A/N: This is it, one of the most important chapters of this book.
****
Where exactly does an spy on the run flee to when in trouble? A safe house, of course.
The particular hide out he had chosen was one of the lesser used bases, which would allow him to have at least 24 hours to rest and decide what his next step would be.
He slipped down a side alley, making sure that no one had seen him or that he was being followed. Sometimes being a "ghost" really did have it's uses.
As he stared at the inconspicuous, little white house before him, the blond wondered what surprises awaited him inside.
His eyes caught sight of a small sign that had been nailed into the crumbling, pebble dash face. Rust had incidentally eroded away most of the lettering but the words were still readable:
PRINCE ACCOUNTING HOUSE
The sound of children laughing in a nearby house, reminded Steve that it was imperative that he hid himself immediately, in case any enemy agents were tracking him.
Glancing over his shoulder quickly, he looked at the safe house's porch, spotting a lone, loose brick. Picking it up effortlessly with his hand, he quickly swiped the copper key and replaced the brick.
Unlocking the door quickly, he almost felt relieved when it opened without much force. It creaked loudly; a strained, mangled sound.
Stepping inside, he braced himself for whatever lay beyond the threshold.
****
The moment Steve Trevor set foot into the safe house, he knew something was amiss.
Having hidden away few times in this particular establishment, he easily detected the uncomfortable shift in the surrounding atmosphere, indicating that he was indeed an unwanted visitor.
As he moved further into the building, he sensed an invisible source drawing and repelling him towards and away from the living room.
Peering through the slightly ajar oak door, the spy could neither see nor hear anyone in the room. He instantly decided to investigate further by pushing the flimsy slab of wood aside with one hand and readying his gun in the other. Steve was prepared to face whatever oncoming attack might spring out at him at any given moment.
However, his resilience was met by a soft meow and a jingle of a bell, as the resident cat- aptly named Blue, after it's said coloured collar- noticed Steve standing by the door.
The blond exhaled loudly, feeling undoubtedly relieved. He had had enough fights for one day. His rigid stance relaxed slightly. The male even allowed his shooting arm to fall to his side, barrel facing the carpeted floor.
A big mistake on his behalf. Had Steve been paying any attention to his surroundings or more accurately, the advancing figure whom was moving silently behind him, perhaps he wouldn't have suddenly been knocked out by a blunt instrument colliding with the back of his head...
TO BE CONTINUED...
