with the number by now. Then the muted sounds of violence filtered through the background of the call and Finch rolled his eyes toward the ceiling.

Oh well. In for a penny. "Have you reached Mr. Whalen?"

"I have," Reese responded, sounding cheerful. "We're cleaning up some loose ends as we speak."

Finch drummed his fingers on the smooth wood of the desk. "I see. And these loose ends would be?" Reese grunted and a wet, meaty thump sounded much closer to the receiver than before. Finch tensed with sudden worry. "Mr. Reese?"

"I'm fine," Reese said. It was followed by several more wallops and a high pitched whimper that Finch somehow knew wasn't made by his partner.

Nor was the distant, "Man, that was awesome," that followed and accompanied a final, solid whump. Perhaps he should have thought this mission through as well before giving it to Reese, fallout from the last notwithstanding. Finch should have known he would find a way to hit it off with this number in the worst possible way.

He wondered when the sounds of violence had become so familiar to him.

"The unwelcome pursuit kind of loose ends," Reese finally answered him. Finch could see him shooting his cuffs amid a pile of groaning bodies in his mind's eye. "A few of Whalen's old friends from ASI."

"Apparently not so friendly," the new voice grumbled closer to the phone. "See if I send any of them Christmas cards this year."

"We should go," Reese said. "Got anything for me?"

Finch released his frustration, turning his attention back to the glass board before him. "Perhaps. I may have an explanation as to why ASI remains so interested in a dead man. Does Mr. Whalen have any theories?"

The subtle sounds of pedestrians and car horns grew in the background and Finch spared a glance at the map on his screen. Reese and Whalen must be moving onto a busy street, where they'd have better luck disappearing into a crowd. Reese's voice remained clear. "Says he was on a delivery detail that went wrong and that casualties weren't ASI's priorities. We think he's not the only one in this equation holding a grudge."

"I concur," Finch murmured. "I've found some footage that pertains to his last mission. It's corrupted but I'm piecing it back together as best I can. Now, the official report says his detail was taking a classified route, finalized at the last minute for security. It suggests their encounter with the insurgents was an 'unpredictable accident'. But the video seems to indicate they were ambushed."

"Understood," Reese said. "Think ASI has something to hide? Whalen says no rescue came for them."

"Indeed. The report indicates no survivors." Finch paused, frowning to himself. "Has he mentioned how he escaped the conflict?"

"Not yet. But we need to get off the streets anyway."

Finch hummed his agreement, pulling up the site for the safest hotel he could find on short notice. "I'll send you an address right away. Please be careful, Mr. Reese."

"Always am." The line clicked off. Finch made a quick reservation under Reese's current alias and sent off the directions. Then he leaned back in his chair, fingers itching for a good cup of tea. They were fortunate Reese had caught up to Whalen before any harm could befall him but their work was far from over. A company like Advanced Security International would have serious resources and wasn't likely to let their former employee walk away from the debacle of that mission.

But would Reese be protection enough? Would they be able to unravel the truth that threatened the young man in time? It was naïve to think they could succeed every single time. Reese was capable, far more so than even Mr. Dillinger before him. Their sterling track record since beginning their partnership had lured Finch into a terrible complacency. A feeling of invincibility, no matter how much he warned himself against it.

Despite knowing first hand that they could not save everyone.

Finch clenched a hand around the edge of his desk, aching spine rigid in his chair. No, he remembered. And he knew, viscerally, that there would come numbers they would fail. The best he could do was separate his determination to save this number from that dangerous confidence.

He stood and stretched stiff joints, let his eyes drift over the photos taped to the glass board. Perhaps he'd best call it a day himself. Reese and Whalen were going to ground and he was stuck in the footage clean up. A walk and that cup of tea would help. He could start over on the corrupted file with fresh eyes in the morning.

Tonight he needed to clear the ghosts from his mind before he could make any further progress.