Stan watched Sam type on her phone. He couldn't determine what she was trying to do. Sending information would only work if there was a signal. Taking out his phone, he checked again. Nope, nothing. What was she doing?"

Was she taking a photo of Mrs Bassett?

Why and for what reason?

Moving across the cave, Stan washed up the plates in the can of water he had collected while looking over Sam's shoulder.

"Stop sneaking around," she whispered, "if you have a question, ask it."

"There is no signal," he said, "what are you doing?"

"Updates," Sam smiled, "in real-time here but will go through at a specific time."

"Why?" Stan asked, frowning.

Mysteriously Sam pointed at the ceiling, "We have a signal, but you're not linked."

"Satellites," Stan murmured, "makes sense. What is it with you and Mrs Bassett?"

"That woman is not the real Mrs Bassett," Sam said, "I grew up with the family. There is no way she would ask me why I became what I am."

"She hasn't seen you for years," Stan whispered, "seems a reasonable question to ask."

"The woman I knew lived off the land," Sam replied, "there is no way she would sit on the rock as this person did and let us do all the work."

"So what do we do?" Stan asked.

"Play along for now and find out why," Sam said, moving toward the fire.

Stan watched her go. There was a lot about Sam he didn't understand. Beginning with why she was in this line of work? She could have been anything, gone anywhere and done anything. But here she was, kicking ass, risking her life for others and living a life where she was constantly on guard. It didn't make sense. Looking over at Mrs Bassett sleeping soundly, Stan wondered if Sam could be right. Was this a duplicate?

Moving to his pack, he emptied it, going through the items they had. There would be enough rations to get them through however long they would be hiking to wherever they were going. A pair of shoe-shod feet suddenly appeared in front of him. Following the short legs up to an apple-shaped body, he met a couple of intensely focused eyes.

"Why am I here?" Mrs Bassett asked.

"Mrs Bassett, do you remember anything in the past few hours?" Stan asked, latching the bag and putting it to one side.

"I'm not Mrs Bassett," the woman hissed, "why am I here? Where am I?"

"Where do you think you are?" Stan asked, slowly rising to his full height.

"My prison has been moved to a cave," she whispered, "but I'm not seeing any people in white."

"If you're not Mrs Bassett," Stan whispered, "who are you?"

"I'm called Amy," she whispered, looking around, "I don't see any of my coworkers here today."

"Amy," Stan said, nodding, "did you work for a family company that was bought out after the father died?"

"Yes," she said, looking at him with wide eyes, "how did you know?"

"What if I told you that you said it to me a few hours ago," Stan whispered, "before you had a meal with us and had some sleep."

The woman's eyes grew larger as she stared blankly around the cave, "They did it to me," she whispered, a broken sob echoing in the cave, "do you have a newspaper? Something with a date on it?"

Stan pulled out a local paper he had put in his bag to read, "This is from two days ago," he said, handing it to her.

She grabbed the paper, mumbling as her finger traced over the surface, "Three years."

"What is three years?" Stan asked.

"My last memory as Amy is three years ago," she groaned, "I was told I was doing research, but they used me even when I said I wouldn't do it."

"Wouldn't do what?" Stan asked, handing over a handkerchief he had never used.

"Some experiment to see if I could be someone else," Amy cried, "that is the last conversation I remember."

"Do you remember anything else?" Stan asked.

"Someone grabbing me, a sharp pain in the side of my neck and ..." she frowned, before looking at him, "... nothing."

"Sounds like they drugged you and used you anyway," Sam said, appearing out of the shadows, "nice to meet you, Amy."

The woman gasped before backing away, fear sparkling in her eyes and her body visibly shaking.

"Something wrong?" Sam asked, looking at Stan.

"Don't ask me," Stan whispered, "but I think something was done to your false Mrs Bassett, and the real person has just appeared."

"Maybe it had to do with the medication," Sam said, "those tablets that the false Mr Bassett demanded she takes."

"You think it kept whatever was done to her in place?" Stan asked.

"Could be," Sam said, frowning, "I remember Cherry having to take some weird-sounding medication as well. They told her it was due to her injuries in the car crash."

"Yeah, I don't think she was in a car crash," Stan said, "but it doesn't explain ...this."

The two returned to watch the gasping woman, who had stopped retreating and now pointed at Sam.

"Perhaps it's you," Stan said, frowning.

"You could be right," Sam said, "Amy, could you tell us why you're frightened?"

"If not frightened, maybe startled," Stan said, trying to find something to help the woman utter a complete word.

"Why are you here?" Amy finally spluttered.

"Both of us got you out of the compound," Sam said, "I'm here because I protecting you."

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"I was at your funeral," Amy said, "both your husband and yourself were dead."

Stan glanced at Sam, "Your parents."

Sam stared at the woman, pointing at her, "You knew my parents."

"Parents," Amy said, "knew your parents?"

"What are the names of the people?" Sam asked.

"Headrows," Amy whispered, "the father was Simon Headrow."

"Is she saying your parents had a business?" Stan asked, looking at Sam, "Sam? Are you okay?"

"It would appear she must have worked for my parents for years," Sam said, frowning, "but ..."

Stan waited, but Sam didn't continue, "But what?"

"I don't remember my parents owning a business," Sam said, "I was a teenager. Had a social life and basically lived for me."

"Like all teenagers do," Stan said, shrugging, "it makes sense you don't remember. Didn't you ever go into the office?"

"I don't remember my parents ever going to an office," Sam said, "they always travelled for work. The family home was already paid for and had been in the family for generations."

"Old money," Amy whispered in a daze, "company was not part of the estate."

"Estate?" Stan spluttered, turning to Sam, who blushed.

"Yeah, so everything about my life used to be Ivy League," Sam sighed, "it gets old, especially when there are no people around to enjoy it."

"What happened to your Dad's company?" Stan asked.

"I don't know," Sam whispered, her mind wandering through the past, "I don't even remember there being a company, never mind what happened to it."

"Bought," Amy said, from her pile of bedding, "huh ... stolen more like it."

"Amy do you know anything about the event," Sam asked, slowly moving toward the bewildered woman, "did you hear anything? See anything? Read or hear anything?"

Amy stared blankly for a moment before frowning, "The brothers visited often. There were many fights in the office," she whispered. "Didn't like the brothers ... they are evil to the core."

"You mean the Tenderhook brothers?" Sam asked.

Amy nodded, "Heard one saying they would take what they wanted and be damned with the law."

Stan moved forward as Sam paled, "Sam, this is what we've been looking for. Evidence of their dealings."

Sam nodded, swallowing hard, "My father wouldn't sell, so they murdered my parents."

"Weren't they supposed to murder you as well?" Stan asked

Sam turned to look at him, horror and worry in her eyes, "Why would someone do that?"

"Why do they do anything they have ever done?" Stan said, glancing at Amy, trying to get comfortable.

Sam shook her head, rubbing at her face, "All these years later, you'd think I was over whatever emotion the tragedy could dredge up ..." she shook her head. "Every time it comes up ..." swallowing hard, she turned abruptly, walking away, "we rest here tonight ... tomorrow we hike."

Stan sighed, watching Sam move toward the entrance and leave the safety of the cave.

"She looks exactly like her mother," Amy whispered as her eyes closed and fell asleep again.

Sam pushed out of the cave. She needed air, a sanity check; more than anything, she needed something to punch. Swiping at her wet cheeks while heading toward the stream, she tried to keep a lid on her churning emotions.

"Totaly ridiculous," she muttered, "get it together."

No amount of pep talking was helping. Emotions boiled over in so many directions there was no knowing where to start to process them. One feeling came to the surface more than any other.

Anger.

White hot, burning anger.

She stopped at the stream and stared into its gurgling crystal depths, showing various size rocks under the surface. Staring at the rocks below the surface, Sam tried to grasp all the raging emotions before pacing away. It wasn't working, trying again she walked back and forth a few times before she realised it was tiring. Sam stopped on the banks of the river and let her thoughts have free reign. It had been years since she felt this level of pain and loss. All the sessions with her therapist. All the progress made was blown out of the water with this new information. Growing up, she didn't know who was behind the eradication of her family and the attempt on herself. But now ... inhaling, she counted to ten forward and backwards. Releasing the air slowly through her lips and wiped her face with her jacket sleeve.

"I will get through this," she whispered, leaning against the rock face as the shadows closed around her giving her the seclusion she craved. Embracing the night and the star-filled sky, Sam waited for peace to fill her once more.

"The last coordinates were from here," the voice caught her off guard, "somewhere around here."

Alert eyes snapped to the entrance, and Sam exhaled slowly. The thick branches were in place. But she needed to do something quickly to ensure their safety.

Checking the weapons she had on her, only a knife. If it was one man, she might get the drop on him, but if he had someone with him, she would have to think of another defence strategy. Sam moved to the opening of their hiding place. Stepping back into the branches of the trees, she watched a large form appear.

"What do we have here?" the voice whispered; the body attached walked into the clearing, "looks like we may have found where the signal disappeared."

A second man appeared, trailing the first. Slowly Sam knelt, feeling around, and her hand fell on a thick log. Grasping it and weighing it in her hands, she waited for her opportunity. Emerging from the shadows, surprising the second man who turned, expelling a shocked gasp as Sam swung the log connecting with his face. Soundlessly he sank to the floor. Sam turned in a circle bringing the branch around for another swing. Grunting as it was stopped by a beefy hand. A leering grin flashed at her in the moonlight, turning into a soundless cry as Sam brought her knee up, connecting with his groin. The log was released as the man began to double over. Stepping back to evade grasping hands, Sam swung again. The man spun in the air, landing on his back with an earth-shaking thud. Checking the first man, Sam felt for a pulse but found none.

"Dammit," she muttered, checking the second man and finding the same result, "just when you want someone alive ..."

The tree branches moved, exposing Stan between them.

"Thought you may need some help," he said, "guess not."

"You're needed," she said, indicating the bigger of the two men, "grab his arms and drag him into the cave."

"What if they wake up?" Stan asked.

"They won't," Sam said, grunting as she dragged the man toward the cave entrance.

"Why not?" Stan asked before understanding dawned, "right ... never mind. What did you use?"

"A log or thick branch," Sam said, panting as she manoeuvred the body into the cave, "

"Just a log?" Stan asked, straightening from where he had left his charge, "you sure?"

"Yep," Sam said, "you be surprised by how much damage wood can do."

"I'll take your word for it," Stan said, pulling the backpack off the second man, "look through that. I will check they didn't drop anything outside and pull those branches into place."

Sam nodded, "Be careful. We don't know how many trackers are out there, and they mentioned a signal being seen in this vicinity last."

"I'll keep my eyes peeled," Stan said, "see what they have packed; perhaps something will tell us what we need to know."

Sam watched him leave as she opened the backpack emptying it into the cave's sandy floor. Rations in abundance, either they were constantly hungry, or they were prepared to be out here for a few days. Sifting through the other items, Sam took stock of communications equipment, tracking devices and a signal jammer.

"Why would they need a signal jammer?" she asked, picking the equipment up and turning it over in her hands, "brand new, state-of-the-art, GPS locater ... who were they working for?"

"Maybe to block whatever signal they were tracking," Stan said, returning with two pieces of equipment in his hands, "found these near the cave entrance."

"Must have fallen when ... you know ..." Sam said.

"Defended our position," Stan finished, grinning.

"What are those two pieces you have in your hand?" Sam asked, watching Stan frown and move toward Amy.

"Signal trackers," Stan said absently, "looks like they were tracking Amy. One appears to be a long-range version and the other short-range."

"Starting to make sense now," Sam muttered, turning on the signal jammer, "we will need to get it out before we move on. We can't just pin her down and extract it while she sleeps."

"We could, but then it would be the same kind of thing the Tenderhooks would do," Stan said, "I don't know about you, but not being like them is one of my goals."

"I'm there with you," Sam sighed, "but we need to get it out. The signal jammer won't last forever."

"Turn it off," Stan said, "according to their notes, outside this cave was the last place it was seen."

"Meaning that while we're in this cave, they cannot find us," Sam said, "once we're outside, we will have to use it."

Stan nodded, "All we have to do now is locate and extract a tracking device with the consent of the person it's embedded in."

"Sure, with no medical supplies," Sam said, nodding.

"Easy as pie," Stan said, sighing, "easy as pie."