Jack Jaeger guided the plain white Toyota Camry, an airport rental, down the highway in Central North Carolina. The airport was far behind him. Jack kept one hand on the wheel and another hand holding a sloppy cheeseburger. In a bag in the passenger seat were two more cheeseburgers and large fry. In the Camry’s cupholder was a large chocolate shake. Three empty cheeseburger wrappers were crumpled in the passenger seat.

Jack was a big man. The cheeseburgers and fries were little more than a snack to him. He was one of those guys that people said his muscles had muscles. But he wasn't just a hulking man. The scars on his arms hinted at a history of various battles. In various countries. Working for various governments. Working for various religious groups. Over various centuries. His line of work was strictly off the books. Most humans didn’t acknowledge beings like Jack existed.

Jack considered himself a consultant to the political leaders of various countries, intelligence agencies, law enforcement, religious leaders, and militaries. And the bottom line was this: if Jack Jaeger was involved, things were already beyond bad.

Jack was not alone. In the backseat, passenger side, sat his older sister Jill. Both Jack and his sister, Jill, appeared to be in their thirties. Jack might be average in appearance, but his sister was clearly a physical standard that most cultures would consider attractive. She had a long scar on her neck. She’d healed from that injury only recently. At least physically healed. Mental healing sometimes takes longer.

Jill poured over papers in the backseat, looking at photos, sheets of data. She had a laptop open in her lap.

“You okay back there?” Jack asked. "No. I’m not okay Jack. I told you I retired. I didn’t want to come to Charlotte."

"Sis, I'm not taking you to Charlotte. I'm taking you to Avalon Springs."

"Avalon Springs doesn’t make sense. Have you tried Googling it? I've never heard of it."

"Last night after I got the call."

Jack took another bite of his cheeseburger. He waited.

"I found it," Jill said. "But it doesn't make sense. Google maps is showing that Avalon Springs is right next to Pinehurst North Carolina, ... next to Aberdeen. But I've never heard of Avalon Springs. We’ve been to North Carolina before and—"

"Exactly. Sis, that's why I needed you to come out of retirement. I think this is really bad."

"Jack. I’m not ready."

"No one is ever ready for this, are they?"

"I was enjoying retirement in Paris."

"Thanks for getting here so quick. How is Paris France this time of year? I haven’t been there for ... wow, three decades. No, four decades."

Jill didn’t answer.

Awkward silence.

Finally, Jill said, "Paris was nice. I was there a few months. Never saw you or heard from you until last night."

"I'm sorry."

Jill took a deep breath, then exhaled. She looked out the window. "I know."

Jack waited. Wondered if he should say something else, decided Jill was still healing, his words might not help her. He hoped Jill was ready for Avalon Springs. Jack knew he needed to be at the top of his game. And he needed Jill at the top of her game.

Jack opted for silence, finished his bite of cheeseburger, wiped his hand on a napkin as he drove.

The car reached the edge of Pinehurst. They were only minutes from Avalon Springs.

The small towns of Pinehurst, Carthage, Aberdeen, and Avalon Springs were all part of the same golf resort area that hosted golf tournaments for seniors, juniors, pros, wanna-be-pros, had been pros. Rich, not rich. This region of North Carolina was not notoriously dangerous.

The golf area was not far from a military base.

"Breaking news in Avalon Springs," Jill said.

"What else could happen?"

"You’re not going to like it."

Jill lifted her laptop, leaned forward in the car, and held the laptop between the front seats. Jack glanced to his right, saw the laptop’s screen showing the CNN news headline.

The headline was: FAKE FBI AGENT IN AVALON SPRINGS SCHOOL

The image made Jack cough. Emily Brightwell's face, the FBI agent imposter, was a blurry but recognizable image on the screen. The image was probably from a cellphone video taken in the school office.

Jack knew ‘Emily Brightwell.’ And he knew what her name really was. If Emily was here too. Well, things were really bad.

Jill leaned back against her seat, put the laptop back on her lap.

Typically Emily, Jack, and Jill did the same kind of work. But often at different times, sometimes on different continents. Rarely were two of them working in the same area at the same time.

All three working in a sleepy golf resort area. At the same time. It was bad. Really bad.

"Why do you insist we drive?" Jill asked.

"I like the time it gives me to think," Jack said. "I can't enjoy a good cheeseburger if I just portal in."

Jill rolled her eyes. "Is that why you never visited me in Paris? You didn’t want to portal in and didn’t have time for a flight?"

Jack didn’t say anything.

Jill waited.

Still silence.

Family is like that sometimes.

"So, who was the police chief?" Jill asked, mercifully ending the silence. "The news isn’t reporting that he’s dead. But your report states he was killed this morning."

"Public doesn’t know yet," Jack said. "Local police have done a good job keeping a lid on it. A fake FBI agent kills police chief is scary stuff. They probably want to keep a lid on it so they can find the killer themselves. Swift justice for a cop killer."

"Well, they don’t know who she really is."

"Why kill the police chief, then go to school?" Jack asked.

"She’s a hunter." Jill paused, studying Jack. "You okay?"

Jack ignored the question. "What’s she hunting for?"

"Who. Who is she hunting for?"

"You think it’s a who?"

Jill shrugged. "Could be a what."

"Well, what connects the school to the chief of police?" Jack asked.

Jill thought for a moment. "That’s easy. Same thing that connects a doctor to the school. Same thing that connects a lawyer to the school. And a janitor."

"His kid." Jack’s eyes widened. "You think Emily is looking for the police chief’s kid?"

"His kid." Jill nodded. "Now we have more Breaking News. The news is reporting the FBI agent left the school. Appears to have left alone. Still haven’t reported on the police chief. Hard to know how much the news actually knows."

"The kid probably wasn’t at school."

"Where to now?"

"Let’s stop at the police department," Jack said. "Poke around there. See if we can figure out what ‘Emily’ is looking for."

"Police department before the hotel?"

"We might not make it to the hotel today." Jack glanced over his shoulder. "Welcome to unretirement."

"... great..."