Chapter 1 - Witness Protection

The midday sun gleamed off the polished hood of Grace's modified Nissan GT-R as it roared along a winding backroad just outside DC. The purple car sliced through the curves effortlessly, tires hugging the asphalt, turbo spooling with a familiar, comforting hum. Her long brown hair blew around her face from the wind coming in the open windows. Grace's pulse raced with the rhythm of the engine, a wild smile playing at her lips. Speed had always been her therapy, her sanctuary - a love that made her feel both invincible and alive.

As she neared the city, Grace eased off the gas, letting the GT-R purr to a stop in a parking lot not far from the Washington Monument. She took a deep breath, savouring the adrenaline buzz, then grabbed her video camera from the passenger seat. Slamming the car door shut, she strode confidently toward the monument, her boots tapping against the pavement.

"Okay, peeps," Grace said, grinning into the camera. Her voice was lively, crackling with the energy that had defined her cross-country research tour. "Here I am at the Washington Monument, wrapping up the last leg of this wild adventure. Now, I still haven't decided if the murder in my new book will happen here or over at the Senate building, so stay tuned for that."

She spun the camera around, capturing the monument towering against a perfect blue sky. "It's a killer location, pun totally intended." Her smile softened. "This is the final day of my national tour, and soon, I'll be heading back to Nashville to start working on the next series. It's been an incredible ride, but..." Her expression grew wistful. "I'm ready to go home. Not that I think of Tennessee as my home, far too red for that, and as much as I love all this touring, I miss my wife. Leeza, if you're watching, I'll be back soon, I promise. And yes, I bought you more fridge magnets."

For the next couple of hours, Grace moved around the monument, taking video from various locations, so she could have it all available when the time came to write the story. Finally, near the end of the day, Grace wrapped up the vlog, turning off the camera and slipping it into her bag. She took one last look around the monument, her gaze instinctively sweeping the crowds. It was a habit she couldn't shake, a remnant of her street racing days and wild youth in Glasgow, not to mention a life-saving habit in this political climate. She'd always been wired to notice small details, the out-of-place, the unusual. Right now, though, everything seemed perfectly ordinary.

With a sigh, she walked back to the GT-R, tossing her bag into the backseat. The car's engine roared to life, a sound that still sent shivers of joy down her spine, and she pulled out of the parking spot, ready to spend the evening combing through her footage for useful writing material.

The hotel Grace was staying in wasn't quite a five star, but it served her purpose and had a decent view of the city, and more importantly, it was quiet - a place where she could be alone and edit her videos in peace.

Kicking off her boots, Grace dropped onto the couch, still slightly buzzing from the drive. She plugged the camera into her laptop, ready to review the day's clips. Her own voice filled the small room, narrating jokes and observations from the Washington Monument.

Then something made her stop. She frowned, rewound the footage, and squinted at the screen. In the background, two men in dark suits stood close together, their posture tense and guarded. Grace's pulse slowed, her instincts prickled. Those weren't tourists. And the way they were angled, leaning in to speak without breaking eye contact, screamed 'secret meeting.'

Curiosity overrode caution. Grace isolated the background audio and tweaked the settings, filtering out the noise of passing cars and chatter. Slowly, the men's muffled conversation sharpened into something that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

"... are your people ready?" one voice asked, clipped and authoritative.

"Yes," replied the second man. "When will we move?"

The first voice dropped lower. "We can't rush. It has to look legitimate. The Senate and the House need to be fully under President Trubach's control. Orders have been sent out to remove key members to trigger special elections. But once we control key votes, we'll proceed. Immigrants, queer communities - they'll be the first to go. Laws are already in motion. My contacts in other cities are prepared."

Grace froze, her heart pounding. She leaned closer, replaying the clip, her mind racing. This wasn't just a shady conversation. This was something deeper, darker. A plot aimed at reshaping the country.

Before she could fully process it, heavy footsteps thundered up the stairs. A loud bang jolted her, making the cheap floor lamp beside her rattle. Grace shot to her feet, instincts honed by years of street survival kicking in. The door shuddered under a powerful impact, then again, as if someone was trying to kick it down.

Panic tightened her chest, but she didn't freeze. Old reflexes took over. She grabbed her bag, stuffed her backup drive and laptop into it. Spinning around, she looked for a means of escape. The window? No, figures were moving in the shadows below - dark silhouttes with the measured stillness of professionals.

Grace's mind raced. The adjoining door. She sprinted over, yanked out a set of lock-picking tools from her bag, and worked fast. Seconds later, she slipped into the empty neighbouring unit, closing the door just as her own apartment burst open behind her. Her hands shook, but she couldn't stop now. She edged to the window and pushed it open, stepping onto the fire escape.

A shout echoed from the street. Grace didn't hesitate. She jumped the last few feet, landing hard on the asphalt, the shock shooting up her legs. Her ears picked up the sounds of pursuit: shouts, footsteps, the rustle of movement.

"Go, go, go," she whispered to herself, sprinting down the alley, her bare feet pounding against the pavement. She took sharp corners, weaving through narrow passageways and slipping into the shadows. She was fast, but she could hear them closing in.

Grace turned one last corner - and skidded to a stop. A group of dark-suited men waited for her, their grins cold and confident.

"Well, well," one sneered, stepping forward. "We've got you now, little rabbit."

Grace didn't let herself feel fear. She let the adrenaline take over. Dropping into a fighting stance, she launched a front kick that sent one man sprawling. She spun, striking another with a vicious elbow, but there were too many of them.

A car engine roared, tyres squealing as a vehicle skidded up into the alley, barely fitting between the buildings. The passenger door swung open.

"Get in if you want to live!" a voice called.

Grace hesitated for a fraction of a second. Trap? No time to think. She sprinted forward, leapt into the car, and yanked the door shut. The engine screamed as they sped away, the alleyway blurring behind them.

The stranger in the driver's seat glanced at her. "Buckle up, Grace. It's about to get rough."