the floor before he met Dante’s stare, “They’re saying Ethan shot him… Twice through the chest.”
“No! That’s impossible.” As suddenly as the grief had struck him, a fury of disbelief flared through Dante’s heart. “It can’t be. Jason and Ethan were best friends! They grew up together.”
“I know, but that’s what they are saying, and the FBI is corroborating the story,” Gray explained, not wanting to believe it himself. Talking at least seemed to help dam up the tears, for the moment. “According to the news, he kept the FBI off the shooter long enough for him to get the shot off, and then killed Jason and attempted to kill another agent.”
Dante kept his eyes low, looking back and forth, searching in the mundane brown carpet for some answer. Nothing.
“How the hell could this happen?” Dante asked. It seemed impossible.
He’s not capable of such an act , Gray thought. Why? Why would he have done it? What could he have possibly gained from it?
“I don’t know,” Gray paused, “but it did.” He searched the news article again, begging to have been wrong, to have imagined it all. Maybe it was his mind playing tricks on him, maybe he was just tired and had missed something. Nothing changed.
Ethan had gone rogue.
CHAPTER 18
January 29 at 12:00 p.m. EST
Atlanta, GA
The towering skeletons of oaks and maples occupied the shoulder of the road. Patches of tall, wavy grass sat beneath the winter besieged trees. It was quieter here. Only a few homes and gated communities dotted the drive; nature took over the rest.
An hour had passed since Ethan fled from downtown, since his life unraveled. Passing through the calm Atlanta suburbs had eased the onslaught of adrenaline. His heart had finally normalized and a painful throbbing in his chest and face had set in. The blood at his side had clotted. It burned with each movement, each time his side grinded against the center console when the tires bounced from a bump in the road.
The digits on the stolen Maxima’s odometer said he had driven over forty miles, trekking further into the maze of small towns and wooded countryside. Ethan had no idea where he was, but driving further from the city brought a small sense of safety. Yet, even with the distance he had placed between him and downtown he felt uneasy. He periodically glanced in the rear-view mirror, expecting to see one of the FBI’s distinctive black SUVs or an Atlanta PD cruiser following. He was now a wanted man.
His thoughts kept returning to Jason’s pleading eyes, begging him for time. He shuddered; a tear ran down his cheek. Anger smoldered within Ethan’s chest as he remembered the fear in those eyes – and the man who had taken Jason’s life: Agent Sean Abrams.
Boiling inside, he stopped at a red light. A sedan and a sports car whined by. Abruptly he punched the steering wheel, again and again, imagining Sean with each blow. He wanted the anger to go away, but even more so the feeling of helplessness – a deep abyss of emotion that rolled in his gut.
The light turned green. Ethan drew in a deep breath and pressed the accelerator.
Who will tell Amanda and Kallie? Are they going to believe I killed Jason? How would they ever know the truth? How would Kate know the truth?
The thoughts haunted him, hanging over him like a massive weight that threatened to crush him. Everyone he knew would soon be positive he was a domestic terrorist. A soulless murderer, a cancer. He had to set things straight. But how?
The building’s security cameras? Were the cameras working on that floor? Please have been on!
He thought back to entering that ill-fated fourth floor. He pictured the bare walls and exposed wiring, the naked sheetrock and steel beams.
Were there any cameras?
He squinted. Would they even have been on with all the construction work? He could only hope his luck was not entirely out.
Wait, the shooter. He had a tattoo… on his neck.
Ethan
“No! That’s impossible.” As suddenly as the grief had struck him, a fury of disbelief flared through Dante’s heart. “It can’t be. Jason and Ethan were best friends! They grew up together.”
“I know, but that’s what they are saying, and the FBI is corroborating the story,” Gray explained, not wanting to believe it himself. Talking at least seemed to help dam up the tears, for the moment. “According to the news, he kept the FBI off the shooter long enough for him to get the shot off, and then killed Jason and attempted to kill another agent.”
Dante kept his eyes low, looking back and forth, searching in the mundane brown carpet for some answer. Nothing.
“How the hell could this happen?” Dante asked. It seemed impossible.
He’s not capable of such an act , Gray thought. Why? Why would he have done it? What could he have possibly gained from it?
“I don’t know,” Gray paused, “but it did.” He searched the news article again, begging to have been wrong, to have imagined it all. Maybe it was his mind playing tricks on him, maybe he was just tired and had missed something. Nothing changed.
Ethan had gone rogue.
CHAPTER 18
January 29 at 12:00 p.m. EST
Atlanta, GA
The towering skeletons of oaks and maples occupied the shoulder of the road. Patches of tall, wavy grass sat beneath the winter besieged trees. It was quieter here. Only a few homes and gated communities dotted the drive; nature took over the rest.
An hour had passed since Ethan fled from downtown, since his life unraveled. Passing through the calm Atlanta suburbs had eased the onslaught of adrenaline. His heart had finally normalized and a painful throbbing in his chest and face had set in. The blood at his side had clotted. It burned with each movement, each time his side grinded against the center console when the tires bounced from a bump in the road.
The digits on the stolen Maxima’s odometer said he had driven over forty miles, trekking further into the maze of small towns and wooded countryside. Ethan had no idea where he was, but driving further from the city brought a small sense of safety. Yet, even with the distance he had placed between him and downtown he felt uneasy. He periodically glanced in the rear-view mirror, expecting to see one of the FBI’s distinctive black SUVs or an Atlanta PD cruiser following. He was now a wanted man.
His thoughts kept returning to Jason’s pleading eyes, begging him for time. He shuddered; a tear ran down his cheek. Anger smoldered within Ethan’s chest as he remembered the fear in those eyes – and the man who had taken Jason’s life: Agent Sean Abrams.
Boiling inside, he stopped at a red light. A sedan and a sports car whined by. Abruptly he punched the steering wheel, again and again, imagining Sean with each blow. He wanted the anger to go away, but even more so the feeling of helplessness – a deep abyss of emotion that rolled in his gut.
The light turned green. Ethan drew in a deep breath and pressed the accelerator.
Who will tell Amanda and Kallie? Are they going to believe I killed Jason? How would they ever know the truth? How would Kate know the truth?
The thoughts haunted him, hanging over him like a massive weight that threatened to crush him. Everyone he knew would soon be positive he was a domestic terrorist. A soulless murderer, a cancer. He had to set things straight. But how?
The building’s security cameras? Were the cameras working on that floor? Please have been on!
He thought back to entering that ill-fated fourth floor. He pictured the bare walls and exposed wiring, the naked sheetrock and steel beams.
Were there any cameras?
He squinted. Would they even have been on with all the construction work? He could only hope his luck was not entirely out.
Wait, the shooter. He had a tattoo… on his neck.
Ethan
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