<span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua'">Everything was a blur. Her ears were filled with screeching tires, repeated curse words, and the whines and barks of a dog that had no understanding of what was happening. And then, as if a switch was flipped, the other car stopped beside them, dumped a package on the ground, and let them be. Genevieve watched blankly as the van sped off, and for a brief moment, there was silence in the Mazda. Then Oliver was cursing and demanding she wait in the car, which was totally fine with her. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she felt dull and winded because she was in shock. It just wasn’t fully registering for her and she sat staring after the van, trying to make sense of the last hour of her life.<br/>
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When he returned, her brown eyes were quick to search him before they centered on the gun and manila envelope tossed into her lap. It caused a crease in her brow, the nonchalance in which he treated the weapon, and she carefully reached down to separate it from the envelope, switching on the safety since it seemed as though danger was not upon them for the time being. Oliver still drove off as if they were, though she understood it was because of the steadily approaching sirens in the distance. She’d been about to tell him that maybe they should wait, maybe they should involve his coworkers, but his gruff voice filled the car once more and Gen returned her attention to the envelope.<br/>
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Her index finger was placed between the envelope and its seal so she could start breaking it open, her dark eyes glancing over in his direction while he began to rip into her for not telling him about calling the phone number. She felt her own temper rise up, obstinacy and frustration bubbling, and her head snapped up so her attention could be on Oliver instead of the envelope. “No,” she said it strongly, her hand clenching the envelope tightly, “No, I’m not—“<br/>
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He bowled over her to explain what Nathan had been doing before he died. The scenery around them whizzed past with Oliver’s speed, Dunkin was sticking his face between the seats to try to get attention from one of them, but Genevieve could only stare at Oliver while he told her the man she loved was undercover, trying to root out some huge crime lord. “Who gives a—“ She tried to interject heatedly, not caring if Nathan was undercover. He’d been before, it was nothing new to her, except Oliver kept going, and suddenly he was telling her Nathan was a spy. Nathan Rutherford, German spy. She could have laughed at it, could have joked and pushed such ridiculous notions away…if Oliver wasn’t absolutely dead serious. Still, it was a lot to swallow and Genevieve couldn’t do much more than stare at Oliver as he slammed his hand down on the steering wheel.<br/>
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He couldn’t have been, though. She’d met his parents, had gotten to know him more intimately than she’d ever known another person. Had he played her that well? He’d never even once made any sort of inclination toward being German. He’d always said he was a mutt. <i>I’m just white, Gen. We’ll tell our kids they’re Italian and Mexican like you.</i> With that thought in mind, with Nathan’s jovial voice firm in her thoughts and Oliver having fallen silent, her attention finally returned to the envelope. She recognized the street they were on, the driveway Oliver pulled into, and knew they had arrived at his home. She’d been there on several occasions, but always with Nathan. She didn’t think much on it however, as her gaze was focused on her hand sliding into the envelope.<br/>
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A folded in half sheet of plain white paper was withdrawn, but there was more. She set it atop of the envelope, then went back. Gen withdrew a silver ring with a line of tiny emeralds in the band, brought it up level with her eyes, then sighed her understanding. They were giving her proof. “This is his,” she held it out in case Oliver wanted to inspect it. Otherwise she would set it on the dash of the car, “I gave it to him on his birthday this year.” There was an inscription on the inside of the band. <i>All my love, GM.</i> She was a fool. Shaking her head wryly, Gen unfolded the paper, her eyes briefly widened, and she tossed it over at Oliver while shoving the envelope and gun from her lap so she could clamber out of the car. The front door was slammed, the back was opened, and she hurriedly guided Dunkin to jump out.<br/>
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It flashed through her mind while she crouched before Dunkin and her hands hurriedly ran over the dog’s legs, his sides, his belly. Fear was gripping her, worry was consuming. They were threatening her family.<br/>
</span><br/><div style="text-align: center"><i><span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua'">Bring the dog and the USB to 14152 Palawan Drive at Marina Del Ray </span></i>​</div><span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua'"><div style="text-align: center"><i>or we go to 1182 Twinleaf Way.</i>​</div><br/>
“Oliver,” she called out to him while Dunkin calmly let her manhandle him, “Oliver, Nathan must have put something on Dunkin, right? Why else would they want him? What could they possibly want with a dog?” She paused, a connection in her mind forming, and she briefly glared at the dog, “You know German because Nathan knew German.” A thump of the dog’s tail against the driveway was the only response, and Gen started to stand, having no idea what her dog had to do with a crime lord. She went to take Dunkin by the collar, then gasped and reached out to unbuckle it.<br/>
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“Do you have a knife?” She asked while holding up Dunkin’s collar. It was simple leather, but two pieces had been sewn together to form the collar, and she had to wonder.</span>