.. 2080 ... 2090 ... 2100. 2100 NE Swenson Avenue, that was the address. Harold was certain of it. He could almost feel an unnatural attraction to the simple white door with blue finish that innocently faced the street, surrounded by colorful flower pots.
A hesitant step after another, his heart pounding, he approached it. His thoughts were hundreds of miles away, in his home country, where his family was held hostage. They were watching his every move, listening to his every breath. If he failed, his wife and children would die.
His hand rested on the doorknob. The windows set in the door hinted at the brightly lit hallway beyond, where lay a person, man or woman, he didn't know, whom he would have to kill. His other hand sunk into his pocket to nervously cradle the nine-millimeter handgun they'd given him.
The knob twisted and turned, and he quietly entered the house. Music was playing, too quiet for him to make it out. Standing in the hallway was Evelyn. She opened her mouth, not in terror, but in warning.