The silence that followed was deafening. When she spoke again, her voice had lost some of its panic and gained something harder. "How do you know my name?"
"Because you've been digging into things people killed my best friend to keep buried." Griff risked opening one eye. Through the blur of tears, he could see her silhouette. "Stillwater Defense Solutions. The biological passport scheme. Tell me I’m wrong."
She went completely still. "Who are you?"
"Someone who's been hunting the same people you have." He straightened, blinking rapidly to clear his vision. "Griffin Hawkins. Former Navy SEAL. Current... freelance problem solver."
"Freelance problem solver? Is that what we're calling vigilantes now?"
"We can debate job titles later. Right now, we need to move." He headed for the window, blinking hard to clear the tears that wouldn't stop coming. His nose was still running, and he could taste the capsaicin in the back of his throat. Even with his vision compromised, he caught a glimpse ofheadlights in the distance. Multiple sets, moving fast up the mountain road. The rest of the hit team. "That's them."
Sarah looked toward the window, and Griff saw the moment reality hit her. Her face went pale, the bear spray can lowering slightly. "This is really happening."
"Yeah, it is. And unless you want to find out what interrogation techniques they learned in wherever they crawled out from, we need to go. Now."
She stared at him for another heartbeat, then something shifted in her expression. "Fine." She hefted her backpack onto her shoulder, staggering as the oversized case pulled her sideways.
"Are you serious right now?" The only advantage they had was speed. And the fact that they didn't know he was there. Yet.
"No way I leave anything behind for them to find."
Griff wanted to argue, but the headlights were getting closer. He could make out individual vehicles now—three SUVs, all black, all moving in perfect formation. His eyes watered constantly, making it hard to judge distance, but they had maybe two minutes. "Fine."
"Where exactly are we going?" She grabbed her purse. "In case you haven't noticed, we're on a mountain. In the almost dark. And I'm wearing boots from Nordstrom Rack."
"I noticed." Griff moved to the door, scanning the darkness. His compromised vision made everything blur at the edges, shadows dancing where there shouldn't be movement. He'd have to rely on instinct and muscle memory. He hefted his own well-stocked gear bag. "Stay close. Move when I move. Stop when I stop. And whatever you do, don't make noise."
"Don't make noise? I'm a forensic accountant, not a ninja. I trip over flat surfaces."
"Then try really hard not to." He glanced back at her.Despite everything—the spray attack, the panic, the designer boots—she was holding it together. "Ready?"
"No." She clutched the pack’s straps. "But apparently that doesn't matter."
The vehicles were pulling into the lodge property now, engines rumbling in the night air. Griff's ears, at least, were still working perfectly. He could hear doors opening, boots on gravel, low voices conferring. These weren't amateurs—they moved with military precision.
"On three," he whispered. "One... two..."
"Wait" Sarah grabbed his arm. "I should pray first."
Griff stared at her. "You want to pray? Now?"
"It'll only take a second." She closed her eyes. "Lord, I know this isn't the wilderness retreat I had in mind, but apparently You have other plans. Please keep us safe. Give us wisdom. And maybe a miracle that doesn't involve running through the woods in the dark. Amen."
She opened her eyes. "Okay, now I'm ready."
Despite everything—the burning eyes, the approaching death squad, the complete insanity of the situation—Griff felt his lips twitch. "That's your prayer? 'Maybe a miracle that doesn't involve running'?"
"Would you prefer something more formal? 'Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death' seems a bit on the nose right now."
The SUVs had stopped. Doors were opening. Dark figures emerging. Through his watering eyes, Griff counted at least eight men, all armed, all moving with purpose.
"Three," Griff said, and pulled her out into the night.
5
They ran.
Or rather, Griff ran while Sarah Winters attempted something between a stumble and a sprint, her designer boots sliding on every pine needle and loose rock. The cold mountain air hit his capsaicin-inflamed sinuses, making his eyes water even more. Between the bear spray and the thick darkness under the forest canopy, he could barely see ten feet ahead, relying more on instinct than sight to navigate.
