The Manhunt
“Why d…do you…want to…kill…me? Wh…hat…have I done to…you?”
“It's nothing personal,” the man's voice was as cold as ice.
“It's just a manhunt.”
And the last thing the guy has ever heard in his life was the loud bang of the revolver that ended him. He almost escaped. Only almost.
* * *
“Hi, good morning. The two of you must be Mr. And Mrs. Andrews?” asked Jacob Price politely, professionally like the way his Snyder Italian Cashmere Sutton Suit in Navy Blue wrapped around his well-built figure. He stood up at a height of 5'11. His hair was dark and soft and the perfect haircut for his oval-shaped face. Blessed with a pair of blue eyes—as blue as the skies, just looking through those windows cou
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