Disclaimer: As usual, Roswell and its characters do not belong to me! The song What Hurts the Most belongs to Rascal Flatts and was borrowed for this story.

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Isabel Evans walked along the corridor with single-minded determination, her glacial gaze unwavering. Her stride remained uninterrupted as people scattered out of her path, her expression dangerous enough to make them wary of her. The people who worked for the agency she owned with her brothers, their wives, and her best friend knew better than to get in her way when she wasn't happy as evidenced by their speedy retreat when she passed them. The heels of her shoes clicked out a staccato rhythm against the tiled floor, slowing only when she reached the double glass doors that opened into the corridor where the elevators were located.

She stabbed the button for the third floor and crossed her arms over her chest as she watched the numbers change on the digital readout above the door. It slowed to a crawl and when it came to a complete stop at the second floor and the doors slid open she leveled her icy stare on the unsuspecting man standing on the other side. He paused with one foot over the threshold when he realized whom he would be sharing the car with.

"Well?" she snapped impatiently, annoyed by the holdup. "Are you getting in or not?"

He backed up and made a pitiful waving motion with his right hand. "No, actually I think I need to go down to the first floor."

"Do you or do you not know where you need to go?"

He withered under her unrelenting stare and took several more steps away from the doors, relieved when they shut once more and he was released from the boss' evil glare.

Finally reaching the third floor she pushed through the doors as soon as they started to slide open and once more employees scattered as far and as fast as they could in an effort to clear her path and hopefully avoid a scathing tongue-lashing. Her temper was legendary in the halls of Evans & Guerin and everyone knew to avoid her when she came in with that particular look on her face.

She nodded at her younger brother's secretary and the woman merely waved her on through when she saw the dark expression on the tall blonde's face.

Max Evans looked up when his office door was opened and his sister stormed into the office. She crossed the room in record time and leaned over his desk as she pinned him in place with her angry glare.

"Get Michael in here now."

"He's in the field today," Max answered, unruffled by her mood or her bossy attitude.

"Of course he is. Since when do the two of you make decisions regarding new clients without my input?" She continued before he could respond and her voice rose as she spoke. "I am one of the owners of this company and until that changes you do not sign new clients on without first discussing it with me."

"We haven't actually signed with Whitman Enterprises and we hadn't brought it up because we thought…" He winced when her eyebrow rose imperiously and she straightened up to her full height. "We didn't know how you would handle working with the company because – "

"Because of what? Because of their name? I think I can handle protecting someone who works for a company who happens to have the same – "

"It's not just the same name, Isabel."

"What?"

"The company belongs to Charles Whitman," he said slowly. "Michael and I met with one of their representatives very briefly; we cut the meeting short when we realized who we were dealing with."

Her temper visibly faded and she dropped down in one of the comfortable chairs that sat in front of his desk. "It's been ten years since…" She trailed off and shook her head

"And after all this time you still can't even say his name, Isabel." He stood and walked around his desk, crouching down in front of her and covering her tightly clenched fists with his hands. "We thought it might be too difficult for you to deal with them on a one-on-one basis for that very reason so we told them we had some things to hammer out before we could decide whether or not we wanted to go further with negotiations."

"How much is the job worth?"

"It's not worth putting you through an emotional wringer and if that's what working with Whitman Enterprises is gonna do to you we'll turn it down."

She smiled at his sincere tone and knew he meant every word of it. "Why are they wanting to hire us?"

"One of their teams is on the verge of creating some state-of-the-art program for the DOD and several threats have been made against the head of the department." He shrugged. "We didn't meet the man or woman they're so concerned about; they're keeping them under wraps until they've nailed down a contract with a security firm. Mr. Whitman was adamant that he wants us and he basically told his reps that money wasn't an issue but regardless of the number we're not taking it if it's gonna make you uncomfortable."

"Did they say why he wants us specifically?"

"Not specifically, no. But they did allude to the fact that he knows who we are and that due to the sensitive nature of the job he would like someone he was familiar with."

"So, he remembers us from back home."

"Apparently he has contracts with Manor Industries and the CEO started bragging about your heroics a couple months back and Whitman recognized your name and started doing some research into our company."

"I thought we had agreed to turn that job down."

They both turned to look at the owner of the deep voice and Max frowned when he saw their partner lounging in the doorway of his office. Michael Guerin wasn't directly related to them but he had been part of their family for as long as they could remember and he was treated the same way. He stood a couple of inches over six feet with wild hair and dark eyes. He crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow in question.

"Well?"

"You're back early," Max said, eyeing the other man's blue jeans and black leather jacket with a frown.

Michael shrugged insolently and directed his gaze to the woman he considered to be his sister. "We can turn the job down, Iz; it's not like we're struggling."

"True, but this would be high-profile and the publicity wouldn't hurt."

"Don't make me pull the sensitive card, Iz."

"Good Lord, please don't make him do that," a female voice said and a moment later a short, blond-haired woman appeared beside him.

Michael frowned down at her. "Can it, DeLuca."

"That's DeLuca-Guerin, buddy," she countered, poking him in the ribs and snuggling up against his side when he settled his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him.

"Like I'm gonna forget that," he growled, swooping down to capture her lips in a heated kiss.

Isabel rolled her eyes at the couple. They were possibly worse than Max and his wife, Liz, she thought. "Set a meeting up with the representatives for…" She swallowed hard. "Set the meeting up for sometime this week, preferably early afternoon and let's get the details of the job."

"You want to go?" Max asked, uncertain of her decision.

"It's a job that my department would handle and I can't very well make an informed decision unless I actually meet the client, can I? Don't make the appointment for tomorrow though; I'll be with the General Manager for the Sentinel Corporation going over their new security system."

"There a problem with it?"

She glanced back at Michael. "It's got a couple of bugs that we need to work out but it's nothing serious."

"All right," Max agreed, "I'll get it set up but if you honestly feel like it's gonna be too much I want you to let us know." He stood up and leaned back against his desk. "We're not gonna take the job if it's gonna make you uncomfortable; I don't care how much money or publicity we could get out of this."

"I'll let you know."

He nodded in agreement before turning his attention to the couple by the door.

"Don't give me that look, Max," Michael grumbled, recognizing the look. "I've told you a thousand times I'm not a suit and tie kinda guy; it's not gonna happen and it hasn't affected our ability to attract new clients."

"Not the female clients anyway," Max complained under his breath. He reached up to adjust his own tie and loosened it before opening up the collar of his shirt. "What're you working on?"

"We're on our way to Tijuana; we finally located Stevens and we're going to pick him up," Maria informed them. "It couldn't have worked out any better either because they just raised the bounty on him."

"How much is he worth now?"

"A hundred grand and since twenty-five percent of that is ours we're not gonna take a chance on losin' him." Michael pushed away from the doorframe and fixed his intense gaze on his sister. "The publicity and the money are both nice but they're not worth puttin' you in a situation where you're uncomfortable." He cleared his throat and gave his wife a gentle shove out the door, ignoring her indignant squawk. "And now that I've used up my sensitivity quota for the month we've gotta get goin'. We'll call you when we've got Stevens in custody."

"Hey, Guerin, move your ass."

Michael grinned at his wife's commanding tone and gave them a sloppy salute before hurrying out of the office.

"Does it ever surprise you that the two of them have stayed together?"

Isabel glanced at her brother in surprise. "No, not really. Can you imagine either of them with anyone else?"

He chuckled. "No. You remember when we suggested that maybe they should pair up with different partners once they got married?" He shook his head. "I still can't believe the hassle involved with that one innocent suggestion; he said he'd sell his share of the company and she threatened to quit."

"We probably should've had our heads examined for even coming up with that idea," she said, shaking her head. "Can you imagine trying to pair them up with other partners? I don't think they'd be able to work effectively with anyone but each other."

"No, I suppose you're right." He rounded his desk and dropped down in the leather chair. "I'll give Whitman's reps a call and see if we can set something up for…" He glanced at his calendar and reached out to flip through his planner. "Thursday afternoon around two o'clock? Will that work with your schedule?"

"It should; I have a meeting with the CEO of Lansing, International that morning but I should be finished with it and back here before noon. I talked to Liz and she's assigning Stanton and Keller to handle their security detail and I requested four more of our people to work with them. The paperwork's already filled out, Liz has it, and yes, I included all of the requisition papers for their equipment and vehicles."

"Sounds good." Max made some notations in his planner before glancing up at her again. "I'll contact Whitman Enterprises and set it up."

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"So, you didn't tell her that the company belonged to Alex's father because you thought it would upset her?"

Max paused, his knife poised over the green pepper he had been slicing to look at his wife. "It sounds stupid when you say it."

"I'm not implying that it was stupid," Liz said, turning down the heat under the frying pan before she left it to stand on the opposite side of the island where he was working. "I'm just saying that she's a grown woman and she is one of your partners."

"She's also my sister and I don't want to – "

"Honey, she's never gotten over losing Alex and the way you and Michael have been so over-protective of her is not necessarily helping. You know she's always preferred the one-on-one jobs but she's taking on more of the high-risk assignments than she used to take. When the company started expanding and we started bringing in more employees you started handling the business end of things; clients, meetings, setting up new accounts, and all of the little day-to-day things it takes to keep things running. Michael and Maria turned their efforts over from the security end of business to the bounty hunting side… and you have to admit they're very good at it."

"Yeah, they are."

"But Isabel has continued to stick with being hands-on with the clients and we all know she's a competent bodyguard but have you even noticed she's been taking on more of the high-risk assignments lately? She's married to this job, Max; when's the last time she went out for anything that wasn't work-related?"

"I'll try to get her to take some time off after the meeting with Whitman Enterprises." He picked up the cutting board and rounded the island to stir the vegetables he had sliced and diced with the strips of meat in the pan. "Maybe you should suggest it," he said, glancing at her over his shoulder. "Better yet, maybe you, Isabel, and Maria could all take a few days off and do something together." He shrugged. "The last time I tried to convince her to take some time off she threatened to emasculate me right in front of half of our employees."

"You practically ordered her to take a vacation and she's never responded well to you when you take that tone with her. Just talk to her and suggest it in a way that makes it sound like it's her idea."

"You think she won't see right through that?"

"Not if you do it right."

"All right, but if she makes good on her threat and we never have children just remember that it's all your fault."

Liz shook her head at his dramatic statement and laughed at him. "Isabel is not going to do anything to you."

He wasn't so sure about that. "You talk to Maria today?"

"Yeah, she said she and Michael were off to Tijuana to pick up a bounty; I guess they finally tracked Stevens down. You think they'll catch him this time?"

Max laughed quietly. "I don't know. They've been after him for more than a year. It's personal now; I think it's more about actually catching him than it is about the money."

"True, but I'm sure that twenty-five grand won't hurt either." She smiled. "Maria also said that you were having fits over their clothes."

"I didn't say a word," he denied.

"I don't know why you give him a hard time about that, Max; you know he doesn't conform to anyone's idea of what the rules should be."

"Neither does his wife," he grumbled but there was no heat behind the words.

"Which is why they're so well-suited to each other." She grinned. "You're the only one who dresses like you work in a bank and you're uncomfortable all day long." She let her eyes wander over his jeans and tee shirt and shook her head. "I don't know why you do that to yourself."

"I don't want to make any of our potential clients think we're not professional."

"Evans and Guerin is the number one personal protection agency in the country right now; I think our reputation and our record speak louder than what we choose to wear. Most of our clients – both regular and potential – know that we spend a majority of our time in the field so I don't see how that's going to affect their decision to hire us."

"Yeah, but I don't spend as much time in the field as I did when we first got the company up and running. Most of my time is spent behind a desk buried under a ton of paperwork that has to be filled out in triplicate." He sighed as he reached out to turn the burner off and move the pan to the opposite side of the stove. "I do miss being out there," he admitted, his voice hushed.

"Then get back in the field." She grinned. "I'd like to have my partner back. I know we talked about it and we decided that it would be best if we didn't work as a team after we got married but if marriage hasn't affected the way Michael and Maria work together I think we'd be okay."

"Who would take over all the paperwork and the meetings with potential clients?"

"Let's talk to Jim and Amy and see if they'd be interested in taking it on. He's not the sheriff anymore and Maria said he's driving her mom up the wall because he doesn't have anything to do all day. He's familiar with the business and Amy knows all about the paperwork… I'll bet they'd be willing to take it on."

Max stared at her for several long minutes, his expression thoughtful. "Let's bring it up at the next meeting and see what everybody thinks."

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Isabel stared down into the glass of red wine she held without seeing it, her free hand stroking the small dog lying at her side. His bristled muzzle was propped on her thigh and his deep brown eyes were trained on her miserable features. Her thoughts were focused on the distant past as she listened to the song playing on the stereo; the music faded as the song ended and several seconds later it began again. The very first time she had heard it she had gone out and bought the CD the same day. Country music wasn't her preferred type of music but the words of the song had immediately captured her attention and it had sent shivers down her spine. The words were so hauntingly close to the past that she couldn't leave behind that it could have been written for her.

Alex Whitman hadn't been the type of guy that anyone had expected her to fall for; they had been complete opposites in every way and no one thought they would make it. She had never known anyone quite like him and no one had been more surprised by their getting together than the two of them. He had been patient beyond belief, backing off when he could tell she was feeling overwhelmed by their relationship and reassuring her when doubts and fears had cropped up.

No one but her and one other person knew the whole truth about what had happened between them that day. Their friends and family had never asked even though her guilt was transparent and she knew they suspected she and Alex had fought the night of the accident. Maria's stepfather, Jim Valenti, had been the sheriff at the time and she was certain that he had listed the cause of death as accidental because of her. She had overheard him talking to one of the deputies a couple of days after the accident and when she had asked him about the conversation he had told her that there had been some disagreement as to the actual cause of death. There had been quite a bit of suspicion that his death had been the result of suicide but he had said he hadn't felt it was strong enough to file in the report so he had labeled it as an accidental death.

I can take the rain on the roof of this empty house

That don't bother me

I can take a few tears now and then and just let them out

I'm not afraid to cry every once in a while

Even though going on with you gone still upsets me

There are days every now and again I pretend I'm okay

But that's not what gets me

Jim had taken his responsibility as a sheriff very seriously and once he had learned the truth about her and her brothers he had done everything in his power to keep them safe.

She was certain that he had been trying to protect her as well as Alex's family but she had seen the look on his face and she had known that he was lying when he said he believed it was accidental. She had given him only the barest of details, telling him that they had argued just hours before Alex's car had been found and he had tried to reassure her that she wasn't responsible for the accident but nothing he had said had convinced her that even if she had done things differently he would still be dead.

What hurts the most

Was being so close

And having so much to say

And watching you walk away

And never knowing

What could have been

And not seeing that loving you

Is what I was tryin' to do

She swallowed a mouthful of wine and dropped her head back against the wall as the words washed over her and she felt the floodgates open. Tears slid down her cheeks and she looked down at the picture lying on the floor beside her, wondering yet again if he had died hating her for what she had said to him.

It's hard to deal with the pain of losing you everywhere I go

But I'm doin' it

It's hard to force that smile when I see our old friends and I'm alone

Still harder

Getting up, getting dressed, livin' with this regret

But I know if I could do it over

I would trade give away all the words that I saved in my heart

That I left unspoken

Lightning flashed across the sky in a jagged pattern, momentarily illuminating the nearly dark room where she sat. The weather fit her mood and for one brief, fanciful moment she imagined that the heavens were weeping for her loss.

Since his death she had become quite fond of the rain; she preferred the gray, overcast skies to bright, sunny days. The weather hadn't even been a contributing factor in the accident that had claimed his life and she knew that was just one more reason why there had been questions. There had been no evidence that he had tried to stop, no hazardous road conditions, no mechanical problems with his car, and no reasonable explanation for why he had gone off of the road. His car had gone straight through the guardrail and over the edge of the cliff, dropping more than a hundred feet before landing in the river below and bursting into a giant fireball.

She had never gotten over losing him and while she had rebelled at the thought that he might have committed suicide part of her hadn't been able to let go of the possibility. The fight hadn't ended well that day and he had stormed out, angrier and more hurt than she had ever seen him. She pushed the memories of that day back into the small box in the back of her mind where she kept them hidden, unable to make herself face the reason for the argument that she had started.

She swallowed the last of the wine and dried her eyes as she stared out through the French doors that she had left open. The rain was falling steadily, bouncing against the deck to land on the marble floor. She ignored the water that was pooling on the expensive flooring and reached for the picture, remembering their senior prom as vividly as if it were yesterday. The pictures had arrived a couple of weeks after his funeral and it had been a long time before she had been able to even open the packet they had arrived in.

Prom had been the last time they were together before she had shattered his heart and not a day had gone by that she hadn't regretted nearly every word she had said to him that day. She stared down into her empty glass and debated whether or not she wanted to get up and refill it. Deciding she'd had enough she set the glass down and listened to the storm, watching the rain as it slowed and became a gentle patter against the ground. She set the picture down and leaned her head back to rest against the wall, closing her eyes as she made an effort to think about something, anything else.

Her thoughts eventually turned to the meeting Max had scheduled for Thursday afternoon and she wondered if Charles Whitman would be there. She rolled her head to the side when she heard the lock turn in the front door and a moment later a pair of long legs appeared in front of her. The knees bent and she found herself staring into a pair of concerned hazel eyes.

Kyle Valenti picked her up and carried her out of the room and through the hall to the bedroom near the back of the house. He helped her out of her robe, revealing a pair of the silk pajamas she preferred before easing her into bed and pulling the covers up over her. Her dog, Dante, jumped up on the bed and curled up beside her, his watchful gaze moving from his mistress to Kyle and then back again.

"D'you think he hated me, Kyle?" she asked, her words slightly slurred from the alcohol she had consumed.

"Honey, there's nothing you could've ever said to him to make him hate you. He might have been angry and hurt when he left that day but once he'd had time to think about it he would've known why you did what you did. He loved you, Belle; you know he did."

"You're sure?"

"Positive." He leaned over her to place a kiss on her forehead. "Get some sleep, honey."

She rolled over and burrowed under the comforter, slipping into a dreamless sleep almost immediately. Kyle watched over her for several long minutes before patting Dante and going back out to the living room to close the French doors and clean up the rainwater that had formed a puddle on the floor. Once he had finished that he picked the photograph up off of the floor and put it back in its hiding place where he knew it would remain until the next time something caused the memories to overwhelm her. He reached for the stereo remote that was on the floor not far from where she had been sitting and turned the sound down before stopping the CD and turning the power off. He dropped the remote on the coffee table and straightened the magazines laid out on the surface. He put the wine away and carried the empty glass into the kitchen, washing and drying it before placing it back on the shelf.

He looked around when he was done to make sure he hadn't missed anything before he walked back to her bedroom and settled down in the overstuffed armchair beside the large window. He kicked his boots off and slouched down, watching her in the lamplight as she shifted around restlessly.

He had known that she was in for a rough night after speaking with his stepsister earlier that evening; Maria had called him to update him on one of the cases they had been working on together and she had filled him in on the days' events. He had been surprised that any of them were even considering taking on the case until she had told him that Isabel had insisted on meeting with the potential client and he wondered why she hadn't tried to call him herself.

They had known each other since grade school and even though they had both moved in the same social circle they hadn't been more than passing acquaintances. She hadn't paid much attention to him until their junior year when he had become an unwilling member of the little group she spent so much time with and that had been a difficult year for all of them.

Growing up in Roswell, New Mexico he had been subjected to the alien nonsense that made the town such a popular tourist trap but it hadn't prepared him for the surreal reality of coming face to face with three of them. He probably wouldn't have believed it if Max hadn't healed him, saving him from a life-threatening injury. He had spent the entire summer trying to come to grips with the truth and when he had come back he had been able to control the urge to freak out every time one of them had so much as looked at him.

The worst thing was being the odd man out in the group; Max had been dating Kyle's ex-girlfriend Liz, Michael and Maria were doing their on-again, off-again thing, and Isabel had been testing the waters with Alex. They had tried to include him in things but it had been uncomfortable being the only single person and because of the circumstances he couldn't bring just anyone with him.

After Alex's death she had decided to attend college across the country, moving as far away from everyone and everything in an effort to escape from the pain and guilt she felt. He had been able to do a last-minute transfer and he had gone with her, assuring her family that he would watch over her and keep her safe. They had shared a small two-bedroom apartment off campus and over time they had become best friends. They had come dangerously close to crossing the line and becoming more one night after having way too much to drink but they had come to their senses before they had irreparably damaged their friendship.

He was grateful that she never had any recollection of anything that happened when she was drinking; he was certain that even through nothing had really happened she would have been consumed by guilt. Unfortunately he hadn't had any problems remembering that night and as he had watched her sleep the next morning he had been forced to accept the fact that she was never going to move past her high school sweetheart.

He had always known that she was off-limits but watching her that morning he had realized that he had to let go of the hope that one day she would see him as more than her best friend. They had finished college and moved on to separate jobs in different states but a year later she had showed up at his apartment in the middle of the night with a crazy idea about starting a business that would offer personal protection. As soon as he'd had enough coffee to make him aware of his surroundings he had listened to her as she outlined her plan, surprised by the amount of thought she had put into it. The plan was sound and it had sounded a lot more interesting than what he had been doing at the time.

They had flown out that morning to meet with her brothers and their fiancé's and it hadn't taken much to convince them to go along with the idea. Their parents had all been concerned by the sudden career change they had made but they had fully supported them and done everything they could to help get them started.

Things had been strained between him and Isabel for a while after he had gotten together with the weapons specialist Michael had hired a couple of years ago. They had partnered him with Charlotte Stuart and while she had maintained a professional attitude around everyone else she hadn't had any qualms whatsoever about making things personal between the two of them.

Charlotte and Isabel were both strong-willed, opinionated women and they had clashed right from the beginning. They had finally made a truce of sorts but the claws still came out on occasion and he had quickly learned that getting between them was not only stupid but it was also hazardous to his health.

He shifted and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket when it chirped quietly. He glanced at the LCD screen to verify the caller's identity before flipping it open and putting it up to his ear.

"Hey, babe," he greeted, keeping his voice low. "I'll be home soon… Hmm? No, I just wanna make sure she's clear of the nightmares and then I'll be on my way…" He nodded unconsciously, not even realizing he was doing it until she mentioned it. "Oh, sorry, yeah, I'll stop by the store." He listened as she rattled off a list of things and he committed them to memory. "No, I don't mind…" He smiled at her next words. "I love you too and I'll be home soon."

Kyle leaned to the side and slid his phone back in his pocket before slouching back down and watching over Isabel for a while longer.

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"I thought you said we were meeting with their reps at two o'clock?" Isabel asked, raising her arm to glance at her watch pointedly. It was nearly half past two and she was beginning to get annoyed by the lack of punctuality.

"I'm sure there's a good reason for – "

They both turned to face the door when it opened, surprised when they saw the man standing there. Charles Whitman had aged considerably in the ten years since they had last seen him and now he looked old and worn out. He stood just over six feet tall, his frame wiry and his shoulders stooped as if the weight of the world rested on them.

"I apologize for keeping you waiting," he said hurriedly, rushing around the conference table and dropping down to sit in one of the leather chairs. "I wanted to meet with you personally and my reps aren't very happy about it."

"That's fine, Mr. Whitman," Max assured the nervous-looking man.

"Very well, then." He ran a hand through his thinning hair and glanced at each of them in turn. "You're aware that I have a contract with the DOD; what you don't know is that we're developing a new software program that will revolutionize the military's ability to take out specific targets with minimal loss of human life. We're on the verge of completing the program but the head of the project has been the subject of several threats and two separate attempts have been made on his life. The first attempt was unsuccessful but the second wasn't; he was attacked outside of his condo and the only reason he's still alive is because one of the other residents arrived and interrupted the attacker before he could finish the job." He swallowed hard. "He was stabbed twice and I nearly…" He cleared his throat. "We nearly lost him."

Max and Isabel exchanged a quick look at the man's obvious slip of the tongue.

"I've had reason to suspect that he's being drugged but the screens and panels I've had the doctors run have all come up negative."

"What makes you suspect that he's being drugged?" Isabel asked.

"There's something I should tell you about the man I want protected," Charles said, his voice shaking.

"Mr. Whitman, are you all right?"

He glanced up at Max's question and smiled weakly. "I requested your agency specifically because you knew my son… you were his friends…" He turned his head to look directly at Isabel. "And you were more; you meant more to him than anything else and I'll never be able to forgive myself for what happened."

"It wasn't your fault," she hurried to reassure him. "It was an accident."

"No, you don't understand." He stood and walked to the wall of glass behind them, leaning forward to brace his hand on one of the steel beams that supported the wall. "I was working for a private agency that contracted out to the government back then and they found out that Alex had a knack for creating computer programs that were so complex…"

Max leaned forward in his seat. "Are you saying these people were responsible for his death? That it wasn't an accident?"

"No." Charles turned around and raised his head to meet their questioning gazes. "No, what I'm saying is that my son is alive."