"But you got word to CIA."
"I have an inside source. He called Guardian HRS for me. Said you could help. I’m glad they called you."
The helicopter banks, heading inland. Sawyer pulls out his phone and texts someone rapidly. "Safe house might be compromised if they have CIA sources. I'm taking you somewhere else."
"Where?"
"Somewhere they'll never think to look."
I should object, should demand to know where this stranger is taking me. But I'm running on seventy-two hours of broken sleep and constant adrenaline. My body's starting to crash, hands trembling as the fear-chemicals fade. Nathan is hunting me with the full resources of Prometheus and the FBI behind him, and I'm out of options that don't involve trusting someone.
Might as well be the man who jumped out a window to save me.
The helicopter sets down in a clearing near Los Padres National Forest. Sawyer leads me to a hidden vehicle—an old Toyota Land Cruiser that blends in perfectly. "Two hours to the safe house. You should sleep."
"I can't?—"
"You're crashing. I can see it. Sleep now while you can. I'll wake you if anything happens."
I want to argue, but my eyes are already closing. The last three days of running catch up all at once, and I barely remember leaning against the window before darkness takes me.
I dream of Nathan. Not the Nathan who tried to kill me, but the one who brought me coffee every morning for three years, who knew I took it with too much sugar and never judged. The Nathan who held me when my grandmother died, who made me laugh at crime scenes, who I thought I'd marry someday.
"No, please—" I must say it aloud because a hand touches my shoulder, gentle but grounding.
"Hey, you're safe. Just a dream." Sawyer's voice pulls me back. "We're almost there."
I open my eyes to find I've shifted in sleep, my head on his shoulder instead of the window. I should move, apologize, but he doesn't seem to mind, and his warmth feels too good to give up yet.
"I was talking in my sleep?"
"You said his name. Nathan." There's something in his tone—not jealousy exactly, but recognition. "The betrayal hurts worse than the murder attempt."
It's so accurate I flinch. "How do you know?"
"Because you can fight back against someone trying to kill you. Can't fight the memories of when they were someone else."
The challenge coin around his neck catches the dashboard light. "Who did you lose?"
His jaw tightens. "Tyler Brennan. My pararescue buddy. Our helicopter went down in Afghanistan. I got thrown clear, but he was trapped. Fuel tank exploded before I could cut him free." His fingers unconsciously trace the burn scars on his forearm. "Still wear his coin. Reminder that hesitation costs lives."
"Was it your fault?"
"No. RPG hit us; nothing I could have done differently. Doesn't stop me from running the scenarios, looking for the solution that would have saved him." He glances at me. "Nathan choosing betrayal isn't your fault either."
"I should have seen it."
"Based on what? Him being perfect for three years? That's not a failure of observation, Savannah. That's a successful long-term deception operation."
FOUR
Savannah
My full nameon Sawyer’s lips sends warmth through me. No one calls me Savannah except close friends and family, but it sounds right from him.
"Turn coming up," he says, and I realize I've been staring at his profile in the darkness.
We leave paved roads for dirt roads and climb into the mountains. The trail gets progressively worse until we're crawling over rocks that scrape the undercarriage.
