The vials I’d dropped were still rolling around on the floorboard like tiny ticking bombs. The shot I’d witnessed echoed in my ears. And somewhere behind me, a manin expensive boots was already wondering exactly who the “nobody” county girl really was.
I didn’t have long before they figured it out.
And when they did, I wasn’t sure the Royal Bastards—or Mason—could get to me fast enough.
The desert was swallowing the last of the daylight when my phone buzzed again. I kept one eye on the rearview and one hand on the wheel, gravel spitting under the county work truck’s tires as I pushed it harder than the old beast had any right to go. Regan’s reply lit up the screen in the cupholder.
Stay low. Do NOT go home. Coordinates for the old line shack coming through now. Head north off the service road. Lock yourself in if you make it. We’re mobilizing. Mason’s already out that way—hang on, Sienna.
Mason.The name hit like a punch I wasn’t ready for. I didn’t have time to unpack why the thought of him out here somewhere made my chest ache in the middle of all this. I just gripped the wheel tighter and followed the GPS arrow blinking on my cracked screen.
Headlights flared behind me again—two sets this time, closing fast. No plates. No mercy. The black SUV that had rammed me earlier was back, riding my bumper like it wanted to climb inside the truck with me. I swerved left onto the narrow washboard road that cut deeper into the scrub, the one that would eventually spit me out near Regan’s coordinates. Dust boiled up in a choking cloud. My heart slammed so hard I could feel it in my teeth.
They rammed me once. The truck lurched forward, my head snapping against the seat. I bit back a scream and floored it. Another hit—harder. The tailgate bucked. A shot cracked through the open window, punching a hole in the passenger door with a metallicthwack. I screamed then, low and raw, ducking as low as I could while still seeing the road. The second vehicle—a panel van—pulled wide, trying to flank me.
I knew this desert better than they did. I’d spent weeks out here pulling samples, memorizing every dry wash, every hidden two-track. I yanked the wheel hard right at the next unmarked turn, sending the truck bouncing down a steep embankment into a narrow arroyo. The suspension bottomed out with a sickening crunch, but it held. Behind me, one of the SUVs overshot the turn and had to brake hard, tires howling.
I gained maybe thirty seconds. Thirty precious seconds.
The arroyo narrowed, walls of rock and brush closing in. I pushed the truck until the engine screamed, tires spitting rocks. Another shot pinged off the roof. Glass shattered somewhere behind me. I didn’t look. Couldn’t. My hands were white-knuckled on the wheel, knuckles bleeding where I’d scraped them on the dash during the last hit. Sweat poured down my back, mixing with the dust that coated everything.
I thought of Bandit—half-feral and smart enough to run when things got bad. I thought of Mason’s stupid drunk words at the wedding, the wildflowers on my doorstep, the way he’d looked at me like I was the only thing that ever scared him. I hadn’t told him any of this. Hadn’t trusted him enough to let him in. Now I might never get the chance.
The truck hit a deep rut. The front end bottomed out hard, radiator hissing like an angry snake. Steam exploded across the hood. I fought the wheel, but the truck slewed sideways and slammed into a thick clump of mesquite. Metal crumpled. The engine died with a final, pathetic cough.
Silence crashed in, broken only by my ragged breathing and the tick of cooling metal.
I grabbed the sat phone, the pocket knife, the half-full water bottle, and the binoculars that had started this whole nightmare, then kicked the driver’s door open. Boots hit dirt and I ran—low, zigzagging the way I’d seen in every survival show I’d half-paid attention to—toward a jumble of boulders and thick creosote about fifty yards away. My lungs burned. Every snap of a branch under my feet sounded like a gunshot.
I dove behind the biggest rock a small cave opened in the cliff just enough for me to crawl inside the dark hole and hide. I pressed my back to the rough stone, and tried to make myself small. The sun was almost gone now, painting the desert in deep purples and fiery oranges. Shadows stretched long and black. Perfect for hiding. Terrible for seeing who was coming.
Footsteps. Voices. Two men at least, maybe more. They were fanning out, boots crunching on gravel, flashlights sweeping the arroyo floor.
“Little lady’s gotta be around here somewhere,” one called, voice lazy and amused. The same one who’d leaned against my truck hood at Station 19. “County girl. Real curious, aren’t you?”
Another voice, rougher, answered in Spanish. I caught enough to know they were pissed. And armed.
I slowed my breathing the way I’d learned in a long-ago self-defense class—slow inhale, slower exhale, trying not to gasp. My hand shook around the pocket knife. It felt pathetic against whatever they were carrying. The sat phone was on silent, screen dimmed. No signal bars. I clutched it anyway like a lifeline.
Minutes bled into what felt like hours. I stayed frozen, ears straining, every tiny sound amplified. A lizard skittered over rock. My own heartbeat roared in my ears. One of the men passed so close I could smell his cologne and the sharp tang of gun oil. His flashlight beam swept inches from my boot. I didn’tbreathe. Didn’t blink. Just pressed harder into the boulder until the stone bit into my spine.
He kept going.
I waited longer than I needed to. Survival instinct screamed at me to stay put, to become part of the desert, to let the night swallow me whole. I thought about the last scientist who’d had this job. The one who’d “walked.” Had she seen something like this? Had she tried to run too?
My phone finally vibrated—once, soft. A text from Regan.
On our way. Fifteen minutes out. Stay hidden.
Fifteen minutes. It might as well have been fifteen years.
The men circled back twice more. One of them kicked at the wrecked truck, cursing when he found the sample vials inside. “She was there. Serial numbers match. County bitch saw everything.”
They argued in low voices. Decided to wait me out. One stayed near the vehicles. The other started walking the ridgeline again, boots deliberate and slow.
I hugged my knees tighter, knife pressed to my chest like it could stop a bullet. Dust coated my tongue. My arm stung where glass had cut it during the chase. I thought of Mason again—grease on his hands, that cocky smirk, the way he’d nuzzled my neck on the dance floor just to hurt me back. I hated how much I wanted him here right now. Hated how safe that thought felt when nothing else did.
Another ten minutes crawled by. Then fifteen. The sky went full dark, stars sharp overhead. The man near the truck lit a cigarette. The glow of it was the only light for miles.
