Time dragged like the slow progress of a full moon across a clear, night sky. The thirty minutes that had passed since Shelia threw down her challenge to the Blitzkrieg might as well have been days. She had checked her watch no less than twelve times during that span. Each time she looked only two to five minutes had ticked away. Time hadn’t made any sense for her since Vinny Heart and his lackeys had snatched her kids and killed Mark. It was either speeding out of control or dragging. Focusing on it didn’t help. She couldn’t stop though, and willing it to move faster seemed to have the opposite effect.

As Shelia failed to ignore the ticking of that imaginary clock in her head, she peered through the sight of her M24. A gift from Knuckles and his crew, the rifle was military grade. It was one of three that she had found among all of the goodies in that van, and it would suit her purposes perfectly. There was only one route to the crumbling barn that she was hunkered down in. It was a dirt drive that ran relatively straight up to it from an old, country road that ran about five hundred yards to the east. The barrel of the M24 was aimed at the spot where that dirt drive met the old, country road. Shelia was ten feet up, sprawled out on a wooden plank that was just sturdy enough to hold her weight peering through a hole that was just big enough to aim her rifle through. The Blitzkrieg would never see her from the road, and he would never make it out of his vehicle.

The thought of incapacitating him and trying to squeeze information out of him had crossed her mind briefly. Though she had never heard of him, she knew his M.O. all too well. He wouldn’t stop until one of them was dead, and even if she was able to knock him out and incapacitate him somehow, he wouldn’t give her anything. On top of that, it felt like he wasn’t part of the Rosatti organization, just a pro with a very specific skill set that they brought in for a very specific purpose, killing Stiletto Rose. He wouldn’t know any more than he needed to, and he wouldn’t be the one killing her kids. That would be left to Wiggles. It would be worth putting the squeeze on that creep if she could get her hands on him. However, if she found him, she would find her kids too. Then there wouldn’t be a need to do anything but kill the sick bastard.

Shelia sucked in a deep breath and shook her head slightly, trying to get her mind back in the moment. Finding Wiggles was a top priority, but killing the Blitzkrieg was a more immediate necessity. She had to get the German assassin out of her way before she could move forward. He would keep coming until she put him down. Sliding up to her knees, she adjusted from a prone position to a crouch. It wasn’t ideal, but she had to give her elbows and shoulders a break. As soon as she had herself situated into a position that gave her an adequate shot through the small hole in the wall, an out of place noise down on the barn floor dragged her attention away from the road.

A random noise in an old barn shouldn’t seem all that odd. The place was falling apart. It was full of random sounds; wind slipping through cracks in the deteriorating planks that made up its walls, rakes and hoes and other tools with metal heads and rotting wooden handles hanging from nails and scraping or thumping against wooden posts that barely had the strength to hold the place up, and the filtered hum of cars zipping along Highway 41. This noise stood out among all of those other noises, like someone humming into a kazoo in the middle of a symphony. It wasn’t the sound of an inanimate object being blown around by a stiff wind. There was something accidental about it; like someone had been focusing so hard on suppressing any sound they might make that they missed one.

Shelia gathered herself and spun around, dropping the rifle and retrieving the .45 from the holster on her hip as she fell down onto her right shoulder. Her eyes followed the barrel as it swept the barn beneath her. Nothing looked out of place. A rusty tractor with no wheels on it grabbed her attention. It sat against the back wall of the barn to her left. There was enough room behind it that someone could hide back there. She scrambled back up to her knees, as she locked her aim on the rusty heap.

The standoff with the ancient tractor lasted through several moments of silence. The wind was still whistling and cars were still humming down the highway, but those had melted into white noise, relegated to just another aspect of Shelia’s surroundings. Her focus cut through them searching for the out of place sound, that accidental noise that didn’t fit with them. Then it came again. This time it was quick and the effort to suppress it was absent. It was a footstep directly beneath her, and it came a split second before a gunshot that was quickly followed by three more.

Bullets tore through the plank she was on, shredding the rotten, old wood and blasting splinters of it into the air. All four of them would be buried deep in her flesh had she not rolled forward off of the plank. As she flipped and spun toward the ground, that plank split where the bullets had ripped through it, both torn up halves flopping toward the ground. Just as her feet hit the floor – the left one less than squarely – a shape rolled out from beneath the collapsing platform. Shelia ignored the pain that erupted in her left ankle as that foot twisted awkwardly, planting her on her ass. Instincts took over, and she continued to roll backward with her momentum. By the time she was back on her feet, the shape that had rolled out from beneath the platform was just getting to his. She lunged toward him, grabbing his right wrist at the same moment that he grabbed hers. Both guns exploded at the same time. The barrel of hers was just as close to his ear as the barrel of his was to hers. His left ear drum had to be ringing just as much as hers was.

“We finally meet, Stiletto,” even though his tone was nothing less than a shout, the thick, German accent was unmistakable.

Shelia had finally come face to face with the Blitzkrieg. His blonde, short flat-top and narrow – almost pointy – nose gave him the appearance of a rat. The soft, blue eyes sitting above that pointy nose didn’t fit the rest of his rodent-like appearance. She only had a second to consider them as they flew toward her face. A moment later, his forehead smashed into her nose. The world exploded in a flash of white. She could taste the blood in her mouth and feel it coursing down to her chin while her cheeks burned. Instinctively, she let the momentum carry her backward, pulling him along with her. As her back hit the ground, her right foot shot up into his gut and launched him over the top of her depositing him on his back. She managed to get a hold of his gun as she lost her grip on his wrist. Unfortunately, he had gotten a hold of hers as they both scrambled back to their feet.

Shelia shot first, but the Blitzkrieg was quick. He ducked and managed to get two shots off at her feet. As soon as he dove toward the ground, she leapt up into the air flipping over the top of him and firing two more shots off. One of them clipped his thigh just before she landed on him. He got off one more shot, but Shelia managed to block his arm as he brought it up to aim. It missed, succeeding only in adding a little more volume to the ringing in her ear. She ignored it, grabbing his right wrist with her left hand and pinning his left arm down with her right knee. She was only able to hold him there for a few seconds before he managed to struggle out of her grip. It was long enough to smash the butt of the P220 combat pistol she had taken from him against his left temple twice. Once he finally flipped her off of him, she also managed to yank the .45 he had taken from her out of his grip. It flew twelve feet toward the barn wall before it hit the ground and skidded even closer to the wall.

Before Shelia had completely made it to her back, the Blitzkrieg was bearing down on her. He had a five inch boot knife in his hand. Shelia had precious few moments to wonder when he had gotten his hands on it as she pulled the trigger three times. Only one bullet fired, small mag, son of a bitch. Luckily, that one bullet clipped the diving German’s left shoulder enough to knock his thrust off its mark. It pounded the barn floor next to her head. Without a thought, she began pounding the butt of the empty pistol against the side of his head again. It took five good strikes before he backed off enough that she could get her right foot into his gut and kick him off of her. As he flopped away, she rolled to her feet, ditching the sidearm and yanking her tactical knife out of its sheath on the way. Not wasting any time, she lunged at him and pounded her blade into his throat just as he made it to his feet.

Shelia held the German assassin’s right shoulder with her left hand as her right dug the blade of her knife deeper into the side of his throat. He gurgled something inaudible while she watched those blue eyes that didn’t fit the rest of his rat-like appearance gray over. Every heavy breath that left her lips sent little droplets of blood splattering onto his face. The adrenaline coursing through her veins slowly dissipated, and she let his body fall to the ground. By the time the effects of it had completely worn off, she became acutely aware of burning pain in her left thigh. Exhaustion dropped her to the ground. The moment her backside hit the barn floor, she reached for that burning pain and found the handle of the Blitzkrieg’s knife. All of the nearly five inches of that blade were buried in the muscles along the back of her leg. A slight cry left her lips when she yanked it out. It mingled with the sloppy sound that the blade made as it left her flesh.

Shelia laid there watching the barn roof spin slowly above her for a few moments before trying her feet. The attempt didn’t work out so well. She fell back to the floor fighting her heavy eyelids. The battle lasted for a few minutes. With each passing second, her breathing became steadier. Those heavy lids finally won, as sleep finished her off.

The lack of windows in Shelia’s new, silver, Ford van made it difficult to see the items she was digging through. The thing was nothing but sheet metal from behind the front seats all the way to the back. There were no proper seats in the cargo area, just benches along both walls. In between those were a couple of tables with crates full of weapons bolted to them. Holding a small penlight between her teeth, she rifled through them and then the small, built-in cabinets under the benches. Those cabinets held nothing but more weapons, ammo, and tools. Though all of it would be useful when she finally caught up to the Blitzkrieg or the Rosattis, they wouldn’t bring her any closer to them. No problem, she expected that. Examining the goodies in the back of the van was mainly to get at least a vague idea of how equipped she was.

Aside from a laptop computer mounted to the dashboard and a riot gun mounted where a console might have gone, the van was relatively standard up front. The computer didn’t provide anything useful. Apparently it was only used as an over-glorified navigation system. The glove box proved equally useless, except for two sticky notes stuck to the outside of it. Both had names and phone numbers written on them. The hand writing was pretty sloppy, but Shelia was able to discern names out of the chicken scratch. One read Blitz. She finally had a number for that snaky, German bastard. The other read, Wiggles. She tossed the name around in her head a few times. Wiggles, Wiggles, Wiggles… It was familiar, but from where?

Shelia’s form deflated as she slouched deeper into the high-backed, passenger seat of the van and closed her eyes. Exhaustion – like nothing she had felt since Matt was a baby with his days and nights mixed up – swept over her. Thankfully there were too many thoughts wrestling for her attention to allow sleep to get its hands on her. Just a little rest would be wonderful though, a few minutes maybe. Her body jolted as her eyes popped open. ‘No time for that,’ she thought, as she brushed her hair back from her face, forced the air out of her lungs, and shook her shoulders. ‘Have to stay awake.’

Her eyes moved back to the name on that little, yellow slip of paper. Why was Wiggles so familiar? She kept her eyes open while scanning her thoughts this time around. Wiggles, the name flipped slowly over in her head. “Wiggles,” she said it out loud. “Who the hell is Wiggles, and why do I know that name?”

As that name, Wiggles, continued to float around in her mind, Shelia started tallying the bits of information she had gathered up to that point. The Rosattis were behind everything. That was the biggest thing. They essentially had unlimited resources, and they didn’t have much competition left in the area. Why were they dedicating those resources toward her? She had never double-crossed them. She just stopped working for them when Danny made it completely clear that he didn’t want to have anything to do with his child. He would have paid for the abortion. What a sweetheart. There was no reason for them to come down on her so hard. They had all guns a blazing. Why? If the prick honestly had a change of heart, he could have called her. He obviously found her. The phone number would have been easy. Of course, she would have told him no. She never had the chance though.

The reason why was troubling, but not nearly as important as where she could find them. Whatever the reason was, Mark was dead, and they had her kids. That reason was enough that they recruited a small army of pros and a handful of amateurs to do the job. There had to more to the story. When Rufus helped her scrub her identity and relocate, it made sense. She had baggage. The family that she should have been a part of – the family that could have protected her from her past – didn’t want her. She could have protected herself. Having a baby on the way added a big enough wrinkle that hiding out was the right answer. Was that it? Was that the whole story, or was there something that Rufus hadn’t shared? Something had him scared enough to turn his back on her, there had to be more to it. Answering that question would have to wait. Her mind drifted back to that new name, Wiggles.

The Blitzkrieg – or Blitz as he was referred to on the sticky note – wasn’t familiar at all. When she spoke with him, he acted as if she should know of him. That was merely the bravado of a narcissist. Had she remained in the game, they probably would have crossed paths at one point or another. She hadn’t though, and he truly did not exist in her memory banks. Wiggles, on the other hand, that name was definitely there somewhere. It had to be from her time with the Rosattis.

“Wiggles, Wiggles, Wiggles,” she said the name again several times as she rubbed her forehead. “Who the hell are you, Wiggles?”

An image popped into her head. It was a young guy with bright eyes and a warm smile. He had slicked back hair that wouldn’t quite stay in place. Little bits of it would fall down onto his forehead here and there. He seemed to be constantly smoothing it back with both hands. That was him. That was Wiggles. Danny had introduced him to her as an old friend, Tony maybe. When that young man with the bright eyes, warm smile, and slicked back hair took her hand though, he said, “Call me Wiggles. All my friends do.”

“Son of a bitch,” Shelia sighed.

It all flooded back into her head. After meeting Wiggles, she checked up on him. “Know the punks you be fuckin’ with,” Rufus had started pounding the importance of that idea into her head at a very young age. By the time she met Wiggles, looking into the backgrounds of everybody she met had become part of the routine. He wasn’t an old friend of Danny Rosatti. He was a young punk working his way up the Rosatti ladder, an outsider trying to break in. Apparently he managed to accomplish that goal. If he were still working for them after all the time that had passed, he was probably pretty high up that ladder. Wiggles’ altitude on the Rosatti ladder wasn’t important. What was truly important to Shelia just then was another tidbit she had dug up on him all those years prior. The thing really troubling her at that moment was how he had earned his namesake. “The wiggles,” that was where it came from. That was how the sick bastard described the dance his victims did after he had tied them up and covered their heads with plastic bags.

There is no emotion that is helpful when doing a job, but fear is the worst. Anger and hate sit just behind it, jostling for the second spot. Both are a hair better than fear. They can at least make it a bit easier to pull a trigger or thrust a blade. The effects they have on the decision making process are far more detrimental than any benefits they offer though. Shelia had all three of them coursing through her as she sat in that van, thinking about what Wiggles might do to her kids, and contemplating her next move.

A slow sigh poured out of her mouth as she reached down to the floor in front of her and fished the two-way radio Rufus had given her out of her pack. The last time they spoke, he said that he couldn’t help her anymore. That answer wasn’t going to cut it. She had numbers and the names that belonged to them. That was all that she had to work with. Rufus could help her turn those numbers into locations. It didn’t matter if he wanted to or not, she needed him.

Shelia pulled in a deep breath and then released it. Then she depressed the lever on the side of her radio and said, “Rufus, this is Stiletto.” Her tone was as calm as the water of a small pond on a windless day.

Shelia listened to the silence for a few moments waiting for a voice on the other end. After a minute that felt more like ten, she pressed the lever again, “Rufus, this is Stiletto. I realize that you’re terrified right now, and I believe that there are lots of things that you haven’t told me. I don’t care about any of that at the moment. You don’t have to get any deeper into this, but I have a couple of numbers that I need locations on. Find me those and then you can scurry back to your hole to hide.”

A few more silent moments trudged passed. Shelia was just about to depress the lever again when Rufus’s voice poured out of it. “Hey baby girl. What’s up?”

“Gee, I don’t know, Rufus. What do you think is up?” Shelia’s monotonous tone didn’t match the sarcasm of her words. With all of the emotion swirling around in her, she still managed to keep control. The German had made her slip. That wouldn’t happen again. She had to keep control.

After another painfully long pause, Rufus replied in a tone that sounded more defeated than anything. “I know, baby girl. I know,” he paused again. “You said you’ve got numbers. Who are them numbers for?”

“Don’t worry about who they are for. You’ve already made it clear that you’re too chickenshit to get involved,” she paused. “And that’s fine. I’m on my own. I work best that way. I’ll give you these numbers and you give me locations. Then I can do what I have to do, and you can go back to hiding out. I’ll collect my baggage on my own.”

“I’m sorry,” Rufus replied somberly. “I know I let you down. I’ve always got your back though. Give me them numbers.”

“This one is for Wiggles,” her tone didn’t change as she rifled the number to him off the sticky note.

“Got it,” he replied. “Give me a minute.”

Shelia waited in silence. She didn’t have to wait long. Less than a minute passed before Rufus’s voice came over the radio again.

“That’s a dead end, baby girl,” he replied. “The service was cancelled on that one.” After a brief pause he added, “Looks like within the last day or so.”

“Are you sure?” Shelia allowed a hint of irritation into her voice, “Or are you just protecting me? I don’t need protection right now, Rufus. I need some fucking help. I need a fucking address. No matter what you think of baggage, I’m going to get my kids.”

“I ain’t fucking with you,” his tone was more pleading than angry. “That number is dead. They do that shit a lot. You know that. I’m sorry. Facts are facts. What’s the other number?”

“Fuck!” Shelia lost the control that she had been clinging so desperately to for just a moment. She composed herself and continued, “Okay, this one is for the Blitzkrieg.” She rattled off the number.

“One minute,” he replied. After a long pause he added, “Where you at now? That phone is just south of that place in Coleman. You still in the area?” just a hair of excitement had crept into his voice.

“What?” the same excitement was dancing around Shelia’s tone. “He must be at the rest area looking for my corpse. I hope he likes what he finds.”

“What rest area? What are you talking about?” Rufus asked.

“They sent a fucking hit team, six guys. They’re dead now. I took their van. That’s why you can’t see me anymore, unless you’re tracking my phone. They shot your van up, so I had to blow it.” Shelia’s calm had returned, back to business.

“I’m sorry, baby girl,” Rufus’s tone deflated back to something more depressing. “The next time you call, if I don’t have your kids I’ll at least have an address. I’m looking, baby girl.”

“Good,” her reply was curt. “You should be sorry.” She debated for a moment and then finally gave in. “Rufus, why are they coming so hard at me? Why didn’t Danny just call me? What don’t I know?”

“Danny’s dead, Stiletto. He has been for coming on fourteen years now.” The depressed quality of his tone remained, as he added, “This shit’s all my fault.”

“What? What do you mean he’s dead? You killed him? When? Why?”

“He hurt you. I made a promise to your dad that I would never let anybody hurt you. I kept my promise.”

Everything was beginning to make sense. “So you killed him? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Yeah, I killed him. I watched you mope around and cry for a week. He was dead two days later.” A bit of strength returned to his voice as he added, “You don’t want to know no more than that, so don’t ask.”

“No, you’re wrong,” the laughing quality that Shelia’s tone had earned was completely humorless. “I definitely want to know more, but I don’t have time for that right now. I want to catch that German freak before he dances off again.”

“Of course you do,” he sighed.

“You are in this Rufus. You got me into this, and you had better help me get out of it. When I call you again, I don’t want to hear any more of your bullshit. I want an address.”

She clicked the radio off before Rufus could respond. Her hands clenched up into fists immediately after tossing the radio down onto her pack. The son of a bitch knew all along, playing like he was helping her through some mystery. All the time he had been hoping that she would miss somehow. The Rosattis had been searching for her for fourteen years, and she had no idea. She shook her head. All of the anger she was feeling for Rufus just then wouldn’t help anything. That would have to wait.

Shelia picked up her cell phone and dialed the number on the sticky note that read, Blitz. There was a good chance that he wouldn’t answer. He would definitely recognize the number. Hopefully he was as cocky as she thought. He was, it only rang once.

“Stiletto, my beautiful, deadly flower, we speak again,” the thick, German accent was all too familiar. “I trust you have not called to cry to me about your children again.”

Shelia called on every ounce of self-control she could muster to keep her voice from breaking. “You’re good,” she said calmly. “You’re hiding the shock extremely well. I’ve been doing this long enough to know that you are surprised that I managed to get a hold of this number.”

“Meaningless,” he shot back. “You have passed my test. You have proven yourself worthy of my time. You will be dead before tomorrow.”

“Well, I’m exactly twenty five miles south of you right now, parked behind an abandoned, old barn,” she paused to let the info sink in. When he didn’t reply, she continued, “Yes, I know exactly where you are. I’ve seen your handiwork, and now you’ve seen mine. Do you want to keep playing games, or do you want to get this shit over with?”

The Blitzkrieg laughed. “You have proven resourceful, Stiletto Rose. You have grown soft though. I expect you to be dead within the hour.”

“Do I have to chase you?” she asked.

“You will never see me coming,” the reply was quick, like a gunshot.

Shelia forced a chuckle, “Come and get me then. There is a big Jesus billboard on the same property. You can’t miss it. I’ll be waiting.”

The line disconnected. Apparently he didn’t have anything else to say. That wasn’t terribly surprising. When he had control of the situation and was calling the shots, the game was fun for him. Now that he had no place to hide, it wasn’t fun anymore. The Blitzkrieg wasn’t an idiot. He knew exactly who he was dealing with. Had any more words dripped out of his mouth, his tone may have betrayed the fear that she knew was there. Luckily, it wouldn’t make him run. The game was over for him. He would come, and he would try to finish her quick. ‘Time to get ready,’ she thought, as she slipped toward the back of the van.

Shelia crouched in the darkness beneath a tall pine. The lowest branches drooped all the way to the ground giving her plenty of cover. However, they started high enough up the trunk of the tree that she could have stood erect, had she wanted to. The spot provided a perfect vantage point of the side of her van via a small break between two branches. She had parked the van beneath a light post that gave her a twenty foot diameter spotlight to work with. She didn’t even need her night vision goggles.

Barely an hour had passed after Shelia’s conversation with the Blitzkrieg when a silver, Ford van pulled into the rest area and parked directly behind the black Dodge she had rolled up in. The high beams on the big Ford blazed to life, bathing Shelia’s van in even more light. ‘Thanks,’ she thought. ‘That makes it even easier to kill you.’ Moments later, both the driver’s and passenger’s side front doors of the van flung open, and men in black jumpsuits carrying assault rifles with flashlights connected to their barrels hopped out. The sliding door on the passenger side of the van slid open at the same time, and four similarly equipped men poured out. All of them looked like special ops dressed for combat, from their boots to their backpacks and black masks. They moved like special ops too, securing the area and silently communicating with hand gestures. The Blitzkrieg, or whoever was pulling his strings, wasn’t playing. They had sent a strike team in.

One of the men who had exited the rear of the van looked up at Shelia. She held her breath and remained completely still as they made eye contact. It felt like they were staring at each other for several minutes. ‘Oh shit, can he see me?’ she thought. Her hiding spot was only a few hundred feet from where he was standing and his eyes were looking directly at hers. Those eyes squinted slightly as the beam from the flashlight on the barrel of his rifle slowly swept toward the tree. Shelia remained completely still until just before the beam of light reached the spot she was crouching in. By the time it hit the small break in the branches that she had been watching them through, she had rolled backwards and landed in a prone position. Glancing up, she could see the beam of light directly above her head. It was motionless for several seconds. Good. If he had spotted her, it would be bouncing with his footsteps as he approached. She counted, 1…2…3…4… It moved away. She released the breath that she had been holding long enough to make her lungs burn, as slowly and silently as she could.

Just as Shelia was about to rise back up to a crouch, the fireworks started. The silence of the rest area was shattered as the thunder of six automatic assault rifles ripped through the still air. Bullets shredding the van sounded like small hammers striking tiny bells. ‘Of course,’ Shelia thought as she slowly lifted herself high enough to peer back into the parking lot, ‘armor piercing bullets.’ The revelation didn’t surprise her. She knew she was working with pros. They wouldn’t take any chances. By the time the gunfire ceased, the van was riddled with holes. The man who had nearly spotted Shelia in her hiding spot raised the first two fingers of his right hand and flicked them twice toward the van. As soon as he had completed the gesture, a soldier near the front, passenger side of the van charged up to the passenger door, shoved the barrel of his gun inside, and fired off several more rounds. Immediately after he stopped firing, the rest of the group charged up to the van. They had all of its doors open in less than five seconds.

Shelia stowed all of her gear in the backpack lying next to her and set it behind the trunk of the pine she was hiding under. Then she jumped up to a branch about a foot above her head, quickly pulling herself onto it, and crouching low. The strike team would know momentarily that she hadn’t died in their barrage of bullets. Then they would fan out into the trees and begin their search. It would probably be less than two minutes before she had to engage them. She found another small break in the branches and watched.

A guy with a red bandana tied around his left arm charged around from the driver side of the van toward the fellow with all of the hand gestures. “Van’s empty, Knuckles,” the red bandana guy said as he jogged over.

Shelia made a mental note of the name, Knuckles, maybe he was boxer. In any event, she had never heard of him. He did appear to be the leader of the small strike force though.

Knuckles replied, “Of course not. That’s fine. Let’s hunt this bitch then.”  He pointed at the red bandana guy and said, “Boom Boom, you and Kamikaze sweep the trees to the south.” Then he pointed to the two men crawling out of the back of the van, “Hawk and Beretta, you two cover the field to the west. Bingo, you’re with me. Remember, this bitch has been out of the game for a while, but she’s a pro. Slack and your head will be lying on the ground looking up at your body wondering why you aren’t dead yet. She’s quick, efficient, and mad as hell about what the Rosattis did to her family. You know the stories. This bitch is like a ghost. Stay alert. We regroup here in fifteen. If she doesn’t turn up we sweep the other side of the highway. Now move.”

Shelia noted all of the colorful names that came out of Knuckle’s mouth while he was giving orders to his team, but only one of them mattered to her at that point, Rosatti. Blitzkrieg was a killer. He was no boss, just muscle. The son of a bitch would get in her way, but he wasn’t the ultimate goal. There were precious few moments to contemplate the importance of that name as Knuckles and Bingo stalked toward the tree she was hiding in, the lights on their guns shining directly at her former hiding spot. Those moments numbered long enough to allow the realization that the name belonged to Alyssa’s biological father and his family plenty of time to sink in. A long, slow sigh finished leaving her lips just as the beam from Knuckles light flooded the ground beneath her. Ten seconds until show time. Shelia slowly slipped her tactical dagger out of the sheath that was strapped to her right leg, took a reverse grip on it, and brought it up under her chin.

The slightly bouncing light shining through the trees paused. Shelia figured that Knuckles was giving Bingo directions, probably more hand signals. One would enter from the front where the light was shining and the other would enter from the rear. Knuckles would keep his light shining on that same spot to draw her attention, but Bingo would be moving around to take her from behind. They would enter together. Hopefully they wouldn’t look up until they were both under the hanging branches of the tree. Shelia drew a deep, slow breath in and held it. When was the last time she was so acutely aware of her heartbeat? Probably the last time she killed someone. The Rosatti family had hired her to do that hit. That was the last time she worked with Danny. Not too long after that, she discovered that she was pregnant…

Knuckles and Bingo breaching her hiding spot ripped Shelia off of memory lane and dropped her back in the present. They both stopped short once they were under the branches, sweeping the needle-filled ground beneath the tree with their lights. They were too far apart for her to get them both cleanly. Knuckles was closer. Shelia’s plan had just begun to come together as she slipped off the branch she was crouching on. A split second passed before her legs were wrapped around Knuckles waist and her blade was six inches deep in his throat. The blood pumping out of him and painting the pine needles red assured her that after over thirteen years without a kill, she could still find the carotid artery.

The beam from Bingo’s flashlight was moving up Knuckle’s legs far more quickly than Shelia was prepared for. That light was strapped to the barrel of a rifle that would be belching lead at her in moments. She pulled the blade out of Knuckles neck, flipped it over in her hand, and fired it at Bingo a moment before his finger squeezed the trigger. Only one shot got off before he dropped his rifle and both of his hands went to his throat. Shit. All of the gurgling and stomping that he was doing meant it wasn’t a clean hit. The dome of light from the flashlight – that had fallen to the ground with all of the pine needles – offered enough visibility for Shelia to see that her knife wasn’t sticking out of his throat, and there wasn’t enough blood for a severed artery. Her wrist must have gotten weaker over the years. Based on the sounds he was making, the blade must have clipped his windpipe. He would suffocate in a minute, but she didn’t have time to wait for that. More lights were coming. Though the gunshot had been suppressed, it was still loud enough in the silence to alert the rest of the team that the target had been found. After three steps and a quick snap, Bingo’s neck was broken. Shelia grabbed her backpack, rolled out from under the pine branches, away from the approaching flashlights, and ran fifty yards deeper into the trees.

By the time Shelia heard a voice yell, “Fuck,” she was ten feet up in another pine that offered an ample view of her original hiding spot. The thought of climbing higher briefly entered her mind, but she wanted to stay close enough to the ground to jump down and take off if the need arose. As rusty as she was, it probably would.

The same voice said, “Bingo’s dead. Knuckles ain’t but he will be soon.”

Another voice asked, “Boom Boom, how the fuck did she do them both with one bullet? I only heard one shot.”

“There was only one shot,” the first voice replied, “and she didn’t fire it. Bingo did.”

Shelia unconsciously noted that the first voice belonged to the one they called Boom Boom as she pulled a retractable bow out of her pack and nocked an arrow in it. She drew the bowstring back slowly. The two talkers were on the other side of the tree, out of her line of sight. The other two men stood at either side of the tree that Knuckles and Bingo were under. Both of their guns were aimed at the tree. “I’m not there anymore,” she whispered as she drew back her bowstring, drew a deep, steady breath in, took aim at the man to her right, and gently released the string. Two seconds later that man was falling in a heap with an arrow jutting out of his throat. Before the bloke on the left side of the tree had any idea what was happening, Shelia had nocked another arrow and put it through his neck. Two more down, it was all coming back, just like riding a bike. Shelia stowed her bow, jumped down from the branch she was crouching on, moved to a point fifty yards to her left, and scrambled up into another pine.

By the time Shelia had settled in her new perch, Boom Boom and the other remaining soldier were on the move. She thought for a moment, Kamikaze. That’s what Knuckles had said. Boom Boom went with Kamikaze. Not that it mattered. Both those fuckers would be dead in a minute. Still, keeping a lucid mind would help her stay ahead of her enemies. It helped to exercise her brain. Helping kids with math homework was the only exercise her mind had been getting the past few years.

Shelia had another arrow ready by the time Boom Boom and Kamikaze found the next body. They had moved around the left side of the tree and nearly tripped over him. Shelia couldn’t be sure if it was Hawk or Beretta until she heard Boom Boom say, “Son of a bitch! She got Beretta.”

‘There you go,’ she thought as she put an arrow through Kamikaze’s throat, ‘Beretta’s dead.’

“What the fuck?” Boom Boom shouted as Kamikaze’s hand shot out and gripped his shoulder. Then he aimed his gun at the trees about ten yards too far to the left to spy Shelia’s position and shouted, “I’m going to kill you, bitch! Why don’t you come out…”

Boom Boom’s shouting melted into a pained howl as an arrow tore through his right thigh. Just as he brought his gun up to start firing in the general direction that the arrow had come from, another arrow punched through his right shoulder. “Fuck,” he shouted, as he grabbed his rifle with his left hand and started spraying the trees. The firing lasted only moments before an arrow sliced into his left arm at the wrist and ripped up his forearm, perfectly splitting his radius and his ulna before embedding itself in his elbow. The garbled nonsense coming out of his mouth as he dropped his rifle to the ground and hopped around in pain could hardly be considered language of any kind.

Boom Boom was still shouting and carrying on as Shelia slipped out of the tree and jogged over to him. By the time she reached him, he was tugging at the arrow in his left arm. Every time he pulled, his screams grew louder.

“Ouch,” Shelia said calmly. “That looks like it hurts.”

“Fuck you bitch,” Boom Boom cried. Tears streamed down his face as he reached for her with his right hand. “I’ll fucking kill you.”

Shelia grabbed the hand that was reaching for her, twisted it backward while pulling him closer, and hammered the right side of his face with a back-handed chop. Then she stepped back and fired a front kick into his sternum that was hard enough to knock him down. “You aren’t killing anyone, Boom Boom. You’re going to give me some answers. First of all, what kind of name is Boom Boom? What, do you like to blow shit up, big guy?” She nodded as she continued. “Yep, I’ll bet that’s exactly what it is. You were the bomb maker of the group. That makes sense.” Then she shrugged and finished with, “Not that it matters why they call you what they call you. Nobody will be calling you anything pretty soon.”

“Fuck you, you fucking cunt.” Boom Boom stopped struggling and gave into the sobs.

Shelia shook her head. “Are you kidding me? Quit crying.” She paused for a few moments, listening to Boom Boom’s tears before adding, “I swear to god. You have to quit that fucking crying or I’m going to put another arrow in you. I mean it. I’ve been through too much. I can’t sit here and listen to somebody who is supposed to be some kind of killer cry like a child. Come on now, Boom Boom. Pull it together.”

“You’ve got no chance, bitch,” Boom Boom sneered through his sniffles. “They’ve got so many guns. There are hundreds more just like us.”

“I can see why I should be frightened,” Shelia smiled. “You guys certainly gave me a run for my money. Hell, I didn’t even have to pull my guns out.” Shelia paused for a few moments, waiting for Boom Boom to say something else. When he didn’t, she continued, “Look, I know you’re in a lot of pain right now, and I’d really like to end that for you. I already have the name I need. I know you were hired by the Rosattis. Just tell me where I can find them, and I’ll end your suffering.”

Boom Boom laughed, “Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you shit.”

“I thought you would say that,” Shelia began, “and I believe you. The only one of you that probably knew anything was Knuckles, and I’m not going to be able to get it out of him.” She paused as she reached behind her, slipped another blade out of her backpack, and held it up in front of Boom Boom’s face. “Do you see this blade, see how thin it is? This is a stiletto. It probably doesn’t look like what you would call a stiletto, does it? I bet it doesn’t. When you hear the word stiletto, you probably think of a switchblade, a ballistic knife, or something else like that. That’s an American thing. This blade is a true stiletto. It’s an old one too. This blade is from sixteenth century Italy. Obviously it has been restored, but it is still worth a ton. Do you want to know why they call it a stiletto? I’ll give you a hint. It has to do with the shape. Do you see how it comes to a point like that?”

Boom Boom didn’t respond. His eyes were taking on a faraway stare. Blood loss was getting the better of him.

Shelia shrugged. “I guess you’re all done talking. Fine, I’ll wrap this up quickly then. It’s named for the Latin stilus. You know, the thing they used to carve clay tablets with. No, you don’t know?” She shook her head. “Well, anyway, it has to with the shape.”

As the last word left Shelia’s mouth, she slipped the blade into Boom Boom’s throat. There wasn’t much pressure behind the blood pumping out of him, and didn’t take long for his eyes to gray over. She slipped the blade back out, wiped it off on Boom Boom’s shirt, and stowed it back in her pack. Then she picked up his rifle and used the flashlight to sweep the ground and retrieve her tactical knife. The stiletto was good for a poke and a quick kill, but a tactical knife was far more effective in a fight.

Once she had all of her gear back – including the arrows – she rifled through the gear on all of the corpses. It would have been better to properly dispose of them, but there wasn’t time. The sun would be coming up soon and she needed to be far away from all of the bodies. None of them were carrying anything useful except for Boom Boom. He had van keys. Those would be helpful considering they shot up the Dodge.

It took her roughly ten minutes to move all of her gear from the shattered Dodge into the Ford. It had already been loaded up pretty good too. That was a nice surprise. They had a lot of guns. What they weren’t carrying on their persons was stowed in their van. Added to what she already had to work with, Shelia was ready for war. She needed to be. The Rosattis would give her one.

As Shelia pulled back out onto highway 41, she held up a black box with a red button at its center. The sky lit up and the ground shook when she pushed that button. The black Dodge Rufus had given her was no more. When the state patrol finally arrived, probably within the hour, the charred bits that were left of it wouldn’t give them anything to work with. Still, she needed to find a place to lay low and do a proper search of her new van. There probably wasn’t much, but she would take anything she could get; a name, a rendezvous point, a cell phone. Hell, even a notebook would be helpful, anything to get her closer to where Danny and his family were holding her kids. What did he want with them anyway? He wasn’t interested when she told him she was pregnant all those years ago. The reason didn’t really matter. He had them and she had to find them.