Page 17 of Revival in Laurel Valley

“That’s putting it mildly,” Grant said.

Wyatt’s expression was all business. “I’m used to moving people quietly when they need to disappear. Blaze called from the hospital before they took him into surgery, said you needed wheels and a clean exit.” He tossed Grant the keys. “She’s gassed up and ready. I put some extra supplies in the back—blankets, food, medical kit. Cell reception is spotty where you’re headed, but there’s a satellite phone in the glove box. Emergency only.”

He turned to Liza, his expression softening slightly. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got hit in the head with a tray of donuts.” But she managed a smile. “I’ll be fine.”

“Good.” Wyatt looked back at Grant. “Lane’s got the perimeter covered, but we’ve had no sighting of Caine since the shooting. She’s either gone to ground or she’s ahead of you.”

“Thanks.” Grant shook his hand. “Tell Blaze⁠—”

“I’ll tell him you said thanks for the loan,” Wyatt said. “Be careful up there. That woman is dangerous.”

“I know.”

They loaded into the Bronco—Grant driving, Liza in the passenger seat. The interior smelled like old leather and pine. The engine turned over with a satisfying rumble.

Grant pulled onto the road heading north out of town, away from the lights and the safety and toward the dark mountains looming ahead.

The streets of Laurel Valley slipped past in a blur of warm light and Bavarian architecture. Normal. Everything looked so heartbreakingly normal.

The last building on the edge of town was The Alpine Room, its rooftop bar crowded with tourists who’d never know how close violence had come to their luxurious mountain getaway.

Music and laughter drifted down as they passed, and Liza felt a pang of something she couldn’t name. Loss, maybe. Or longing for a life where the biggest worry was whether to order another round of drinks.

Then the buildings ended. The manicured charm of downtown gave way to darker spaces—employee parking lots for the ski resort, equipment sheds, the utilitarian side of tourism that visitors never saw. The streetlights grew farther apart, their pools of illumination shrinking until darkness filled the spaces between.

The pavement changed to gravel beneath the Bronco’s tires, the smooth ride becoming rougher, more uncertain. Grant’s hands were steady on the wheel, but Liza saw the tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes constantly scanned the mirrors, the roadside, the darkness pressing in from all directions.

Twin Peaks rose ahead of them, black shapes against a sky going from purple to true dark. What had looked postcard pretty from downtown now felt massive and indifferent. Ancient stone that had watched civilizations rise and fall, that would still be standing long after everyone she knew turned to dust.

The cold seeped in despite the Bronco’s heater. March in the Idaho mountains meant temperatures that could drop below freezing once the sun set, and the thin metal walls of the vehicle did little to keep it at bay. Liza pulled her jacket tighter and watched the last glow of Laurel Valley fade in the side mirror.

The road climbed, switchbacks growing tighter. The Bronco’s headlights carved tunnels through the darkness, illuminating walls of pine and granite that pressed close on both sides. No guardrails here. Just sheer drops into shadows so deep they felt solid.

Grant hadn’t spoken since they’d left town. His jaw was tight, his focus absolute. Liza recognized the look—the cop preparing for threat, running scenarios, calculating odds. She should probably be terrified. Instead, she found his intensity oddly comforting.

At least one of them knew what they were doing.

The gravel road narrowed farther, branches scraping against the Bronco’s sides. They were climbing now, the engine working harder, the air growing thinner. Liza’s ears popped with the altitude change.

“How far?” she asked, her voice sounding too loud in the silence.

“Maybe twenty miles to go.” Grant’s eyes never left the road. “Another forty minutes if we don’t⁠—”

He didn’t finish the sentence. Didn’t need to.

If we don’t run into her first.

Liza looked back one more time. Laurel Valley was gone completely now, swallowed by distance and darkness and the curve of the mountain. They were alone out here. Truly alone. No help, no backup, no witnesses.

Just two people in a vehicle climbing into wilderness, and somewhere behind them—or ahead, or circling around—a woman who’d already proven she was willing to kill.

The mountains loomed larger with every mile, the darkness more complete. And Liza understood, finally, what Grant had been trying to tell her back in the apartment.

This was what it meant to be hunted.

“You okay?” Grant asked.