Jack watched her as she paced back and forth in front of him. He tugged at the handcuffs that bound him to the chair, testing them.

He watched her expression. She was nervous. She was giddy at having caught him. It didn't matter - he was patient. He would get out.

He would kill her.

Each time she moved, it was a reminder of four years ago. Every step an echo of a step she took towards his wife, gun in hand. Each expression a reminder of the masked fear she'd shown as he leaned towards her, moving to her ear and whispering, lips brushing the skin as he'd made his promise:

"I'll find you no matter where you go, Nina. I will kill you, I promise you that."

She'd known he'd meant it. He wasn't one to give up. Even death doesn't stop a man obsessed.

She knelt before him, hands on his thighs, and they spoke, and his hands flexed and clenched. He imagined he could feel her neck between his fingers, collapsing and crushing inwards until she gasped for breath, dying.

She leaned in, and he kissed her. She would believe him, he would convince her that he had changed, and then too late she would realize the truth.

Jack Bauer never forgets a promise.

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