“…the man who flees is not yet free…” – Georg Hegel, Encyclopedia of Philosophical Sciences

“I had this awful dream, Briel, and I saw you running for your life…” – Nick explaining his anxiety as he searched for her in France.

Briel almost sighed in surprised relief as she neared the row of trees. From a distance, the trees had appeared in a unified line, but when she began to close in on the row, she noticed that it bore a staggered aspect. Her legs pummeled the ground, using it as a springboard to propel her further toward her anticipated freedom.

Finally, she whipped around the first tree that rose to her left, initially unaware that the trees formed a narrow corridor down which she could pass. The layout meant little for her prospects of escape, but it did raise the possibility that she had misjudged her situation.

When she had decided not to run from the field, she had worked under the impression that fleeing Liam would not take her very far toward her freedom. Sprinting across endless fields would not help her elude her captor.

She distinctly remembered, though, a place she had often trod as a child. Whenever Briel had sought adventure, she had spent hours exploring the neighboring fields, milling through the maize, wheat, and lavender, and finding her way home. Not that she could conceal herself among the crops now because of her size.

What gave her pause now came from the memory of a path she had taken on one particular afternoon adventure, a path hidden in a grove of trees, that had led four miles through various properties and landed her in a neighboring village. She prayed that her current path would prove similarly constructed.

While the trees flew past in strobe-like fashion, Briel scanned the ground ahead. She could hear Liam's pounding steps from several yards behind her, but did not turn to see if he gained. Fortunately, Briel had incredible endurance and felt certain she could outlast Liam if she could manage to outrun him.

As the maize blurred past her, she spotted a discrepancy in the row to her right, and at the instant she passed it, she ducked toward it, not slowing her stride. Hopefully, Liam would lose a second as he adjusted his trajectory.

Just as she had predicted, the discrepancy in the line of corn had proved the entrance to a path, a border between two more fields. She ran along the path, at least partially obscured by the leaves that fringed it. T

o her relief, she could hear the leaves whipping mercilessly against Liam's taller frame, and Briel knew that this would slow him infinitesimally if in no other way but by hindering his vision. Briel crashed through the plants without hesitance.

After about fifty feet, Briel detected another turn to the left, and she struck in the new direction once again. To the south now rose a farm, and Briel spied a woman and her two small children, gaping in awe at the speeding figure that flew through their field. Briel imagined that she had the aspect of a specter, and tacitly worried about scaring the poor woman. Still, she did not slow.

The path widened slightly before Briel, and a new row of trees appeared over the tops of the maize. Turning toward the trees, Briel found herself facing a rock-strewn stream, lined on either side by clusters of beech. The copper and gold leaves cast spotted shadows around Briel, whirling in a surreal dance as she sped under the sparse canopy of branches.

Because of the water, Briel found herself slowing to jump the stream, and Liam closed in on her, only a few feet behind by the time she sprung across the three-foot span. Still, he encountered the same obstacle and lost his advantage when the jump slowed his forward motion.

Liam and Briel had traversed almost half of a mile when they came upon the river. Bordered by the trees, the river swam in isolation, as if under a medieval spell that Briel could not break. Her footfalls on the rocks provided the only sound, like the shimmering of sandpaper against ragged wood.

Liam's panting grew closer, spurred on by Briel knew not what. Just ahead, she spied a steeple, the words “L'Église Saint Germain” etched neatly beneath it, and she renewed her effort to grow the gap between herself and Liam. She knew that if she could reach the church, a town lay beyond, crowded with citizens who would hinder Liam's pursuit.

As each foot fell, Briel lifted the next, gliding gracefully along the river's edge. Unexpectedly, the rock that should have supported her right foot slid on a stream of mud toward the water. Briel lurched forward, fighting to maintain her footing.

Like a falling branch from the trees above, Liam descended upon her, knocking her the rest of the way to the ground and spilling her into the water. Briel scrambled, struggling desperately to right herself, but Liam had trudged into the water after her and arrested her by grabbing the back of her shirt.

With a decisive motion, Briel flailed her right arm behind her connecting with Liam's right cheek, but his arms had closed around her like a bear's, and he spun her to face him, tumbling with her as one into the center of the stream.

For several seconds, Liam did not move. Briel tried to calm her aching lungs as she waited for Liam's comment or decision. She did not care to speak first. After a time, Liam leaned only his head up so that he could gaze into Briel's eyes. “Why do you have to make this so difficult?” he begged heatedly.

“You would prefer I lie down and take it?” she taunted. “I told you that you would have to kill me. Why don't you just get it over with?” Her words came out in gasps, exhausted as she felt from the run and the pressure of his body crushing hers. In typical fashion, Liam grinned at her challenge. “I'm tempted,” he allowed. “But I'm sure as hell getting my money after all of this work.”

Complacent, Liam rolled to his side, gripping Briel's waist with his right hand while he pushed off the ground with his left. Briel brought her right knee up, driving it into his groin once again, then brought her right elbow up to connect with his chin.

Straightening her right arm, she pressed his head sideways to the ground while pressing her own weight down into the water. With her left leg, she hooked his right and kicked upward, flipping him across her body and toward the opposite shore. He just manage to grab a fistful of hair as he flew over Briel, but she sacrificed several strands to escape his grasp.

Once again, she plummeted toward the church.

Almost immediately, Liam followed, laughing maniacally at some amusement Briel didn't want to imagine. The shadow of the church encroached her feet, and Briel pressed harder into her reserves of strength when she recognized the proximity of her goal.

Obviously, Liam held similar ideas, because he burst out from the stream as from a trebuchet, fist projectiles ramming ruthlessly into Briel's back. Though the impact would otherwise have dropped her, the momentum carried her into the stone wall of the church, and Briel bounced off, continuing in the trajectory toward the street beyond.

Liam erupted in a screech of frustration behind her, and Briel knew that she had at least bought herself some time with the audience of residents in the town. Elated, Briel glanced behind her for the first time, smiling triumphantly into Liam's frenzied gaze.

Now limited by his surroundings, Liam adopted a pattern of slinking casually between cars and trees, not quite in the comical manner of a cinematic spy, but certainly determined to stay hidden.

With the small amount of leeway Briel had earned, she pondered her next course. She could call Nessa and try to evade Liam until help arrived, but Briel could not imagine alerting Jase to her current predicament, even with the possibility that he had helped her.

She had no conclusive proof that he had intentionally helped, just a hunch. Every name besides his held insurmountable problems, and the worst option lay in asking Nick for help. What could he do that wouldn't get him killed? Why would he help her after how she had ended their last exchange?

Briel meandered down the sidewalk, striking across the street and into a café as Liam shadowed her. Though she knew his irritation, Briel also knew that he would not try anything with so many witnesses around.

Now that he did not have possession of Amélie's purse, having dropped it to pursue Briel, he would have to developed a new method for contacting Henry, and Briel could use the time to plan. Most importantly, she had to get a message to Nick.

Hindering her astuteness, exhaustion rendered her mind weak, and the thought of Nick stirred up far too much regret for her to access as she stared into the nebulous twilight outside the window. All the memories that had resurfaced during her ordeal swelled to throttle her fortitude: the artless compliments in the karaoke bar, the kiss, the pain on his face when he walked out her door in Phoenix.

Then the new memories: the joy when he saw her approach in Belize, the restrained admissions on the computer, the final goodbye. Mostly, her guilt and contrition for the fact that she had doubted him. She struggled to suppress them because she had no time for emotion. Like a cycle, the division wore her down. Emotion swelling to confound her strategies; fear pressing her to assess and plan.

Contact Nick, her brain insisted, and the idea grew paramount as night settled blacker against the panes. Unwilling to remove her eyes from Liam for even a moment, Briel stood and backed her way to the counter, realizing as she did it that she was undermining her own purposes.

If she freaked out the café owner, he would kick her out instead of helping her. When her back bumped the metal rim of the display, she called out to the proprietor.

“Monsieur,” she begged. “Un moment, s’il vous plait.”

“Oui?” a masculine voice replied from behind her, obviously tentative.

She continued in French. “Monsieur, could I possibly use your phone?”

Without glancing behind her, she couldn’t read his reaction, but he remained silent for several moments. Finally, “I’m sorry, madame. I believe I cannot.”

“Please, monsieur. Au secours. If you wish, you can stand between me and the door. But I am in dire need.”

Maybe the man recognized her fear, or maybe he just had trouble saying no, but he moved in front of her and met her gaze. He looked at her eye-level, and his frail form would have spoken age even if his leathered skin had not. A man like that had to know his own vulnerability, but his expression, after a squint of suspicion, melted into sympathy.

“Only a moment, madame,” he insisted, reaching into a pocket on the front of his apron and pulled out a rather dated telephone. He clicked in a code and held it out to her. When he turned his back to her to face the window, Briel’s face crumbled.

The man’s stance looked poised for battle, and when Briel took a moment to glance around the shop, she registered a shadow box hanging on the wall. Inside, several military medals and decorations hung on display. Surprisingly, she noted tears burning the corner of her eyes – she had to get out of this man’s shop before she brought him unnecessary peril. A man like that should get to live out the rest of his life in peace, not damaged at the hands of a psychopath.

Nick, she centered. In truth, contacting Nessa would have proven more effective – it could have helped both Nick and Briel herself, and she was willing to risk that Jase might not have the best intentions since the alternative was Liam. Unfortunately, to enforce denial over the level of friendship, Briel had refused to memorize Nessa’s number. The only other team member whose number she knew was, ironically, Liam’s.

But she could get Nick a message. She could warn him of the danger to himself and to Felicity, and he could get the family to safety. It was the only thing she could manage, but it was by far the most important.

Sending through the man’s random text utility would delay the receipt of the message, and the unfamiliar number would render the words suspect, but she had to try.

She typed the email address into the contact bar: [email protected].

Nick, she composed, sucking in a breath to calm her reaction to the name. You and yours have been compromised. You have to get them out. I’m so sorry.

Hitting send, she started to hand the phone back, but she paused, pulling the messages up again. In case I don’t get another chance to tell you, you were right about everything. You were right about me. You’re my only regret. She held her breath as she sent the second message, then she swiped to delete both messages from the man’s phone – no need to leave the information for someone to find in the unlikely event that Liam came after the man.

Briel slid up beside the man, who turned to take the phone. Briel gripped his hand and squeezed it gently. “Merci, monsieur.” She risked meeting his eyes for an instant. “You have been a hero once again.” An old soldier like that would appreciate the recognition, and he did truly have her extreme gratitude, both for his service to her and his attitude of bravery on her behalf.

“Bonne courage, mademoiselle,” he urged, and Briel infused his words. She would accept his courage to spur on her own. Crossing to the door, she stepped into the night, knowing she had done what she could to save Nick and the Millers.

The thick blackness of a provincial community had settled over the town, and with it, new opportunities and new dangers for Briel. Though she could not imagine his leaving her for a moment, Briel could no longer see Liam, and her anxiety returned in full force.

If Liam still watched her, though, she would not communicate weakness through her demeanor. The crisp breeze that funneled down the narrow street blew a jolt of adrenaline through her, and she steeled herself calmly for the coming battle.

Whispers of Liam's presence floated past her on the currents of air whipped up by the cars that whisked by, and Briel determined to remove the vulnerability of the darkened streets as soon as possible. If he decided to pounce, she could not risk involving an innocent citizen, so she knew that she had to move off the main road.

She could not venture onto a completely abandoned path lest she offer Liam opportunity to enact his schemes, yet she couldn't very well stop on the major thoroughfare and break into a car in plain view. Instead, she opted for a compromise, convinced that if Liam followed too closely behind, she would have seen direct evidence of his presence, not just felt a vague impression of him.

A small parking lot with three tightly packed rows adjoined a quaint ancient house that had recently come to serve as an apartment complex. Into this square Briel slinked, gliding noiselessly past the first row of vehicles and slipping down the middle row until she found the car with the least amount of direct line to any window or to the street.

With senses on edge, she knew immediately when Liam's feet touched the asphalt pavement of the lot, and she redoubled her efforts to force open the car. An older American model, the car proved easily accessible, and Briel found herself seated in the driver's seat in a matter of seconds. Taking a moment to assess her surroundings, Briel noted the shadow of a step slip just out of sight two cars away from her current position. Her breathing sped.

Though she needed no more than thirty seconds to start the car, Liam could easily span the gap between them in that amount of time. All at once, the lights in a nearby car flashed and an alarm beeped; Briel sighed with relief for the time it bought her. Liam must at least slow his pace to avoid detection.

Ducking below the dashboard, Briel continued bypassing the key system as she heard muffled voices near her hiding place, then felt the vibrations of a rumbling car. As soon as the headlights swept past her, she ignited her own engine and eased the car into reverse.