Her heart felt like it was about to explode. She was becoming light-headed; her breathing matched the frantic pace of her footsteps as she circled 'round to where the entrance was located. Kate wasn't sure how far that confidence she had with Madsen would last, so she had to be quick about it. Head-first into the breach.

Even before she had stopped at the door, she could hear the growl and bark of a dog inside, no-doubt alerting the owner of her presence. She gave a knock anyways, then took a couple steps back. Time dragged its weight; every second was slowed down into a bitter crawl as she waited anxiously. She was able to steady herself from the rush of adrenaline, at least.

The barking settled. A click of a lock, then the door opened the slightest. Neither Kate nor the person inside could see each other, but that wasn't the point.

"Who the fuck are you?" a rough baritone voice rumbled. It was hoarse, like that of someone who was freshly woken from a deep slumber.

"I'm…I'm looking to buy some…stuff. I was told you're the person to look for."

"Stuff?" the man snarked at her, "What kind of stuff?"

"…uhm," Kate cursed herself under her breath, "uh—some Mary Jane, preferably."

"Jesus-fucking-Christ," he snickered, "How much did the police promise to pay you for talking to me?"

"W-what—I'm not with the police!"

"Like hell you ain't," he swung the door open, and only now did Kate get a good look at who she was speaking to. She wished she hadn't: Frank Bowers was exactly the kind of person she imagined whereupon hearing the words drug dealer—a face of unkempt facial hair, tattoos poking from under his baggy, unwashed t-shirt and sweatpants. That sharp, menacing glare drilling into her own, beckoning her to incite his anger. Not that she had to be the one to incite it—

"I swear to fuckin' God, if you're here 'cause that fuckin' sleazebag wasn't happy with the spares I gave him, then you're gonna be the one to—!"

He stops. His eyes were squinted from the ambient light, making it hard for him to see. But once he got a look of her, they went wide as saucers, and he rasped, "R-Rachel?"

Kate had half the mind to correct him, but didn't need to. Frank realized his slip-up, and his agitated frown returned to his features, "Why the fuck are you…ah, never mind."

"Rachel Amber?" she probed, "Was that who you were referring to?"

Frank's brows pinched even more than usual; his mustache furled into a lopsided smile. He hummed, having made up his mind, and said—

"We're done here. Get lost, kid."

The door slammed closed. She closed the distance and rapped her fist upon it, shouting, "Wait—wait! Please, I—I've got money, don't you want that?!"

No answer. Not even Frank's dog had anything left to say.

She bumped her head against the metal of the door, a long sigh punctuating her misfortune. She wasn't sure what she was going to do now that Frank was clammed up in his hidey-hole. She blew her chance to smithereens, trying to fake her intentions. She was never a good liar, if her interactions with others have proven anything.

Maybe, lying isn't what I have to do here.

Kate huffed her frustration away, and took a deep breath.

"Y-you're right. I'm not here to buy. I came here looking for answers," she starts, hoping her voice carries beyond the cracks in the door to reach Frank's ears, "A couple days ago, I nearly lost a good friend of mine. They were…they were shot in the leg, by Nathan Prescott. They ended up in the hospital, have been stuck there ever since. And they…they made me promise to search for Rachel Amber, that I'd be able to avenge them for what Prescott had done. And they…they knew Rachel, somehow, someway—and all they wanted was to find out what happened. So now, it's down to me."

"Please, Frank," she shouts, "I just want to know. I'll never cross paths with you ever again, but please—just give me something!"

Silence. She pressed her ear against the door, but she couldn't hear any movement inside. For all she knew, Frank heard nothing of her desperate plea. She felt…empty. Even if Madsen got lucky and his method yielded the results they were looking for, what really was supposed to happen after this? She wasn't entirely sure where she would go next. She'd have to consult the journal, to see if there was anything she was missing—

The lock clicked. She had a half-second to stumble back when the door was shoved open. She fell backwards and ended up sprawled on her back. The door was opened all the way this time, and she looked up from her spot on the ground at the Beast, dressed in his ripped jeans and his hide, a weathered leather jacket. Though he did not move from his RV, his glare beckoned her attention.

"How do you know my name?" he asked first.

"M-my friend," the scared blonde answered, "They—they told me."

"They?" he pressed. He wanted a name.

"I…I'm not sure what you mean," she deflected. She didn't trust him.

"Then, let me make it easier for you to understand," he begins, descending from his lair and closing the door behind him. She stood from her spot on the ground, hoping her defensive posture would deter him. It did little to assuage the anxious tremor coursing her body.

"What's their name?" he demands. Kate realizes she will not get anywhere with this conversation if she doesn't follow through.

"It's…her name is Max."

His brows pinched again, but in confusion, "Never heard of her—who the fuck is Max?"

"My best friend," she countered, sincerity strengthening her words, "She's who I made the promise to. She was—is—searching for Rachel…along with her friend, Chloe."

"Price?" he interjected, the name rolling off his tongue so smoothly. Kate nodded hesitantly at the dealer's intuition.

"Uhm, y-yes. Chloe Price."

A pause. Frank stood before her, taking all this in. A blank stare adorned his features. It unsettled her more than when he was glaring—at least then, she knew what to expect from him.

"If you know about Price, then you know she's got unfinished business with me," he started, "If you came to settle it, then maybe I'll give you what you're looking for."

"…unfinished business?" Kate repeated, hoping he would clarify.

But this only roused his ire, "Cut the shit, kid. Price owes me, and now I'm calling it in. She's been avoiding me for months, thinkin' I'd let her debts blow over, but no—I'm getting what's owed to me, one way or another."

Kate took a single step back, "I—wait, this doesn't make sense—"

"What do you not understand?" Frank took a single step forward.

"Why would Chloe do business with you, if you were…if you…"

"If I what?!" he growled, his patience wearing thin.

"If you were in a relationship with her girlfriend, Rachel—?"

There was a moment, fleeting though it was, where Kate could see the genuine shock overtake Bowers. So sudden was it, that she believed herself to be hallucinating—and she wondered to herself if it really was true, that Frank was more than he seemed. Not that she would have the chance to ask him.

A hand of his snapped across the sparse distance between them and wrapped its mangled digits around the collar of her red flannel, digging into the cloth until it had a fistful of it. Kate could only gasp as she was yanked forwards, twisted about and then thrown against the side of the RV; she slammed against the metal exterior and had not the time to recover when Frank pinned her in place with his right arm.

"W-wait, wait please—!"

The glint of polished metal caught her eyes, and the cold, sharp edge of his switchblade pressed gently against the curve of her throat. She cried out, driven by a panic, "P-please don't kill me, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—!"

"Shut up," he growled. She clamped her jaw shut; her eyes clenched with tears. She turned her head as far away from the blade as she could, instincts beckoning her to escape the promise of death. She could see it now: Frank will cut her throat open, and she'll bleed out from the savage wound. He'd chop her to pieces and toss them into the ocean, to be pecked and clawed apart by the seagulls and fish. A terrible fate awaited her, and she was not the slightest bit prepared for it.

She sucked in her final breath of air, and prayed.

Help me, Lord!

…the blade did not pierce her flesh.

"You're gonna tell me what you know," Frank rasped, "No more games, no more horseshit. If I get even the slightest feeling that you're lying to me, I'll cut you apart and have your corpse shipped to your parents' place, you understand?"

She nodded, slowly opened her eyes. His switchblade was lowered from its position against her throat. He waited, his glare punctuating the seconds passing between them.

"I…I know about your relationship with Rachel," she admitted, "I know that you deal drugs to anyone willing to buy, including the Prescotts. And I know…"

Where Rachel's buried.

"…that Rachel disappeared many months ago, during a party at Blackwell. Hosted by Nathan Prescott. T-that's it."

"…is this all your friend knows, too?"

"Y-yes, it is," she stutters. Frank's honey-brown eyes twitch, combing her silver counterparts for any possible blemish of deceit. After a long pause, he hums, apparently satisfied with what she's said.

"…listen well, kid," he beckons, leaning in so close that she can smell the rancid aftertaste of his lunch, "You want some answers for what I know? Here it is: I don't know shit. An' the reason why I don't know shit, is because I prefer it that way."

"B-but you—"

"But I what," he snarls.

"But you loved her, didn't you? Why would you just—?"

The switchblade presses against her jugular. She shuts her mouth at the unspoken command.

"Let me make this clear," he explains, "Even if you found the truth, even if you've got all the evidence you need to lock up the whole Prescott family for whatever they did—'cause we both know for sure it's them—all this still doesn't mean shit unless you get lucky with it. You'd have to find a lawyer willing to stick their neck out for you, then find a judge that's not bought out, then pray the jury isn't cherry-picked, and then you gotta hope the judge will make the ruling that you're looking for, assuming the Prescotts don't just settle on a plea deal."

"And all of this flies right out the window," he groveled some more, "the second those fuckers decide to play dirty. They'll go after you first, then if that doesn't work, they'll go after your friends and family by proxy. Force you to cave, to settle, to hope that your sudden, tragic death is quick and painless. They've already done it to the Malfoys a long time ago, what's to say they won't do it again?"

There was this…strange look in his eyes. Something more than irritation—something more akin to nervousness. However, it was short-lived, for the blonde mustered the courage to say, "But I promised my friend. I can't take that back, I can't just give up on her and Chloe like that. I have to know, for their sake!"

He huffed, intensely frustrated. But the switchblade was kept away from her.

"What's your name, kid?"

"K-Kate."

"Listen carefully to what I say, Kate," he beckoned, his eyes piercing to her soul, "There is no hope, on this path you walk. You will be swallowed up by the monsters in these lands, they will chew you apart piece by bloody piece. They will make you suffer in ways you never imagined were possible. There'll be nothing left of you by the time it's over—"

"—so turn back, and never return."

The worst part of this plea was that she could feel the truth to it. It made perfect sense. She had no hope of facing the might of a dynastic family like the Prescotts by herself. Already, she has endured the loss of her friends, permanent and otherwise. Already, she felt her family would never want to see her again. The odds really were stacked against her, have been stacked against her since the very beginning.

Yet, she wasn't alone. She stood undeterred, despite all this. Her loved ones, living and dead, guide her forwards despite the doubts pulling her down. Frank did not know of her current partner in the case, nor did he understand her unyielding convictions. He never could…not unless he wanted to.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil; for thou art with me, O Lord.

"A'ight, this conversation's over," Bowers stepped back, finally giving her the space to breath. She takes gulps of air, a hand of hers resting against her stomach. He gestures to her, "C'mon, pay up."

"What?"

"You got your answers, now I want my compensation," he hunched his shoulders, back to his usual self again, "Money. Now."

"But I—"

"I'm not asking you again."

The blade is raised up. He's in her personal space before she has the chance to raise her arms and stop him. She shudders in fright, "N-no, wait—!"

Growling. Barking. Coming from inside the RV. Frank's dog was acting up.

He glanced over to the noise, confused. His dog never did that unless there was—

"Kate, duck!"

The blonde ducked out of Frank's loose grip, and a mass of someone large and tall struck Frank much like a linebacker would strike a post. The tackle was inevitable, and somewhere between the collision and the impact against the ground, the switchblade was knocked out of Frank's hand and skittered across the asphalt and out of reach.

"What the hell—?!"

"Stay on the ground, stop resisting!"

A flailing of limbs. Wrestling. Grunts of exertion, the occasional howl of rage. But Frank did not have the same dexterity as Madsen, and it showed. It was a matter of time until the former Army-man had him face down, one of Frank's arms wrenched into a painful angle.

"Kate, get the cuffs!"

She could see them sticking out of the back pocket of his jeans. She swipes them, then places them in the waiting hand. The shackles clip onto one wrist, then the other. Frank attempts to writhe out from under Madsen, but it does nothing.

"You fucking bitch," he rasped up at her, the curl of his brow denoting a malicious rage, "When I get out of these cuffs, I'm gonna fucking hunt you down. Y'hear me?! I'll have the both of you wishing you never came looking for me—!"

"Take it up with the PD once we're done," Madsen snipped back at him. But Frank double-taked at the implication, and he sputtered back, "The fuck you mean with the PD—aren't you with them?!"

Madsen snickered, but said nothing back. Kate didn't have the heart to tell Frank the truth, not after what he'd done to make her keep quiet. Their silence stunned Bowers, his glare shifting to a dreadful confusion.

Despite his compromised state, Frank made damn sure to let them know how easy it would be for his dog to tear their throats out once they tried gaining entry into his RV. And it surely seemed that way—every time Madsen tried to open the door, vicious barking would coax him to close it again. He swore under his breath, hoping there was a way through after they were so close to getting what they were searching for.

And a way made itself known: Kate stepped up to the door much to Madsen's stern protests, but she did not shy away from the snapping white teeth and sharp tones of Frank's dog. She waited, with her silver eyes pleading for peace—and the hound would cease its rumble and became curious. A couple seconds of it sniffing her outstretched hand allowed them the opportunity to shuffle inside, the rather despondent drug dealer being carried inside with them.

"Quite the humble abode you have here, Bowers," Madsen chuckled.

"Fuck you too," came the bitter reply. He had lost most of the energy to fight Madsen's hold on him, but he still had his sharp tongue, "Why don't we compare places to see how bad yours is? I'd love to see how you keep your place clean, maybe I can learn a few tips from the missus."

"Not before I send your ass to the police on a silver platter," came the retort. Madsen pulled him along, then set him down in one of the chairs which made up the small dining section, a rough five-by-five foot of space with a small table and a couple cushioned seats. Frank found himself roughly wedged into one of these chairs, to the point where he could not squirm his way out unless he wanted to get acquainted with the floor. He still tried, anyways.

"Alright, I'm gonna give you this one chance," Madsen warned him, "Tell us where the ledger is, and we'll be out of your hair in no time. Hell, I'll even leave a good word for you once our case goes to court."

"Well, even if I tell ya where my ledger is, you sure as shit couldn't reach for it now."

"What—where is it, then?"

"Shift me onto my side," he prompted. Madsen did so.

"Right, now that you've done that, go ahead and kiss my ass while you're at it! Gullible dumbass!" the ragged dealer snickered. Madsen glowered, but held his tongue at the bait.

"Fine then, I'll just go searching for it myself," he trekked off to the bedroom in the back of the vehicle, "Kate, keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn't try anything."

"Yes, sir," came the distracted reply. Frank skewed a glance from his awkward spot on the chairs, and realized the girl was impartial to their conversation; her attention was focused on his dog. She was sat crisscrossed on the floor close to the chairs, with the dog circling around her curiously.

And he noted with the sting of betrayal in his chest, that his pooch had become smitten with Kate's gentle petting. How could this be; he loved that dog like it was his own kid, and yet it let these strangers into his domain without much of a fight. He could have sworn the time he spent training his dog to guard the RV had been well spent, but he supposed the joke's on him—!

"Pompidou," Marsh muttered. The glimmer of a nametag on the dog's collar was in her hand. She turned her head to Frank, and asked, "You named your dog Pompidou?"

"Hey, you get your grubby hands off my dog," he snarled back. The blonde was unfazed by the insult—in fact, she smirked in amusement.

"I think your dog likes me more than you, y'know."

"As if," he snipped. But Pompidou's snout was searching all over Kate's flannel, and an occasional kiss came whenever the canine was able to reach her face.

"Hey, hey—aw, you're so friendly!" she chuckled, "You're such a good doggy, such a good…uhm…"

"Girl."

She glanced over to Frank, "Pardon?"

"Pompidou's a girl," Bowers said matter-of-factly, "I got her from the pound. They…they were gonna put her down 'cause she was sick, but I took her to the vet and got her the treatment she needed. Saved her life."

Pompidou settled in the blonde's lap, having grown bored of circling her new human friend. Kate obliged by scratching behind Pompidou's floppy ears, eliciting a cute yawn.

"That's…that's very admirable of you."

But there was some hesitation, some suspicion boiling under her tone.

"…how did you pay for the treatment?"

His glare sharpened instantly, "What's the matter? Not appreciative that a man down on his luck has to resort to dealing to pay for his needs? How the fuck do you think I pay for Pompi's food and toys?"

Silver eyes wander to the small box next to a food bowl, placed on the opposite wall of the entrance and very close to the dining table. Many chew toys, tennis balls, and a bag of kibble laid close together on this wall.

"Sorry to burst your bubble, kid, but not everybody's life is all sunshine and rainbows. Some people get lucky, and some get screwed over. Welcome to the real world."

"I know."

"No, you don't," he wheezed in disbelief, "I could tell the moment you tried to buy from me—you're a sheltered one. You don't know what it means to toil for the sake of surviving, you've never been without indoor plumbing, nor have you ever missed a meal because you had no choice. You're nothin' but a spoiled brat."

She said nothing. Her hand continued to caress the tired pooch in her lap.

Frank gauged for that reaction he was looking for, waiting for the bite…but she took it all in, soaked it up like water in a sponge.

"I…I know."

She admitted his words as the truth. Yet, he did not smile.

A part of it was because he was angry at himself. He could tell she was sheltered, it was true—but he could also tell that she did not have the same mentality of the Blackwell students that he deals to, with their stuck-up attitudes and pretentious opinions about his product. Pompidou's calm demeanor and friendly disposition to the blonde cued him in, for this dog did not trust others easily, especially not as quickly as now. Frank was angry because he knew better than to make jokes at her expense, for she was something more than he could ever be—something he never came across nowadays. Not even with those he loved.

She was…innocent.

His eyes traced over the red flannel again. Suddenly, he's not cuffed and sprawled on his side: the memory of golden-blonde hair and a blue-feather earring and those beautiful hazel eyes and that soft giggle of hers, as she rubs Pompidou's belly. And he thinks of all that he once had, of what he's lost—and then looks down to the girl sitting before him, a bizarre copy-cat of his former beloved. A complete stranger she was, and yet they shared the same goal.

He couldn't help but wonder, "…why?"

Kate glances over to him, an eyebrow raised. She looks at him funny, but otherwise is silent.

"Why?" he repeats, "Why are you here, kid?"

She seems miffed by the question, but eventually she responds, "I am here because I have to be. Because there's no one else who can fulfill my promise."

"You—you said you nearly lost a friend to the Prescotts. Max, or whoever the fuck…and yet, you don't quit when you should. You should be letting it go, saving yourself while you still have the chance—"

"That is not a choice for me."

"Bullshit it isn't," he argued, "You've gotta be insane to take on those people. Even with Sargeant Shithead larping over there, you're still outnumbered and outgunned. And what—you're taking that risk because you made a promise to someone? A promise ain't worth a life, you know—!"

"Max saved my life," she countered easily. Her voice was hot with tension, and Frank clamped down on his retort. Her silver eyes were sharp this time—as hard as steel. They dared him to challenge her, but he was not foolish. He knew better than to interrupt.

"She saved me from Nathan Prescott, when I had gone to a Vortex party last week," she summarized, "My drink was spiked, and he…he planned to take advantage of me. Max and my friends, they saved me from him. And in return, she gets a bullet to the knee from his gun. And I…I was there. When it happened. I saw Nathan slink away, that gun still in his hand…and I found Max. She made me promise her to take up the search for Rachel. And so, I promised…"

"…so go ahead, call me whatever you want," she affirms, "I do not care that I am spoiled, sheltered, nor that I'm insane. I know what is right; I know what path I must take. If not for myself, then…for them. And to be honest with you, the only reason we're here now is because we wished to know if it was more than a coincidence that Nathan bought from you. Otherwise, we would not have bothered."

Frank was silent at first. He was deep in thought, walking himself through invisible possibilities. And this introspection seemed to strike him like a swift kick to the gut, for he grimaced, head shaking in disbelief. Kate watched the way his shoulders sagged as he went limp on the chairs, the cuffs rattling as he rolled out of his awkward position.

"…when I saved Pompi from the pound, I learned about what her previous owners did to her. All the neglect, all the abuse…and I swore that I'd give her a chance at a good life. But to do that, I had to ramp up my business, I had to expand to the stuff that people wanted…not just Mary Jane. Somewhere along the way, I stopped caring about what I sold and who I sold it to. And…I didn't realize the hurt I was causin'. I never saw it. The closest I came to noticing was with Rachel, and she…broke up with me over it."

He eyes her again, but this time, he's nervous. Afraid, even.

"I didn't know…I'm sorry, kid."

She knew what he was apologizing for. She knew that his life was in her judgement, that she could have him handed over to the cops and locked away in a cell. His ledger and his testimony would be valuable in a court of law. Frank could be their hidden asset to take down the Prescotts, whether he consented or otherwise.

Yet, she saw the human being before all of this information. She saw all the memories buried underneath his jaded frown, bits and pieces of his life that he could not speak aloud but which could be seen so clearly to the right observer. She saw more than an asset…she saw a soul that was just as lost as hers.

"I forgive you."

His face scrunched up in disbelief, "…j-just like that?"

"I'm giving you one chance at redemption. Don't make me rescind it," she jested, turning back to petting Pompidou.

"Right," he muttered, "My bad, kid."

"Kate," she corrected, though it was from a gentle perspective, "You can call me Kate."

He nodded, and settled into the relative comfort of the upholstery. Marsh sat still, worried that any movement would startle the cute dog resting on her lap. Pompi was in the midst of a dream, and the blonde could tell because the dog's legs would twitch ever so slightly. A gentle rub of the belly brought a small smile to the dog's face, and Kate smiled as well.

"...ah, Kate."

"Hm?"

"If you don't mind me askin'," Frank jerks his head to the grumbling coming from the bedroom, "What's his deal? If he ain't police, then what's he doing here?"

"Mr. Madsen is…the stepfather, to Chloe. I hadn't said this until now, but Max wasn't the only one who was shot by Nathan Prescott."

Eyes widened. He straightens up immediately, "What? Price was shot—?!"

"Yes," she confessed, "I saw Mr. Madsen carry her out to the ambulance. She was…there was a lot of blood."

Frank pondered this, then said, "…so, he wants payback for what the Prescotts did to his kid?"

"Essentially. He told me that he's been searching for Rachel ever since she disappeared."

"…he's been searching for that long—?"

"A-ha!" came a rather triumphant shout from the bedroom. Madsen carefully shuffled back into the room they were in, a worn-out ledger clasped in his right hand, "Some tough luck you've got indeed, Bowers."

Pompidou was roused by the sudden cry, and Kate stood up at the sudden commotion.

"Anything I should know before I crack this open?" Madsen barbed. Frank couldn't help the snarl forming from those haughty words, but he was not without tact.

"Let me explain myself first," the dealer composed himself, "I've had to keep my mouth sealed about my dealings with the Prescott kid for a long time. If they figure out you've got what's contained in that ledger, then they'll know it came from me—and then we're all fucked. Now, look, I'll keep my word and I'll testify if it gets to that point, but until then you have to understand that I can't stick my neck out for any reason. Let me keep my cover, and I'll help you with whatever you need, deal?"

Madsen was expressionless. But he wasn't talkative like he had been. He mulled it over, rolling his jaw in thought.

"…fair enough. You got yourself a deal."

"A'ight," Bowers nodded. He waited as Madsen scoured the pages, stumbling upon the date he was looking for.

"Twenty-second of April, Rottweiler….one pound of weed, two grams of cocaine, and 5 grams of…GHB."

"Gammahydroxybutyrate."

David double-taked at that, "I'm sorry, come again?"

"Gamma-hydroxy-butyrate. It's a muscle relaxant. Nathan buys a lot of the stuff from time to time, so it seems to be a favorite at his parties."

"Isn't GHB one of those date-rape drugs? If I remember correctly, it's one of those depressants that attacks the nerves, leaves a person feeling unable to control any part of themselves, makes 'em sick to their stomach in some cases."

Kate stiffened at the notion. Frank cursed himself to the grave.

"I…I don't know. I only know it as a muscle relaxant, nothing else."

Madsen hummed, not happy with the answer. He seemed to accept it anyways, closing the ledger and setting it down on the table in front of the dealer, "Make no mistake, Bowers. I don't like you, and I know you don't like me too. But if we're ever going to get justice, then we need to deal with our common enemy first. Don't stab me, and I won't stab you."

One hand of his was placed near his right hip, and another pulled out the key to the handcuffs.

"Kate, uncuff him. Slowly."

"Yes, sir."

She helped Frank sit up, then undid the cuffs. She gave the cuffs and key back to Madsen, who eyed the dealer like a hawk, ready to catch the slightest hint of a slip-up. Yet, Bowers remained in his seat. He watched as they exited his RV, and Pompidou began to whine over seeing her new friend leave so soon.

"Hey," Frank called out.

Kate and Madsen turned back, "Yes?"

"Good luck, you two."

Madsen grumbled an acknowledgement, shuffling down the steps and out of sight. Kate gave him a forlorn smile, and bid him and his dog a final wave goodbye.

The door closed. The sun cast its golden glow over their backs as they returned to their vehicle. It started up seconds after they stepped in it, and they drove out of the parking lot and back to their home.

Neither saw the couple of militiamen hidden in the shade of the evergreen trees, their green, brushstroke camouflage concealing them along with their portable radio.

A/N - Unexpected time constraints have forced me to upload earlier than expected. Please expect a delay in the next upload. Thank you for your understanding. - MB