My radio is gone. My weapons are gone. I'm bleeding, bound, and alone on a mountain while the woman I love is being hunted by professional killers.
A searchlight sweeps the terrain to the west. They're looking for her. Still looking.
Which means they haven't found her yet.
Hope flickers in my chest. Vivian is smart. She's trained. She knows this terrain better than she did two weeks ago. If she reached the trees, if she found cover?—
The radio on my belt crackles. They didn't take the radio. They didn't search me properly.
"Target Two has gone to ground. Lost visual in the western tree line. Requesting additional assets."
She's still free. Still running.
I work at the zip ties with numb fingers. The plastic cuts into my wrists, but I don't stop. If I can get free, if I can get to her?—
"Negative on additional assets. Maintain search pattern. She can't have gone far."
They underestimate her. They think she's just a prosecutor, a city girl who doesn't know how to survive in the wilderness. Theydon't know what I've taught her. They don't know what she's capable of.
I have to push through this. I promised her we'd get through this together.
I intend to keep that promise.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
VIVIAN
Irun until my lungs burn and my legs threaten to give out.
The western tree line swallows me whole, branches slapping my face as I crash through underbrush. I'm not moving quietly anymore. Quiet doesn't matter when you're being hunted by men with night vision and rifles. Speed matters. Distance matters.
Deck's blood is on my hands. I can feel it, sticky and warm, even though I know it's already dried in the cold night air.
He told me to run. He made me promise.
I left him there on that slope, bleeding and broken, and I ran like a coward.
The tears come hot and fast, blurring my vision. I swipe at them with my sleeve and keep moving. Crying won't save him. Crying won't save me.
Behind me, flashlight beams cut through the darkness. Two of them, maybe a hundred yards back. They're faster than me, better equipped, better trained. The only reason I'm still free is because they expected me to panic. Expected me to freeze or trip or make some fatal mistake.
They don't know about the last two weeks. They don't know what Deck turned me into.
I reach a familiar landmark—a lightning-struck pine with a distinctive split trunk. I've seen this tree before. Deck pointed it out during one of our perimeter walks.
The main road is northwest from here. Maybe a mile.
I adjust my course and push harder.
My foot catches on a root and I go down hard, my palms scraping against rock. Pain shoots up my wrists but I'm already scrambling back to my feet, already moving. I can hear them behind me, their footsteps methodical and relentless.
"Target Two heading northwest. Intercept at the road."
The voice carries through the quiet forest. Radio communication. They know where I'm going. Of course they know. It's the obvious move.
I need to be less obvious.
Deck's voice echoes in my head.When you're being hunted, do the unexpected. Go where they think you won't go. Move when they think you'll stay still.
