Unknown Number.
Her stomach flipped. She opened it.
Unknown Number:Too late to back out now.
Her grip tightened. Cold sweat slicked her palms. She turned back toward the window just in time to catch one of the men touching his earpiece. The other adjusted his watch.
Rachel spun, adrenaline slamming through her. They were coming.
She grabbed her bag, still packed, still heavy with the drive, the files, the only thing tying this whole damn thing together. She moved fast and silent. Instinct carried her across the room.
She hit the window, popped the latch, pushed it up as far as it would go. The rush of night air cut sharp across her skin. Twelve feet down. Too far to drop, but not too far to jump sideways.
Her neighbor’s porch was just close enough. If she missed, she’d break something. If she stayed, she died.
A soft creak behind her. The front door. No time left.
Rachel climbed onto the windowsill, clutching the frame. Her pulse slammed in her throat. One deep breath, then she jumped.
Her foot hit the railing and the wood groaned. Splinters bit into her palms as she caught herself, barely. She dropped again, lower this time, landing hard but upright on the porch floor.
With one last controlled movement, she dropped to the ground, landing hard and silent. Her feet struck dirt, knees bending to absorb the fall. She ducked and slipped behind the overgrown hedge that bordered her neighbor’s walkway. She stilled. Pressed flat. Stayed small.
From her hiding spot, she had just enough of a sightline to her own apartment window. The glow inside flickered with movement. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Any second now, they’d realize she wasn’t there.
Three men. Armed. Moving with intention and clearly well trained.
The first swept a flashlight across the apartment, the beam carving long white slashes through the dark. Her body didn’t move. Her pulse roared too loud in her ears.
Inside, she heard it all. Boots on hardwood. Drawers yanked open. Furniture dragged and overturned.
They weren’t trying to scare her. They were searching. They knew what she had. Rachel’s stomach twisted. The footage. The photos. The proof. It was in the bag still strapped to her chest. Her only advantage was that they hadn’t found it, yet.
Inside the apartment, one of the men spoke, voice low and controlled. “It’s not here.”
Another grunt. “She’s got it on her.”
She clenched her jaw, pressing lower into the dirt. Grass scraped her skin. Every instinct screamed to run, but she wouldn’t make it far. Not if they split up. Not if they swept the perimeter next.
She fumbled for her phone. Hands shaking. Vision tunneling. Her thumb slid across the screen, fumbling through contacts until she landed on the only one that mattered.
Logan.
She didn’t check the time. Didn’t care if he was in a war zone or half-asleep in a barracks. She hit call. The screen lit up.
It rang once.
Twice.
Straight to voicemail. The beep hit her like a punch to the chest.
Her voice cracked as she whispered, “Logan… I don’t know if you’re back yet.” She swallowed hard. Tried to force air into lungs that barely worked. “I don’t even know if you’ll get this in time.” she said, quieter now. “There are men in my apartment. They were looking for something, Logan.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, chest rising and falling too fast. Flashlight beams continued to flicker through the blinds. “I got out through my window. I’m hiding outside now in the bushes, but I don’t know how long I have before they realize I’m gone.”
Rachel hesitated, gripping the phone tighter, her knuckles pale. She stared at the dark screen, the weight of her own voice still echoing in her ears.
Then she whispered the words that had been circling in her mind like a warning siren. “I uncovered something… something big. Corruption. Military officers. I, I can’t say more over the phone. I don’t know who’s listening.” Her throat tightened. “It’s bad, Logan. Really bad.”
