He never had the chance to answer her, to respond, to do anything but react. The van was tailgating them as he drove back through the neighborhood and back into traffic. He refused to speed up, to drive recklessly; what he was hoping was that the men who were apparently on a hunt for the woman sitting next to him would also abide by the laws since there were so many witnesses abound. Of course, his assumption proved to be wrong when the glass shattered behind them as a bullet penetrated the back of his car. Oliver reacted quickly, spinning the steering wheel under his palms and pushing hard on the gas to send them screeching to the side. Horns blared around them as he jerked the car up onto the curb on the side of the road once he regained control over the vehicle. Instinctively, he had leaned across his own seat and flung his arm wide to shield her from flying forward during the ordeal. No longer a quiet, panting passenger in the back seat, Dunkin barked and whined his displeasure as he fretfully circled the backseat, ears flat and eyes wild.<br/><br/>It wasn't the first bullet, however. The second ricocheted loudly against the metal shell of the car, causing another riot of barking from Dunkin and a loud curse from Oliver. Throwing a glance over his shoulder behind him, he watched as the van rolled forward alongside them as the rest of traffic either slowed down to stare at the commotion or speed irritably around to continue on their way. Knowing people, no doubt at least one person had already called the cops to the scene. His hazel eyes were intent as his hand flexed over the gun that still sat in her lap. Then, carefully, he lifted the piece so that it sat heavy in his palm and waited to see if a head would show itself long enough for him to take aim and fire if need be. Though he had no intention of bringing the cops in on this mess just yet. Not until he did a little bit of rogue work.<br/><br/>However, there would be no more shooting. When the van rolled up, there was a man with a black ski mask over his face holding a .45 in his gloved hand right at Genevieve's head, cocked and ready. Oliver raised his own, features intent, but before either party could react fully to having a firearm pointed at the other, the panel of the van slid open. Rather than a person leaping out to finish them on a more personal level, however, an arm appeared long enough to throw a package on the ground beside Oliver's car. Then the panel slammed shut once more and the van peeled off away from the curb, the masked man and gun turning their focus away as the van sped away with the sound of sirens wailing in the distance now greeting them.<br/><br/>“Fuck!” He declared it robustly as he tore out of the driver's side door after putting the car in park. “Stay here,” he barked back to Gen before he leaped out onto the sidewalk and moved quickly around the side of the car to scoop up the package that was dropped for them. Briefly, he put the envelope up to his ear to listen to signs of what could very well be a bomb. With none of the tell-tale signs of something about to go boom echoing in his ear, he took his chances with it as he slipped back into the car and tossed it and the gun back on her lap. They had to get out of here. Quick.<br/><br/>With another wayward glance in her direction to see how she was doing as well as a reach behind to the back seat to scratch behind Dunkin's ears as if to reassure the animal that the world was not going to end today – not on his damn watch – Oliver pulled back out onto the road and floored the has. He no longer followed the rules of the road as he tore through traffic like a madman, snaking around other cars like a racer in a video game in order to now lose their incoming rescue squad. Hopefully, no one was wise enough to look at<b>his </b>plates, as what he did now was illegal.<br/><br/>“Open that. See what it is,” he snapped curtly. While his words sounded rude, it was also overthrown by an edge of something used to giving orders and having them obeyed. It was that kind of quick instruction during his time in law enforcement that kept him and his alive rather than in a body bag. If she was smart, she wouldn't argue. Not right now. It wasn't the time. “Why did you call that number without telling me, Gen? You could have been<b>killed</b>. You understand that, right?<i>Fuck </i>the car – you need to be more careful. You're staying with me until we figure this shit show out now. No ifs, ands, buts, or stupid fucking prideful hang ups about it. Agreed?”<br/><br/>He was seething. That much was obvious in the way his jaw jutted out and his teeth clenched. His eyes narrowed intently on the road as he drove, taking them through town, out of the way of where they needed to go: his home. He wasn't kidding about the scenic route. “Nathan was part of a much bigger organization than we thought. I opened the files on the drive that you gave me and was up most of the night going through everything. He was deep undercover, Gen. I didn't even know that. He had infiltrated a very dangerous criminal organization led by a person called The Viper. The damn FBI doesn't even have that much information on who this crime boss is. Your boyfriend –<i>my best friend </i>– has collected more information than what I can access myself. He was a German fucking spy, Gen. They must have fucking figured him out, though, for them to kill him. Fuck!” He slammed his hand down on the steering wheel, his head thudding hard against his head rest. “Fuck,” he said again, more quiet than the first as he inhaled deeply.<br/><br/>Then his attention was fully on the road. He fell silent after that, like he needed time to process the information himself and how all this tied together. How Gen factored into the picture. How he did. Until, of course, and thirty minutes longer than it should have taken, he was turning down the street into his own neighborhood and finally up his driveway.