Dix pounded along the country road, legs moving in a familiar rhythm as he ate up the miles. Sweat covered his body, but, as he stretched out the muscles, he embraced the heat and the effort. Despite the sessions of rehab he'd been through, the first mile or so had made the muscles in his injured thigh scream like crazy. But, as he settled into the pace, into the rhythm, the familiar, remembered burn replaced the original agony.
Unfortunately, as muscle memory took over, it left his brain free to dwell on other things, like the really screwed-up mission. He still didn't know what had happened. It had been planned so carefully, down to the very last detail. Once again, the situation played out in his head, like a bad movie he couldn't get rid of.