Jack risked a glance. Dark figures were already moving between the trees above them.
They were being boxed in.
He shifted, pressed tighter to the SUV, and assessed the terrain with the part of his mind that never shut off. To their left, the drainage ditch he had used for approach cut away from the clearing and funneled downhill. Beyond it lay a series of access roads that fed toward the main highway. It was rough terrain, but it was movement. It was escape.
Annie was already reading the same landscape.
“The ditch,” she said. “Does it go anywhere?”
“It connects to an old service road. Half a mile down.”
“Can we reach it?”
“Under fire?” He grimaced. “Only if we’re fast and lucky.”
Another burst of gunfire slammed into the SUV, punching holes through the rear panel.
They were out of time.
“On my mark,” Jack said. “We move together. Low. Straight for the ditch. No hesitation.”
Annie nodded once. Jack counted silently—three, two, one—then fired his third shot, not to hit but to force the guard back. In the same instant, he surged from cover, grabbed Annie’s wrist,and pulled her with him as they broke into a sprint. Bullets cracked overhead. Gravel tore up around their feet. Jack felt one punch into the SUV behind them as they dove into the drainage cut and slid hard into mud and shadow.
Jack didn’t stop. He hauled Annie after him, boots slipping as they scrambled down the narrow channel, bending low, letting the ditch swallow them.
Above them, voices shouted.
“They went down the run-off!”
“Move! Cut them off!”
The ditch twisted downhill, choked with brush and slick rock. Jack forced his injured arm to work, using his body to shield Annie where the banks narrowed, his breath tearing harshly through his chest as blood soaked his sleeve. The cold water slowed the bleeding, but it also stole strength from his fingers.
They broke from the ditch into a rough cut of trees and old ruts—the abandoned service road.
Jack slowed only long enough to check Annie’s face. Dirt streaked her cheek. Her eyes were clear. Focused.
“We keep moving,” he said. “No straight lines.”
They ran.
Branches whipped their arms. Roots tore at their footing. The forest swallowed sound, but behind them, he could still hear pursuit. Coordinated. Relentless.
And then another sound rose above the forest and the pounding of their own feet—the low, distant growl of engines. Not close, but not far either. More than one. Jack slowed despite himself, lifting his head as he listened, counting by instinct, his unease sharpening with every second. Multiple vehicles were climbing the mountain road. Too many. The realization made something inside him shift and widen, the situation suddenly feeling larger than the men hunting them through the trees.
Annie heard it too. She looked at him, the question already forming in her eyes. “That’s not local response,” he said quietly. “And it’s not backup.”
“Then what is it?”
Jack didn’t answer right away. He watched headlights begin to flicker through the trees far below, thin blades of light cutting through the darkness. Reinforcements. Or extraction.
Either way, someone had escalated.
And whoever was directing this operation had just committed far more than mercenaries to silencing Eleanor Blackwood’s past.
Jack tightened his grip on Annie’s hand.
“Whatever’s in that safe deposit box,” he said, “it’s bigger than we thought.”
