"First we get you medical attention," Annie replied firmly. "Then we worry about the bank."
"No." Jack stopped walking, using what remained of his strength to face her directly. "Annie, listen to me. If Sarah Mitchell has the resources to hire professional killers, she probably has connections in the banking industry too. Maybe even access to safe deposit box records."
Annie's eyes widened as she processed the implications. "You think she knows about Eleanor's evidence?"
"I think she's known about it for years, maybe decades. The locket was just the key—the thing that would allow Someone to actually access the box." Jack leaned against a tree beside the road, trying to gather his strength for the final push to the highway. "If we walk into that bank unprepared, we're walking into another trap."
"Then what do you suggest?"
Jack's mind was working slowly, the combination of blood loss and exhaustion making it hard to think clearly. But years of police training and experience with criminal investigations provided a framework for action even when his body was failing.
"We need backup. Official backup, not just local police who might be compromised." He pulled out the radio he'd taken from the mercenaries' vehicle, relieved to find it still functional despite their ordeal. "This frequency connects to their command structure. If we can monitor their communications, we might be able to figure out who else is involved."
"Jack, you need a hospital."
"I need to finish this case." He met her eyes directly, trying to convey the urgency he felt. "Annie, think about everyone who's been hurt because of this secret. Your Uncle Eric, my parents, Ronald Gaines from the newspaper, probably others wedon't even know about. How many more people are going to suffer if we don't expose the truth?"
She was quiet for a moment, and Jack could see her weighing his words against her concern for his injury. It was the same analytical process he'd watched her apply to dozens of cold cases, the careful consideration of evidence and options that made her such an effective investigator.
"What if we split the difference?" she said finally. "We get you medical attention, but we also contact federal authorities. FBI, maybe, or the state attorney general's office. Someone with the resources to investigate a criminal conspiracy this large."
It was a reasonable compromise, and Jack felt Some of his tension ease as he realized Annie understood the scope of what they were dealing with. This wasn't just about solving Eleanor Blackwood's murder anymore—it was about exposing a criminal organization that had operated with impunity for nearly a century.
"FBI has a field office in Knoxville," he said. "Agent Sarah Chen—I worked with her on a money laundering case a few years ago. She's honest, competent, and she has the authority to coordinate with local law enforcement."
"Then that's our first call." Annie helped him start walking again, her determination evident in every step. "But Jack, after we make contact with the FBI, you're going to a hospital. No arguments."
"No arguments," he agreed, though privately he wondered if he'd still be conscious by the time they reached the highway.
The lights ahead were getting brighter now, and Jack could make out individual vehicles passing on the main road. Civilization, help, safety—all just a few hundred yards away. But those few hundred yards felt like miles with each step requiring more effort than he had to give.
"Almost there," Annie said, though he could hear the concern in her voice. "Just keep walking. Don't you dare give up on me now."
Give up. The words triggered a memory from four years ago, the night he'd walked away from Annie and convinced himself he was protecting her. He'd given up then, had chosen fear over love, solitude over partnership.
He wasn't going to give up again.
Drawing on reserves of strength he didn't know he still possessed, Jack forced himself to match Annie's pace as they covered the final distance to the highway. Behind them, he could hear the distant sound of vehicles moving on the mountain roads—Sarah Mitchell's people were still hunting, still trying to prevent Eleanor's truth from coming to light.
But they'd underestimated Annie Whitaker. They'd underestimated her courage, her determination, and her refusal to let injustice go unpunished.
As they reached the edge of the highway and Annie began flagging down the first vehicle she saw—a pickup truck driven by an elderly farmer who took one look at Jack's bloody shirt and immediately reached for his cell phone—Jack realized that Eleanor's century-long wait for justice was finally coming to an end.
And this time, he wasn't going to walk away from the woman who'd made it possible.
This time, he was going to fight for the future they both deserved.
Chapter 12
Annie squirmed in the uncomfortable plastic chair beside Jack’s hospital bed, watching the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest. The doctor had assured her the surgery had gone well, that the bullet had missed major arteries and nerves, that he would regain full use of his arm with time. None of that quieted the tightness in her stomach. Under the harsh fluorescent lights, his skin looked too pale, his lashes too dark against it, his stillness wrong in a way that tugged at something deep and instinctive.
Six hours had passed since the farmer had driven them down the mountain. Six hours since she had called FBI Agent Sarah Chen. Six hours since the night had stopped trying to kill them. And yet Annie could not shake the sense that the danger had only shifted, not ended. Somewhere beyond these walls,Sarah Mitchell was still free. Still calculating. Still moving pieces they could not yet see.
The locket rested in her pocket like a stone, its small weight far heavier than metal should have been. Eleanor Blackwood’s voice waited inside it. Her proof. Her century of silence.
Agent Chen had promised she would arrive within the hour, bringing with her the federal authority needed to take this beyond Fairview, beyond influence and old names and quiet favors. Eleanor waited nearly a hundred years for justice, Annie reminded herself. A few more hours should not matter. But they did.
Every minute that passed was another minute for evidence to disappear, for witnesses to be intimidated, for truths to be buried again.
