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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

Kissing the Dragon - 29. Taken

Into the woods - but diverted to the hunting lodge, Colin is held at gun point while they decide what to do with him.

Since before medieval times, Britain’s woods have been depicted as dark and sinister places, as having a life and a soul of their own. And for good reason. Even bathed in opaque moonlight that filters through the overhanging branches, the dirt track is uneven and treacherous, the trunks either side rough and oppressive. At times I think I hear the faint scrunch of footsteps following us, but then write them off as echoes of our own. What does not help is that our group moves in silence, nobody offering any cheery chat to chase away the demons. Another is that, although steering a true course in thick woodland is difficult at best without a compass, I feel certain we are heading in the wrong direction for Portmanton. On first entering, the moon hung in the far west, just to the right of the village. Right now the globe lights our backs. Frantic voices in my head argue constantly about what to do. One thing is for sure. I need to get word to Ben.

“Sorry people, but I need to use the little boy’s room,” I say, to the silhouettes around me. “Cold weather, I’m afraid.

“It’s only another ten minutes, Mr McCann,” comes Morgan’s hard voice.

“By which time it may be too late. I’ll just nip behind this tree. Give me a minute or two.”

Fortunately, I do need to relieve myself, so at least the excuse comes with appropriate sound effects. When a steady and steamy gush begins to sizzle against the tree’s bark, I use my free hand to pull out the phone. No signal. Not a single bar. If ever there was a time to take up cursing, now would be a good one. The good news is that, on hearing my very urgent and audible release, I hear the group move off—probably in disgust—allowing me to catch up when finished.

I peer around. Moonlight provides scant illumination in the deeper part of the woods. Trying again, I hold the display up in the air to check for a signal, but still nothing. Just then I notice something. A compass app is included on the phone. When I thumb the app open, I note with grim satisfaction that we are heading northeast. In a moment of madness, I decide to zip up and to make my escape into the dense thicket.

Branches of bare saplings whip my face and torso as I stumble through the midnight woodland. Tree cover now prevents all but speckles of moonlight from illuminating the ground, and I am felled repeatedly by unseen logs and tangled roots. Stopping next to the silhouette of a thick tree trunk, my hand grabbing the rough bark, I catch my breath and strain to listen. Apart from my own thundering heart and the occasional rustle of wind through the treetops, the wood remains silent. I fumble out the mobile phone, my lifeline to Ben. Still no signal.

Illuminating the compass app, I head due south, in the direction of where the house should lie. At least I can hope to hit clear ground eventually as long as I can hold a straight line, which is not easy. I forge ahead nonetheless until I round a clump of bushes and my right foot slides into water. When I grab hold of a sapling to stop the momentum of my body following suit, I find a mirrored and misty lake before me, spreading out under a midnight sky of moonlight and stars. At any other time the view would be breathtaking. But not tonight. Tonight I need to find help at the very least, or head back to the house and alert Kit. Unable to determine the true edges of the lake, I have to tread slowly and carefully, using the phone’s torch to guide me. Heavens, what did we ever do before smartphones?

Ahead of me through the trees, I hear an engine and see the single headlight of a motorcycle cutting through the clearing. Desperately I head in the direction and stumble out onto a dirt track. Standing in the middle, I wave a hand to alert the rider, the other held across my eyes to shade me from the full beam of the light. Relief fills me as the motorcyclist begins to slow the machine and pull up a few feet in front of me. Holding a hand across my eyes, I wait as the engine dies and the hunched rider dismounts.

Walking in front of the bike, the figure moves powerfully, squat but dismayingly familiar.

“McCann,” comes a deep Eastern European voice of Tomas Hand, as his hand wraps painfully around my upper arm. “Everyone was wondering where you were.”

*****

As luck would have it, I have emerged almost opposite the hunting lodge, which is apparently where Morgan had planned to lead us. When Hand brings me in, Nichole Schwartz draws a small gun from her purse and trains it on me. Nobody speaks while Hand disappears out of the door, returning a few moments later. Eventually, Morgan breaks the silence.

“So what exactly did you see, McCann?”

He stands to one side of the roaring log fire, somewhat melodramatically and probably a contemporary gas version, but one that lends itself perfectly to the antiquity of the hunting lodge furnishings. He has an arm draped along the brick mantlepiece, one booted foot on the surrounding black iron grating: a latter day lord of the manor. Except that he is not.

“He knows nothing,” comes Hand’s guttural tone. “Here.”

With the fist of one hand grasped around my forearm, Hand tosses a familiar lipstick-shaped thumb drive to Morgan. My chest becomes hollow with dismay. What has happened to Ben and Billy? Did Ben not get to my home before Hand? Did Billy get out in time? Are they okay? I force myself to remain calm and give away nothing.

“Any other copies?” asks Morgan.

“No. And I make sure there never will,” says Hand, patting my pockets, taking out my mobile phone, and placing it in his top pocket. “Besides, why would he? He does not know what is on it.”

“I know it must be something significant—“ I say, and then tell myself to shut up. Or maybe that’s Ben’s voice I hear in my head. I am clutching at straws anyway, trying to think of things to say to keep them talking. Although curious about what is really on the thumb drive, my main concern is getting out of this in one piece. I am still hyper-aware of the gun the woman Schwartz has trained on me. Would she really use the thing? She seems coldly controlling, so different to the woman I met earlier. But if they can bump off Tony, Denny and Roland without a second thought, what would it take to get rid of me?

“All he knows is files show office car park. As you already guess, boss,” continues Hand, in broken English, strolling over and standing between Schwartz and Morgan.

“You are one annoying pain-in-the-ass, McCann,” says Morgan, before turning to Schwartz, frowning, and shaking his head at the gun. “Put that away, Nichole. He’s not going to say anything. Are you, Colin?”

“About what?” I ask, relieved to see Schwartz put the gun back in her purse. “Apparently I don’t know anything.”

“Let’s just say these files contain highly sensitive information about our corporation, and leave it at that. Fortunately for you, Hugh had his partner on speakerphone in the office when they laughed about your fanciful tale. We had planned to be less accommodating with you,” he says, twirling the scarlet lipstick in his hands. Seeing the object again, something strikes me as odd. “And now, the less you know, the better.”

“If it’s that important, how on earth did you let it out of your grasp?”

“He didn’t,” says Schwartz, irritated. “Jeremy’s fool of a son did.”

“Unintentionally,” says Morgan, glaring briefly at her. “Doing me a favour. One of his rentboy friends also fixes laptops. Mine was broken. For business reasons, I don’t let my own technical team touch my things once they’re set up. Besides, I thought the damn thing was kaput so I wasn’t really concerned. Until I saw the bloody thing missing. Hugh told me what he’d done. Given to that interfering boy whore to fix.”

“You knew Tony McDonald?”

“I make it my business to know about my business partner and his offspring’s friends and activities, including the extra-curricular ones. Little cocksucker said he hadn’t looked at any files when Hand picked up the computer. And that was an end to it, or so I thought. Fortunately my technical boys make sure our computers carry software that records a footprint of any USB downloads made. So before I silenced the bloody laptop for good, we discovered he’d copied those files. After that, we arranged for Hand to meet him. Planned to use more persuasive means. I assumed he would start asking for money unless we dealt with him, so we booked his services. Hand went to meet him, but when he got to the motel that night, he found the door unlocked and the boy dead. An overdose, by the looks of things. So that was that, one less problem to worry about.”

All the while he is speaking about Hand meeting Tony, I search his and Hand’s faces for signs of subterfuge; a twitch of the mouth, eyes darting away, head tipping to one side. Perhaps Morgan’s lofty position has taught him to anticipate such scrutiny or to simply believe his lies. Even though Hand stares hard at me, there is no sign of a reaction from Morgan’s words. Could it be they are not lying? I decide to nudge a little, to see if I can get a reaction.

“So you don’t know the police believe he was murdered? That his death was made to look like suicide, an overdose?”

Instantly I get a reaction, but not one I had expected. Morgan’s whole face frowns and blanches visibly. Even Hand’s monobrow has crinkled in confusion. Both responses are so spontaneous and natural that I can only assume they are genuine. Only the ice maiden Schwartz shows no reaction, but then she appears to be on the sidelines in this game.

“Why would anyone want to do that?” says Morgan softly, and for the first time I note a crack in his confidence.

“If I was to hazard a guess, I’d say to shut him up.”

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

This time around, the old man swings his full attention to Hand, who is now slowly shaking his head. I decide to go for gold.

“And I suppose you know nothing about Tony’s friend Roland being found hanged in his own apartment this Saturday? Another set-up. Or the fact that Denny Harrison was attacked at his home that Friday night. Not in the woods. By someone in his house waiting for him. Bashed over the head, knocked out cold. His body lugged to the pond and drowned. ”

“You are lying,” says Hand, all too quickly, and there appears something resembling fear in his eyes, before he swings his attention to Morgan. “He must be lying.”

“And what possible benefit could I gain?”

“For fuck’s sake, Hand,“ Morgan interrupts sternly turning on Hand. For someone usually so in control he is noticeably rattled. “What the hell is going on here? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“I tell you already. You know I am here. This weekend I am here whole time with you. And when I search Harrison’s house, as you ask, for computer and any memory things,” says Hand, pointing to the thumb drive and looking rankled. “The computer I took. But we know he gave the lip paint stick to him that night.”

“So you were in Denny’s house that night,” I ask, but Hand ignores me.

“Following my instructions,” says Morgan, holding up the responsible object. “Searching for this bloody thing,”.

“Time?” I ask.

“What?” says Hand, finally turning his angry gaze to me.

“What time were you in the house?”

“Early evening,” intercepts Morgan, after an awkward pause during which Hand refuses to answer me. “Called me around six-thirty. He turned up here, in Jeremy’s study, at around nine with Harrison’s laptop. Jeremy, his wife and Nichole met him. Why?”

Expressionless still, Schwartz nods once. If that is true, then it could not possibly have been Hand. For a fleeting moment, I consider keeping that information to myself. But then think better.

“I left Denny Harrison at around eight-thirty. He was still very much alive then.”

Instead of relaxing, Morgan appears even more ruffled and turns on Hand.

“That’s beside the point. What the fuck is going on, Hand?”

“I do not know,” says Hand defensively.

“Then you had better make it your job to. Somebody is playing me.”

While Hand’s confused gaze drops to the floor, Morgan brings his focus to me, as if seeing me for the first time.

“In the meantime, Colin McCann, what are we going to do with you?”

I wonder then what is going on. If Morgan and his henchmen did not kill Tony, Denny and Roland, who did? And, more importantly, why?

“My life and liberty would be a good start,” I say, and hear Morgan chuckle grimly.

“You told me earlier you didn’t know anything,” he says. “Now here you are—“

Smashing glass from the front door takes us all by surprise. Out of the four, I am the only one to drop to the ground. Loud barked warnings echo above me, deep, urgent and controlled. The police. Finally. When I venture a glance up, Hand has already moved into action racing for the side door of the lodge. Schwartz follows him, the gun in her hand again, her purse discarded on the floor. Only Morgan appears unruffled. Still at the mantlepiece, he bends to the floor to collect fragments of something scarlet, plastic and metal, and casually throws them into the flames, before slapping one hand clean against the other. Heavy boots scrunch over glass. Two bulky shadows hover over me, tell me to remain where I am.

“Hands behind your head!” barks a deep voice at Morgan.

I cover my own head as in the distance two shots in quick succession are fired off.

 

Flashing police lights outside the main house appear to have roused the other guests, with Sir Jeremy in the heart of the crowd, listening stony-faced while a senior policeman addresses him. Woken from sleep, he has dressed hastily in olive Barbour jacket, yellow pyjamas and green Wellingtons. Near him, I am relieved to see that Derek and Hugh are huddled together in confusion wearing matching Chinese dressing gowns. Thank goodness the Schwartz woman did not get to them. Chaudhary leads me to a sun lounger around the brightly floodlit swimming pool area and sits me down. Not only does she look polished and alert, but she has an expression of grim satisfaction. A police constable wanders up and offers me a blanket, which I accept gratefully and wrap around my shoulders. Even though Chaudhary makes an effort to make sure I am calm, I know she really needs to hear my side of the story. After accepting a cup of hot black coffee, more for the warm comfort than taste, I relate my version of events which seems to satisfy her. At one point, she catches me scanning the area.

“DC Whitehead’s with Morgan.”

“I see,” I reply, not looking at her, not wanting to give anything away. “Do you know if he managed to get to my home?”

“He didn’t. But thank God he alerted your lodger before doing anything else. Mr Tan just about had enough time to—”

“Switch lipsticks.”

Chaudhary chuckles at this, and despite my weariness from the evenings events, I find myself doing the same. I am also wondering what interesting files Morgan might have found on Billy’s thumb drive if he had bothered to check instead of crushing the item underfoot.

“Not just that, but he got the hell out the back door with your cat under his arm. Quite resourceful is your lodger. Not only did he have the foresight to make the switch, but he set up a mini cam on the bookshelf above your computer to record your living area directly onto the internet. Set the thing running and then got out of there. If we can pin nothing else on Morgan, we have his right hand man caught red-handed, breaking into your house and setting light to your desk.”

“Setting light—?“ I ask. I had no idea Hand had done anything other than take the thumb drive.

“I’m afraid there’s some fire damage in your house, Mr McCann. I assume Hand didn’t want to the take the chance that you’d copied anything onto the desktop computer. Our team managed to get things under control before calling the fire boys, but the area around your desk including your computer was destroyed.”

“But Billy’s okay?” I ask, relieved at least that he managed to get out of the house.

Instead of answering me, Chaudhary stands and waves me up. She points over the heads of those near us to a police car pulled up on the lawn. Leaning against the car door is none other than my lodger, Mr Waldorf in his arms, laughing and openly flirting with the same blond-haired policeman who had attended our burglary.

“More than okay,” says Chaudhary, sitting us both back down again. “I think our PC Robinson has taken quite a shine to him.”

“Morgan said something about confidential information on the drive. Did you find out what it is?”

“The big mystery. Yes, we did, thanks to the quick thinking of your Mr Tan. And to DC Whitehead calling this in. That’s why we’re here in force right now.”

“And? Or is that confidential?”

In the pale light, I see her peer around to check who is nearby, probably making her mind up whether to divulge the information.

“Something this big is going to get out soon enough, but for now it’s strictly confidential. And I am only telling you because you deserve to hear and because I know from past experience that we can trust you to keep quiet.”

I nod my agreement. She is referring to the truth behind Denny’s murder.

“Not sure how familiar you are with news events, but around eight months ago, Oscar Callaghan, one of the founding members of Calleramics, was found dead in his car in the car park of Jeremy Winterbourne’s offices. Created a minor scandal at the time. A late night suicide by a businessman well known for his ranting and raving, and also his fits of manic depression. Of course, we checked everything back then, and were told the CCTV by the dumpster had no footage of that night because it had been vandalised. Which it had. But apparently not until after the event. For some reason Morgan or Hand copied the files onto the laptop. One of them tells a very different story of that night. As Callaghan stood at the door of his car, a figure emerged from the shadows holding a gun—Callaghan’s own gun taken from the glove compartment—made him sit in the car and then executed him.”

“Who was it?”

“At the moment, we can’t be sure. The video is grainy and badly focused so the technical team are trying to clean it up. But the execution of Callaghan is plain as day, the time and date stamp on the CCTV matches the date of the suicide. And the figure has the same height and build as Tomas Hand.”

“And the motive?”

At that, Chaudhary laughs.

“You’ve been hanging around us lot too long. That’s why DC Whitehead talked to Winterbourne first of all, to try to confirm what we suspect. Which is that it’s got something to do with the proposed merger between Calleramics, Callaghan’s US outfit, and WinterCorp, Morgan and Winterbourne’s corporation. Callaghan had been fighting to scupper the deal.”

“Is he involved? Jeremy?”

“Difficult to say with any certainty. But personally, I don’t think so. He seems genuinely shocked by all of this. But you never can tell. Morgan, however, is another matter. We’ve been watching him for a number of years. Since long before he joined up with Winterbourne. One thing’s for sure. The publicity fallout from this isn’t going to do their corporation any favours.”

Personally, I am not so sure. No publicity is bad publicity, or so the saying goes.

“Did you catch him? Hand?”

At that, a shadow passes over Chaudhary’s brow. She shakes her head while looking out across the scene again.

“Hand’s dead. Shot twice in the chest at close range. And not by one of our boys.”

“Schwartz?”

“Don’t know,” she says, with a shrug, her eyes coming back to mine.

“Why? She had a gun. Don’t tell me she’s denying it?”

“No idea. She gave us the slip. But she won’t get far. Our lads will find her. Jeremy’s people are helping us with personal details. See if they might know where she’d be headed.”

The thought of Nichole Schwartz still running around waving her gun at people is not one I want to linger on. Doubtful that she knows the answer, I do not ask Chaudhary the obvious question of why she would want to kill Hand. Instead I happen to peer up then, to where Jeremy had been talking earlier. Jeremy is no longer there, but instead I make out the familiar figure of Kit dressed in sweat suit and raincoat striding purposefully around the perimeter of the swimming pool. I watch as he spots Billy and heads over to speak to him. They have a brief conversation before Billy points over to me and waves. Kit’s tight expression relaxes when he spots me, as though he has been searching for me all night.

“Here comes my friend. Are we finished?”

Chaudhary twists around to follow my gaze.

“We’re good for now. But I’ll need you to complete a formal statement later this morning. Back in the station at Croxburgh.”

“Can it wait until after the funeral? Until tomorrow afternoon?” I ask, standing then, and leaving her seated.

“That’ll be fine.”

“Okay, I’ll take care of him now,” says Kit, stepping between Chaudhary and me.

After removing the blanket, he throws his coat around my shoulders, places a proprietary hand on the back of my neck and massages gently. Right on cue Whitehead approaches us with his usual prowl. His gaze takes in Kit’s gesture and I am probably the only one to notice his usual unreadable brow frown momentarily. I know him well enough by now to spot the brief loss of control. He comes to a stop directly in front of me, nods to Chaudhary but does not even acknowledge Kit.

“You should head home, McCann,” he says, concern in his voice, as he reaches into his jacket pocket and tosses my phone to me. “I can take you and your lodger.”

“Are you crazy? It’s after midnight,” interjects Kit, and frankly makes a lot of sense. “And he’s had one hell of a shock. What he needs right now is rest. I’ll drive him back first thing after the funeral.”

“I can take him now.”

“What he doesn’t need right now is a long drive. He needs bed and rest.”

Finally, Ben turns to address Kit directly, his headlights on full beam.

“In his own bed. Safe in his own house.”

“Is this the house that got broken into. Twice. And torched, if what I heard is correct. Wow, cops over here have a different concept of safe than where I come from.”

“This is none of your business—“

“Mr McCann?” interrupts DS Chaudhary firmly, standing and placing a hand on Ben’s arm. I had almost forgotten she was there. “What do you want?”

With Morgan in custody, and Hand taken down, what do I need to worry about? Schwartz is long gone by now and hardly a threat to me. I let out a deep sigh and toss the remains of the grainy coffee onto the ground. When I glance up I notice everyone staring at me.

“What’s Billy doing?”

“He’s going to catch a lift with PC Robinson. Wants to check the house damage. He’s fine if you want to stay.”

“I’m absolutely shattered. Home does sound good, but I don’t fancy a long car journey right now. Or trying to get to sleep in a smoke damaged house. Apart from that, we have the funeral tomorrow morning. Think it’s best if I spend the night here,” I say, eventually, my eyes imploring Ben not to argue. The idea of a possible killer being in my home that evening also makes the decision a lot easier. “If that’s okay with everyone. Kit can drive us back tomorrow afternoon, and I’ll come straight to the station to give my statement.”

“Fine,” huffs Whitehead, swinging around and marching off towards his BMW.

 
:great: A very, very special thanks to Timothy M for not only helping to edit this chapter, but also to point out continuity issues, areas for clarification, and to provide encouraging noises.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter. If you'd like to join in a chat or leave any additional comments about the plot or cast of characters, I have created a forum accessed via on the link below:
http://www.gayauthors.org/forums/topic/40694-kissing-the-dragon-discussion-forum/
 
Brian (a.k.a. lomax61
Copyright © 2015 lomax61; All Rights Reserved.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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This was nothing less than a superb chapter. Colin had the correct instinct at last to try and get away, but he was foiled by his unfamiliarity with the area and pure bad luck. Morgan and Hand were surprisingly forthcoming with what happened and it seems that the three murders are still a mystery to be solved. It seems to coincidental considering who was murdered so they have to be involved in this somehow. The sticking points are how and who. I'm a little troubled by the possibilities left.

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Out of likes - will rectify that later, for now :heart: :heart: :heart:
I knew they had the wrong thumb drive as soon as it was described as being scarlett, we all know the real one is pink. Billy is not just a pretty face with all that he's done tonight - kudos to him and his heroic actions. I'm guessing (can't quite remember) that Colin must not have looked at everything on the drive - admittedly, except for the murder, the rest of the data was boring.
"Finally, Ben turns to address Kit directly, his headlights on full beam."
What an image those words paint. I don't think I would want to be the recipient of that glare. I find it interesting how proprietary Kit is of Colin given recent events between them. Ben, on the other hand, I totally get. The question is does Ben really understand what's going on between himself and Colin? And will he let himself acknowledge the truth?
Have we seen the last of Nichole? Time will tell, but I think it's just too easy to have her up and disappear. More drama to come, I predict.
So many questions answered, but still so many loose threads.
Fantastic chapter Brian. Well done!!

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Thanks much for this fantabulous chapter Brian:kisses: DCW locking horns with Kit was as sweet and sultry as expected:D Should have taken Colin away for a bit and made out!! So Morgan and his goons are not the real killers. Are Kit and Nichole in cahoots!!?

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I got three good laughs from this chapter. The first was when Colin thought he was getting away and he basically stumbled out of the woods and straight into the bad guys. The second was the thought of Billy setting up a mini cam and snatching up the cat (!!) as he made a break from the house. And the third was when Colin thought: "With Morgan in custody, and Hand taken down, what do I need to worry about?" Uh, THERE'S STILL A MURDERER ON THE LOOSE!

 

One thing that tripped me up: at first a senior policemen was talking to Jeremy and Chaudhary said Ben was with Morgan. Then Chaudhary said Ben was talking to Jeremy. ???

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Oh wow! What a chapter! Now I'm thinking Kit and Nicole are working together, but I still hope he's a good guy. I just can't figure out why he wouldn't cooperate with the British police? Maybe he's a PI? He's certainly taken by Colin, as is Ben. Maybe having to work for it might be just thing for Ben, to break him out of his little bubble of non-attachment.

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So, it's the politics of business driving these murders.
The moment Ben actually acknowledges Kit, awesome. The moment Colin shoots down Ben in favor of Kit's idea, priceless. I really can't feel too badly for Ben since he deserved a dose of his medicine.
Still, I'm wary of Kit. As Puppilull mentioned, I had the idea too that he and Nichole were possibly in it together. Colin noticed they were comfy at dinner.
oh well, great chapter but I'm on to the next..

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I found it very interesting that Colin's information about the murders rattled Morgan so much. And Nicole shooting Hand was confusing.

I wonder if be meant to stay the night with Colin to keep him safe. :P  Ravaged and royally fucked, but safe.

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Finally Colin wakes up in the middle of the forest. When he makes his escape he winds up again in the wrong place at the wrong time.  The interrogation of Colin seems to upset both Tomas and Morgan.  Neither of them seems to know about what really happened to Denny, Tony and Roland.  That's weird, but does fit with my theory about Kit.  I want to shout at Colin to go home with Ben.  I suspect that Nicole was the one to shoot Tomas.  She definitely did not like him and already had her gun ready.  I don't know why she had a gun, so that makes her a possible accomplice to Kit.  Billy is a hero!  It is fun to think that he won't be able to tease Colin about Colin's policeman fetish, since Billy is safely taken care of by his own policeman.  I do love Chaudhary. She takes everything in stride and has not problems if her officers are gay.  She also listens carefully before making any decisions or judgements.  

I agree with Geemeedee! What the hell is Colin thinking about.  He is definitely not thinking at all if he thinks he is safe.  Didn't he listen to how Morgan and Tomas reacted to what he told them about the deaths?

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