The Fugitive

The Photograph

Nick Sievers' POV

"Hey."

Aldridge looked up from what appeared to be a square of paper. A picture. She ran a hand through her hair and sighed. "I wondered how long it would be before you chewed me out for whacking you upside the head."

I brought a hand to the back of my head, where the bruise had nearly disappeared. A smile found its way to my face. "I had it coming."

She cocked her head. "I never expected to hear those words come out of your mouth. Why the sudden change of heart?"

My heart's never changed. I wanted to tell her so badly. I still loved her. I still needed her. Derek had cleared the way for me, too. So what was I waiting on? Why did I hesitate?

I couldn't bring myself to do anything more than shrug. Aldridge took in my lame response and squeezed the picture in her hand. "If you didn't come here to yell at me, what are you doing?"

Could I tell her the real reason?

No. Not yet.

"I'm tired of fighting. I mean, not physically, of course. I wouldn't give that up for anything."

Aldridge studied me, face still guarded. "Mentally. You don't have room for all the hate you harbor in your heart."

I nodded. Somehow, without me having to say the words, she had known exactly what I meant.

Aldridge sighed. "I am, too, Sievers." She raised the picture she had been looking at and studied it one more time before extending it outward. With a jolt, I realize she wanted me to take it.

I held the photo in my hands, wondering what could have made someone like the ex-director of the FBI so sentimental. When my mind processed what my eyes were seeing, I was taken aback.

The inside of a hospital room, walls white. Although to an outsider it would have looked like any other generic emergency room, it was extraordinary to me. Because lying on a bed with a weary, peaceful smile on her face was the very woman who had handed me this photo. She was cradling a newborn, eyes wide and mouth gaped open.

But what hurt me even more was the man crouched beside Aldridge, joy and tender love lighting up his eyes as he gazed upon the two most precious things in his life.

That man was me.

A gentle knock pulled me from my trance. James stuck his head into the room. "I've got a location on Vincent."

Emily Anderson's POV

Johnson didn't even knock before bursting into my office. He was carrying a large stack of files. I sighed heavily and leaned back in my chair.

"Do you know what these files are?" he asked.

I steepled my fingers. "No, but I'm sure this means you've found something new to lecture me about."

He grabbed several files from the stack that were held together by a rubber band. "I've found ten people guilty of tax evasion." He tossed the files aside and grabbed some more. "Three leaders of crime circles. One head of a terrorist sleeper cell. Eight cybercriminals."

"Your point?"

"The FBI is a very, very busy agency as it is. We don't have time for a wild goose chase for a dead man. In fact, we've never even laid on eyes on your supposed fugitive! He's probably buried six feet under in some graveyard, laughing at us from hell."

"You don't know Nick Sievers like I do."

"Give me one good reason we should keep searching for him. One reason."

"He's a threat to society!"

"In Canada! Let the CIA take over!"

I stood up suddenly and slammed my palms on my desk. "I don't have to explain myself to you, Agent." I exhaled heavily, then held out my hand. "In fact, I'll relieve you of that badge."

Johnson glanced at his badge, which identified him as a member of the FBI. He cleared his throat and looked at me strangely.  "Director, you don't know what you're—"

"You're. Fired."