Quinn takes a seat next to me on the couch and picks up a pair of glasses from the coffee table. She slides them over her eyes as she pulls back my shirt from the wound on my shoulder. She makes a face.

"So?" I question jokingly. "am I going to live?"

She gives me a flat look. "I think you're lucky it hasn't gotten infected so far," She grumbles as she pulls a first aid kit onto her lap. "Whoever tended to your wound only seemed concerned with stopping the bleeding."

"Yeah well, John was debating whether or not he wanted to kill me," I tell her.

She shakes her head. "I don't want to know who he is. I didn't hear that name. I didn't hear anything."

"Do you even have a medical degree?" Ryder suddenly questions as he watches Quinn.

Quinn nods. "I was a nurse for a while," She says absently. "I'm an artist now, but I keep up with everything I need to know. Plus, my parents and grandparents were all doctors. They made sure I know what I'm doing. For minor stuff at least."

She continues to dig through the first aid kit. "Besides, you have no idea how often I tear myself up with my artwork. Sometimes I like to do woodworking, sometimes metal working. If you're not careful well . . . I've got plenty of scars to show for it. I always take care of myself though. I've never had an injury that has forced me to actually go to a hospital."

I notice Ryder watching her cautiously as she tends to me. Like the same way he was looking at Sarah. Like she could attack at any moment. Quinn notices it too.

"Take a seat," She tells him. "Ask me whatever you want before you glare a hole through my head."

Ryder glares at the back of Quinn's head as she stays focused on my wound. "I wasn't glaring at you."

Quinn doesn't even have to turn around. "You are now."

Ryder takes a seat. He watches her for what feels like an eternity more before finally speaking up. "Nicky says you're not a criminal."

Quinn smiles even though he can't see her face. "And judging by your tone you don't believe her."

"You're living out here, on your own, in the middle of nowhere. As if you don't want to be found."

She looks over her shoulder at him briefly. "I like being on my own. Don't get me wrong, I like people. I enjoy socializing, but I need time to myself. This is where I can go by myself." She shrugs as she wipes something across my wound. I hiss out a breath as it stings.

"And you're not entirely wrong," She says as she starts rewrapping the wound. "I don't want to be found."

Ryder's eyes narrow in her direction. "Why?" He asks. "In trouble with the law."

She smiles again. "Yes," She admits. "But not in the way you think."

Ryder crosses his arms over his chest and glares at her when she says nothing else. "Care to explain?"

"Ex-husband's law enforcement," She says as she finishes wrapping my shoulder. "He has resources, and I'm pretty sure you can guess the rest. Bad marriage. Drunk husband. Domestic violence. None of which ever ended well for me. Charges against him were always dropped."

She started putting everything back into the first aid kit. "I'd prefer not to be found."

Ryder's still staring at her but the cautious look in his eyes as mostly faded as he watches her. "You look rather young," He says. "and you've already been married?" He questions.

She nods and takes the glasses off her face, putting them back down on the coffee table. "I was twenty-two when I got married. Divorced when I was twenty-four, with Nicky's help," She gestures at me. "and then she helped me set myself up out here. No way for anyone to find me. Covered my tracks for me." She shrugs. "That was two years ago. I've been living out here ever since."

Ryder nods, his eyes still studying her. "You have a faint accent," He says.

She nods. "I'm from Scotland. Born and raised there until my parents passed. Then I came to live with my grandparents in the states but I spend a few months out of the year in Scotland."

Ryder's attention turns toward me. "Scotland?" He questions. "Huh, well I wonder where you could have possibly been going when you decided to take a flight there," He says sarcastically.

"I took a flight there?" I question back with just as much sarcasm. "My God I didn't notice."

Ryder glares at me, but it's playful. He opens his mouth to retort but is cut off as a shrill ringing splits through the air. Ryder lets out a string of curses before pulling his phone out of his pocket. He frowns as he looks down at the number.

He mutters something else under his breath before answering and putting the phone to his ear. He stiffens almost as soon as he answers.

"I was wondering when we'd have the traumatic experience of dealing with you yet again," Ryder says. "I was hoping you'd spontaneously combusted and died."

Ryder takes the phone away from his ear, motions for me and Quinn not to say anything and puts it on speaker, setting it on the coffee table between us.

"So sorry I could not contend with your wishes," Volkov pauses. "Agent Ryder Stevenson. Though, I thought it was about time you and I were properly introduced. Since you seem to be blundering yourself into the middle of this mess."

My gaze snaps over to Ryder, worry and dread beginning to spread through my gut. Yes, we both knew that Volkov had to have a pretty good idea of who Ryder is, but this is the first time he's confirmed it.

My concern for Ryder quickly turns to annoyance when I see he's thrown his legs over one arm of the armchair he was sitting in and has his back pressed against the other. He's also flipping through an art catalog as if Volkov hasn't said a damn word.

No concern for his personal safety whatsoever.

I hate him.

"It's nice to be noticed," Ryder says nonchalantly. "And I couldn't agree more, Mikhail."

I frown at Ryder. At the name he just used. And then I notice Volkov's gone dead quiet.

"Cat got your tongue?" Ryder questions as he continues to flip through the catalog.

"Where did you hear that name?" Volkov's voice is a low growl.

Ryder flips another page. "I didn't hear it anywhere. I read it. Fun fact, did you know you've been declared dead twice now? Once nine years ago and a second time four years ago. Clearly, no one seems to be able to keep you dead."

"Where did you read it?"

"Want to make sure you cover all your tracks? Don't worry there was only one picture to accompany the file so I made copies and had the FBI distribute them to law enforcement agencies across the country. Did you know you're wanted in Russia? Something about killing some government official. I couldn't get all the details but it's not as if it matters."

Volkov's quiet for a long while. "I suppose you think you've got the upper hand. You must think you're so smart, but tell me," He says. "Do you have any clue who the girl you protect is?"

When Ryder doesn't respond Volkov lets out a laugh that sends chills down my spine. "Ah," He starts, that smug quality back in his town. "You do. So tell me, Agent Stevenson, what would happen if the FBI were made aware of this fact?"

Ryder swings his legs around so he's sitting properly in the chair. He places the catalog on the coffee table. "You tip them off, and I'll personally make you regret it."

"Oh?" Volkov's tone is daring and full of challenge. "And just what do you intend to do? I have the upper hand and I've done my homework on you Agent Stevenson."

"I'm flattered you took the time to look me up," Ryder says dryly.

Volkov's laugh is humorless and mocking. "If you don't start cooperating Agent Stevenson, the FBI's not only going to be looking for Nicolette."

"I wish I could summon and an ounce of worry, I really do," Ryder replies. "Considering my father will believe anything I tell him over anything you tell him, I don't believe I have a problem.

Volkov laughs again. "That's not the only option I have," Volkov says, his tone taking on a steely edge. "I want Nicolette. And you're going to deliver her to me."

"In what delusional universe of yours will I be doing that?"

"How's your sister these days, Agent Stevenson?" Volkov asks innocently.

I suck in a breath and my blood runs cold at his words. Panic begins to flood through me and look at Ryder in worry.

"She's great," Ryder replies, expression blank. "Thanks for asking."

"Lillianna Marshal if I'm not mistaken," Volkov continues.

Ryder doesn't seem to be understanding Volkov's subtle threats, or rather, he's just ignoring them. He doesn't seem to be understanding just how bad this is.

His next sarcasm filled statement only shows just how serious he's taking Volkov's threats.

"Oh my God, you know her name. I'm absolutely terrified."

"If you don't hand over Nicolette," Volkov continues. "I'll be paying your little sister a visit."

Ryder stares down at the phone for a moment and then throws his head back and laughs. And I mean laughs. He's not faking it. He's actually turning red in the face from laughing.

"Let me know when you're going to be going after her so I can sell tickets to the event," Ryder tells him when he finally gets his laughter under control.

Volkov waits for Ryder to finish and I can practically feel his frustration and impatience over the phone. "I don't think you're grasping the severity of the situation Mr. Stevenson."

"No," Ryder says. "I don't think you are. You go after my sister and you're going to regret it. Not because I'll make you, but because she will. You don't know her. You have no idea what's she capable of or the kinds of people she hangs around with. Personally, I hope you're stupid enough to go after her because when she kills you, all our problems are solved. And I'll be sitting the front row watching as you meet your demise."

Ryder picks up the phone and gets to his feet. "Now, if you'll excuse me, you've made your threats and let's make something clear. The only place Nicolette is going to be going is with me right next to her. It would do you good to back the hell off and leave her alone because if you don't, I'm going to hunt you down like the animal you are and put a bullet between your eyes.

"Now, I have a very riveting catalog to get back to. Have a nice day Mikhail and I'll see you in hell as I'm dishing out your eternal punishment. Consider this your first and last warning."

Ryder ends the call and slips the phone back into his pocket. He stuffs his hands in front pockets and rocks back on his heels. "So . . . who's hungry?"

"When did you learn his name?" I ask Ryder, ignoring his question.

Ryder shrugs. "I did some digging. And I would have told you sooner, but it didn't seem important."

I give him a deadpan look. Quinn's looking at him in amusement as she gets up and takes the first aid kit back to the cabinet it was being kept in.

"I like him," She says she walks back over to us. "You better hold on to him, cause if not I just might swoop him up." She winks at me, a smile on her face as she walks into the bedroom.

Ryder watches her leave. "She's not what I was expecting," He finally admits.

"You were expecting a criminal," I point out. "and a man."

Ryder lets out a light laugh. "Yeah, I was."

Ryder glances briefly at the coffee table where his phone previously was. "He was exactly what I expected from the last unpleasant conversation with him." He grimaces and runs a hand through his hair.

I stare at him for a long while. He finally looks from the coffee table to me. "What?" He questions.

"I was under the impression your sister was dead," I tell him.

He shrugs. "So were a lot of people."

"That's it?" I ask him. "You're not going to explain anything?"

Ryder smiles at me, his green eyes sparkling with amusement and mischief. "You're a smart woman, I'll let you figure it out."

I glare at him. "If I could have figured it out, I would have a long time ago."

"Are you admitting you don't know something? Could you repeat that? I need to get it on video."

My eyes narrow further. Ryder winks at me.

"Why do I put up with you?" I mutter to myself as I press my fingers to my forehead. Ryder hears me.

"Because you'd be dead without me."

"I'm going to end up dying because of you."

"Not if I can help it."

I look up to see Ryder looking at me with that unidentifiable look in his eyes yet again. My breath catches in my throat as he starts moving closer to me.

I look away. "Well this is awkward," I mutter.

"There you go ruining the moment again, rusty."

I glare at him. "Are you ever going to quit with the nicknames?"

"You don't like them?" There's amusement in his eyes as he says this.

I glare at him. "I've told you that."

"Not in those words."

"Well, then I don't like them."

Ryder waves me off as he walks to the refrigerator. "Fine, fine," He says. "I'll stop."

"Thank you," I tell him as I put my head back against the couch and close my eyes, letting the exhaustion I've been feeling finally catch up with me.

Just before I can drift off into a peaceful sleep, Ryder's voice shatters the exhaustion.

"Hey, matchstick! You think pizza can get delivered out here?"

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