Page 24

Dawson broke nearly every driving law I could think of on his way out of town while I held on to the oh-shit bar like my life depended on it. There was an irony in there somewhere I couldn’t quite flesh out, but it didn’t really matter. Dawson was worried, and that was all I cared about.

I didn’t remember much about the ride, but it seemed like not long after we fled Jasperville when we turned down the old quarry road on the outskirts of Columbus. It was late by that point, and the moon hung low in the sky to light the way, but I didn’t see any signs of life until we were all the way past a dilapidated building out behind the quarry. Two cars were tucked in close to it, and Wilson was nowhere to be seen.

“Striker is here,” I said, recognizing his vehicle instantly. “Did Wilson bring him into the fold?”

“He didn’t say as much, but there’s been a lot going on in the past few hours.”

“That’s an understatement.”

“Wilson knows how much Striker cares about you and your father, and he also knows that I can’t run detail twenty-four- seven, as much as I’d like to think I can. We’re going to need someone else we can trust to pull this off.”

“What about his mob connections?”

He gave me a sideward glance. “I think, given that his two contacts are both dead and half the family has been arrested, Striker isn’t Vollero’s top priority at the moment.” I let my gaze drift out the passenger window as he backed into a spot near the other cars and put it in park. “They'll be around back,” Dawson explained without me saying a word. “They wouldn’t risk being out in the open, just in case.”

“Do you think we were followed?” I asked, the thought not having occurred to me until that very moment.

He shook his head. “I’ve been watching the whole way here. Nothing was tailing us, but that’s not the only way to track us. They’re just being vigilant.” Before he got out of the car, he pulled his gun from its holster and did a quick once-over to make sure everything was in working order. Then he reached over and popped open the glove compartment to reveal extra ammo.

“Umm…is this a meeting or the OK Corral?”

“If I’ve learned anything about the AD, it’s that he’s usually one step ahead, so if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to bring my extra clips with me so I can do my job and protect you if it comes to that.”

“And I appreciate that,” I said, opening the car door. “Let’s just hope you don’t have to.”

With that in mind, I climbed out of the car. The sweats and hoodie I’d awkwardly changed into on the drive there were a much better choice than the ball gown, especially when a blast of cold air assaulted me. I buried my face in my jacket and followed Dawson as he led the way around the collapsed building. I tried to ignore how his hand hovered over his gun as we rounded the corner.

A labyrinth of gravel piles extended into the distance, and I could barely make out two silhouettes standing between two of them. Wilson and Striker stood close together, their shoulders tight and their heads on swivels, scanning the area like good little feds. A dash of paranoia was healthy, especially given the circumstances.

Their eyes locked on Dawson and me as we walked toward them.

“Were you followed?” Striker asked quickly.

“Were you ?”

“I took a circuitous route here to make sure I wasn’t followed.”

“Same.”

“Then I guess we’re all clear,” Wilson replied, taking control of the situation. “Now, I’m sure Agent Dawson has gone over the basics with you, Kylene, so I won’t bother to repeat them, but as of right now, you are to have zero contact with anyone you know.”

“I understand.”

“In light of that detail, I’ll need your phone,” he said, extending his hand toward me. “Don’t panic. You’ll get it back when this is all over.” I reached into my back pocket and handed over my life to him. Then he turned to Dawson. “Given how close you’ve been to this case, and the AD’s knowledge of your relationship to both it and Kylene, I’m taking yours as well and issuing you one that can only be used to contact myself or Agent Striker. Make no mistake, Agent Dawson, your life is likely in just as much danger as hers.” Dawson looked as though he wanted to argue, then thought better of it. Instead, he produced his phone and looked on as his boss quickly disabled them both and removed their SIM cards. Then he handed him two burners. “Now that we’ve ripped off that final Band-Aid, let’s go over how this is going to work.” He listed off logistics that seemed far more pertinent to Dawson than me, but I forced myself to listen for the simple reason that my life might depend on them.

No big deal.

“You have to be under constant watch,” Striker said, staring at me with earnest eyes.

“But surely you and Dawson can’t do that alone,” I argued. “I mean, you’re top-notch and all, but not bionic.”

“The two of them should be able to do the job for as long as necessary, unless you’d like to take a chance on looping someone else in on this detail.” The fear that clearly showed on my face at the thought, combined with Dawson’s sour expression, were answer enough to Wilson’s question. “Now that I’m up to speed on everything that’s happened, I’ll be able to investigate while they keep you protected.”

“How long can that even go on?” I asked, the logistics of the situation finally registering. “I mean…my family, school, my friends—”

“Are insignificant at the moment,” Wilson cut in.

“What about my dad? Do you know if he’s okay?”

“From what I understand, he’s alive and in solitary for now, until they can figure out exactly what went down.”

“It sounds bad,” Striker said gently, “but it will keep him away from anyone who might be angling for retribution of any sort.”

It was my turn to let out a breath. “Okay.”

“I know this is a lot to take in, Kylene,” Agent Wilson said with a sympathetic smile. “Did your grandfather take the news okay?”

“As well as he could. He’s a tough old bastard, but he’s still a big softie. My mom, though…she was a mess.”

Wilson’s features scrunched with confusion. “Your mother? I thought she was in California?”

“She was. She came back to see me because she was worried.”

“And rightfully so,” Striker replied.

“The AD forced her away and kept my father silent by threatening me. She only told me because…” I cut myself off, choking on the truth that was so difficult to swallow, “...she thought she might not see me again.” Dawson’s hand fell gently on the small of my back to anchor me. “And my father told me everything, too. I know what happened in the warehouse that night. And once you catch the AD, you and Dad can bring that motherfucker down with the truth.”

Conviction flared in Striker’s eyes. “We will.”

“Well, you won’t be seeing anyone again if we don’t get you squirreled away somewhere safe,” Agent Wilson said, refocusing the group. “Shall we?” He gestured toward the building behind which we’d parked, and the group started back in that direction. “How is your mother doing?” he asked as we walked. “I haven’t seen her since the trial.”

“She’s good, I guess. We didn’t get much time together, but that was on me. Hopefully, all this will be over soon and I can make it up to her.”

“Second chances are so rare,” he mused as his gaze drifted to Dawson and Striker walking in front of us. “But, per your own admission the other day, you already understand that.”

“Ah yes, my dwindling nine lives,” I said, smiling at the reference. “I guess I do understand.”

“That must be your pageant-winning smile,” he said, as we neared the building. He looked back over his shoulder as he lengthened his stride to catch up with the other two. “It looks so much like your mother’s.”

A strange warning niggled at the back of my mind. “Do you frequent a lot of pageants, or just ones where the mob tries to kill contestants?”

“I’ve been to a few in my time. They were big where I grew up.”

“And where’s that?”

“Wilton.”

Wilton … the town next to Jasperville. The one that Luke the lawyer was from…

I fought to keep the rising panic I felt from my expression and my voice. “And then the FBI took you up to Columbus?”

He smiled down at me like the devil himself. “It did—but not right away. I worked back east for years. In New Jersey, to be exact.” Every ounce of blood in my face drained in that split second. “You look pale, Kylene,” he said, leaning in close. “Are you feeling all right?”

Dawson took one look over his shoulder at me and was at my side in a second. Wilson took a step back to allow him space while I looked on, paralyzed by disbelief and fear and the realization of what was happening.

The AD’s cat and mouse game had come to a head.

And we’d walked right into his trap.

“Danners? Danners, what’s wrong?”

“It’s you,” I whispered as my wide eyes stared right past him at Special Agent in Charge Wilson.

“Clever like your mother, too…”

“What’s going on?” Striker asked just before Wilson’s gun exploded and warm blood peppered the air, spraying the front of my clothes. Striker’s empty eyes stared at me as his body fell to the ground in slow motion. A scream welled in my throat but never escaped, too choked off by the terror flooding my body. And when I dragged my attention to Wilson and the weapon he’d just used to execute my father’s partner, I found it pointed at me.

“NO!” Dawson shouted as he dropped his shoulder to drive me out of the line of fire.

The gun fired again as I disappeared behind a mound of gravel. I heard a grunt before the sharp pop of more gunfire filled the air. Dawson collapsed on top of me, then shot to his feet again, weapon drawn.

“I wondered if you’d figure it out eventually,” Wilson shouted from the far side of the pile. “If I’m being honest, I’m a little disappointed it took this long.”

“Kylene,” Dawson whispered, “I need you to listen to me. I’m going to cover you, and you’re going to bolt for the car. Got it?” He reached behind his back and handed me a handgun—a smaller, easier to conceal one than his standard issue. “I’m going to cover you, and you’re going to run.”

“What about you?”

He looked back at me for a split second, steely hazel eyes filled with resignation. “Don’t worry about me.”

“There’s nowhere to go,” Wilson taunted from around the gravel mound.

Dawson reached back with his free hand and squeezed mine. “When I say run, you run and don’t look back, understand?”

I shook my head, tears welling in my eyes. “I can’t—”

“You can and you will because you have to get out of here. Go to the media. Tell them everything. They’re your best shot. Everyone else is compromised…or dead.”

“She’ll never survive this, with or without you, Agent Dawson. You’re no good to her now—you shot and killed a federal agent. One call and the entire law enforcement community of Ohio will be hunting you. There’s nowhere for you to hide.”

“Get ready,” Dawson whispered. “On three. One…two…”

He tucked and rolled out from behind the mound into a crouch, then fired. But I didn’t run.

I couldn’t.

Wilson’s groan filled the air but he returned fire nonetheless. Dawson dove back behind the pile and grabbed me by my jacket to haul me into him.

“Run!” he shouted as bullets bit into the gravel near our heads. He grabbed my hand and dragged me around the far side of the mound and out into the open space we’d need to cross to reach the car. Dawson fired blindly behind us as Wilson’s shots whizzed past our heads.

“Almost there,” Dawson ground out as we neared his car. Bullets ricocheted off the vehicles, and I sheltered my head with my arms as though that would be enough to stop one from piercing my skull.

The two of us launched ourselves into his car, and he peeled out down the dirt road at a manic pace, shots pinging off the car until we were well out of range.

Dawson was all orders and logistics from that point on, while I just sat there, stunned into silence. Striker was dead, and the evidence of his murder was splattered all over my clothes. Panic writhed beneath my skin, making me itch and burn. “I have to get it off of me,” I said as I tugged at the bloodstained sweats. “Get it off of me!”

Like a wild animal, I ripped the sweatshirt off, fighting against the seatbelt as I did, and threw it into the back seat. The pants weren’t far behind. But that wasn’t enough. That sickening feeling of being covered in blood still reverberated through me, and I rubbed at my bare legs as I sat in the passenger seat in my underwear and a tee, choking back the sobs that my tightened throat could not let loose.

“Danners,” Dawson bit out as he stole a look at me while navigating the darkness. “Danners, look at me.”

“He’s dead,” I mumbled as I rocked in the seat, a breakdown imminent. “Striker’s dead…”

A hand reached over and stilled my own against my thigh. “He is, and I’m sorry. I cared about him too. But what would he say to you right now if he were here and I was gone?”

My rocking stopped as a cold, numb feeling washed over me. “He’d say I need to focus,” I whispered.

“Yes, he would.”

“He’d tell me to think about my family—Dad. Gramps. Mom. Anything that would keep me pushing forward.”

“Exactly.” His hand gripped mine tighter, and he winced a bit from the movement. “We need to keep pushing. We will have time to grieve and process later. Right now, we have to survive. Can you do that? For me? Because I need you, Kylene. I need my partner…”

There was something in the firm yet caring tone of his voice that managed to plow through the weight of emotions bearing down on me and yank me out. I exhaled hard, wiped my face, and pulled my shit together—if only for a little while.

“What do you need me to do?”

“You can start by putting some pants on.”

Oh .

I grabbed more pants out of the duffel in the back seat and wriggled them on.

“Good. Now, we won’t have long before there’s an APB out on my vehicle,” he said, grimacing again as he took a sharp turn onto a state road. “I have a friend in Lancaster who’s out of town. If we can make it there, we can hole up and regroup before we make our next move, but we won’t have long. Wilson could have a tracker on my vehicle—or those phones he gave us.” He fished them out of his pocket and turned them off. “I wouldn’t put anything past him at this point.”

As we drove under a well-lit section of road, I spotted a blossoming bloodstain on his shirt, and whatever panic I’d managed to stuff down came boiling back up in a heartbeat. “You’re hit—”

“I’m fine. The bullet just grazed me—”

“That’s a lot of blood for a flesh wound, Dawson. You need a hospital—”

“Not an option. Gunshot wounds in the ER equal cops, Danners.”

And cops meant we’d be as good as dead, one way or another.

Shit .

With shaky hands, I grabbed the hem of my t-shirt. It was threadbare enough that I could get a rip started, and with some effort, I was able to tear a strip off. While Dawson drove, I tried to wriggle his arm out of his jacket to see just how bad his ‘it’s fine’ wound was. He fought me at first, but as soon as my finger found the hole in his sleeve, the jig was up.

“That’s a bullet hole, Dawson,” I muttered under my breath.

“Tie that bandage over the outside and cinch it tight to staunch the bleeding, but not too tight. I don’t want to lose circulation.”

His mansplaining managed to penetrate my shock, and I couldn’t help but wonder if that was why he’d done it. “I know first aid, hotshot. Tourniquets are always a last resort, and best used when you know proper medical attention is forthcoming, which is apparently not the case here.”

Not when you’re officially on the lam.

“Exactly.”

“Does it hurt?”

“It doesn’t feel amazing.”

“What can I do?”

“Stop asking me questions and let me focus on getting us off the road.”

“How long before we get there?” I asked, wiping the blood from his wound on my pants.

He shot me a sideward glare at my inability to listen, and I felt a bit of relief at his irritation. If he had enough energy to be irritated, then he wasn’t about to die.

Hopefully.

“Maybe twenty minutes. I’m hoping Wilson hasn’t had time to get checkpoints put up. If he has, things are going to get interesting fast.”

“They’ve been interesting enough.” I sat back in my seat and closed my eyes, but the image of Striker’s empty stare flooded my mind and I couldn’t push it aside. I wondered if I ever would. “Dawson,” I said softly, “what are we going to do?”

“I don’t know,” was his only response for a solid minute before a curse that sounded like it started from the depths of his soul ripped through the car as he slammed the wheel with the palm of his good hand. His outburst shocked me out of the spiral I was headed for, and I turned to see absolute rage and anguish twisting his features in the dim light of the car. “I should have seen this coming.” His voice was hoarse and low and so full of regret that my heart ached even more. “I should have known—”

“ How ? How could you have known?” I replied, leaning toward him slightly. “This isn’t your fault.”

“The fuck it isn’t.” The way he scoffed his reply truly scared me. I’d seen so many sides of Dawson in the months I’d known him: the haughty, intelligent, and resourceful fed. The compassionate, understanding, and apologetic man. But this acerbic, jaded shell staring out the windshield had me shaken in a way I couldn't describe. He’d always been the foundation upon which I’d built my confidence when it came to the AD—and it was crumbling by the second. If it eroded, I’d plummet into the dark abyss. “Wilson had access to information and resources no one else did. He knew about the raids on the east coast…about Dean’s progress with Barratta and the others…”

“But he had no motive,” I argued. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“None that we know of,” he countered, “but it’ll come down to power, money, or jealousy. Take your pick.”

The harsh cut of his jaw flexed as he punished himself for missing what hadn’t been there to be missed in the first place, and I felt more helpless than ever. His adrenaline rush would wear off soon, and his anger would fade along with it, leaving him weak and vulnerable in mind and body both. And I wasn’t sure I could be strong enough for both of us this time like he had so many times for me. Agent Wilson had shot another agent at point-blank range with two witnesses and shown zero remorse or fear of consequences. He’d been twenty steps ahead of us on the chessboard before we’d even sat down to play, and I was afraid that, without Dawson on his A-game, we’d lose for sure.

“Do you think Reider was on to Wilson? Is that what was in the file he wanted to give my father before he was killed?”

“Yes. I do. And I think Wilson used whatever connection he has to the Vollero family to take care of it.”

“He came to my house that night,” I said as I sank down into my seat, my mind wandering backward. “He looked so normal , almost apologetic that he had to bring my father in…”

“He was the one that delivered the news of Reider’s death to me. He came over to my house early that morning; I’d just gotten up and was eating breakfast. He stood in my foyer and told me that your father had killed him because Reider found out about your dad ignoring evidence in cases against the mob.” The slight break in his voice had me reaching across the console to rest my hand on his forearm. I gave it a little squeeze, as he had mine so many times before, in an attempt to reassure him. To say that I was there. That I was listening. That I cared.

Could I take away his pain? No . But in that gentle moment, I could be to him what he’d always been to me. My rock.

“And we’re going to make him pay for that, Dawson. For Reider. For my dad…for Striker. This isn’t over yet.” I squeezed a little harder. “I need you to remember that. Please . If not for you, then for me.” He dared a glance at me, and I watched as the bleary eyes of the boy who’d lost his mentor—his father figure—slowly bled to the hardened-before-his-time agent hell-bent on justice. I’d never been happier to see that expression in my life. “There it is…” I said, smiling at him as he had at me back at the sheriff’s department when I’d found the steel within.

His hand flexed against the steering wheel, and he turned his attention back to the quiet road ahead.

“We’re not far now,” he said, that slightly demanding hotshot tone I used to loathe back in evidence. “You should get some rest.”

“Says the guy who’s actively bleeding from a gunshot wound—NOT a graze. If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather stay awake and make sure you don’t pass out while operating a motor vehicle. I’ll rest once we’re in a different car and have some semblance of a plan in place.”

“The plan is you’re going to raid his bathroom for something to clean my arm with, then his fridge and pantry for food and water. I’ll be ransacking his room for guns. Thankfully for us, he’s not a very responsible firearms owner.”

“Okay. I can do that.”

“Grab anything else you think we might need,” he added as he dipped down a wooded side road. “It might be a while before we can procure more supplies.”

I made a mental list and ran it over and over in my mind to help drown out any other thoughts threatening to creep in. A couple minutes later, we pulled down a straight, gravel driveway toward a plain, ranch-style home with a large, sweeping property. A motion light activated when we pulled up, which startled me, but I rallied as Dawson drove the car through the grass and around the back. Together, we ran up to the back door, and with the help of a hidden key, made our way inside.

“No lights,” he said as we stood there in the darkness for a moment, letting our eyes adjust. “Grab whatever you can as fast as you can.”

With a nod, I headed down the hallway to where I knew the bathroom would be. The floor plan was basically like Gramps’, which made navigating the place easier. The nightlight illuminated the space just enough for me to raid the medicine cabinet for supplies, but there was nothing there other than mouthwash, hemorrhoid cream, and some gauze pads. I snatched the pads before ransacking the vanity drawers, which didn’t yield much else.

Stuffing the box into my pocket, I ran to the kitchen, which was darker than pitch, and tried to get my bearings. Not wanting to break the ‘no lights’ rule but needing to move as quickly as possible, I settled for turning the hood light on low so I could at least see a little. I quickly snagged grocery bags from under the sink, then moved to the pantry.

It was more underwhelmingly stocked than the bathroom. “Fucking bachelor,” I muttered as I rifled through its paltry contents. All it held was snacks and no substance. And the fridge was no better, unless condiments counted. It was a veritable treasure trove of those.

I was able to find a couple gallons of distilled water, however, so not all was lost.

“How you doing, Danners?”

“Good,” I replied, turning out the hood light in the kitchen. “I think we should try to clean your wound quickly before we go—”

“Shhhhh,” he said, rounding the corner as he tucked a handgun behind his back and stuffed another clip in his pocket. He stopped dead and tilted his head like he was listening for something. “Shit,” he said, rushing toward the door. “We’ve gotta go. Now .”

He grabbed the bags I'd thrown together and hurried into the attached garage, where his friend’s truck sat waiting to be ‘borrowed’. In the bright light of the truck’s interior, I could see just how pale Dawson looked—and how much blood had soaked my makeshift bandage. Sweat dampened his brow as he tried to fasten his belt.

“Get out,” I ordered as I hopped out of the truck and ran to the other side. “I’m driving.”

“Why?”

“Because you look like you’re going to pass out any second, and I know the back roads of this state better than you do.”

To my surprise, he didn’t argue. Once he was in, I backed the rig out and flew down the driveway to the bumpy side road, headed for the state route we’d taken there. Sirens cut through the night, and fear snaked up my spine. I pulled my hood up high and tucked my light blonde hair under it. They were looking for us in Dawson’s sedan, not a massive pickup. All I had to do was get far enough away to buy us time.

I had an idea for where we could go. I just needed to get us there.

I screeched to a stop at the sign and looked to my left, where red and blue lights flashed through the trees. Easing the truck onto the road, I turned right away from the cops and made sure to go the speed limit so as not to arouse suspicion. Dawson twisted his body to look over his shoulder at the parade of cruisers turning off on his buddy’s road.

The second the final one disappeared from sight, I hammered the gas and wound through the hills as fast as I could, headed toward the outskirts of the Wayne National Forest. I’d practically grown up hiking and fishing in that part of the state. Gramps had a camper on a friend’s property not far from there, and I knew exactly how to get there.

Dawson rested his head back against the headrest and let out a sigh.

“I have a plan,” I said. He didn’t move as I relayed it to him, and the nerves I’d managed to stuff down came flying back to the surface in a blink. “ Dawson ?”

“Hmm?” he mumbled in response.

“I called you a fucking halfwit!” I shouted at him in an attempt to jar him awake. “I was wondering what your thoughts on that were.”

“I think you should try saying that to me when I haven’t been shot.”

“A little fuck around and find out…I could go for that,” I said with a nervous laugh.

“So where are you taking me, Danners?”

“Somewhere off grid. We should be safe there, I think.”

“Always so resourceful,” he said in a sleepy voice. “How does she do it, folks?”

“Tell me that’s sarcasm and not you hallucinating. Please.”

He smiled a little, and I breathed a sigh of relief. “You just worry about driving. I’ll worry about staying alive.”

“I can do both. Multitasking is a core skill of mine.”

“You should have used that as your talent in the state pageant…maybe you would have won.”

I laughed at his dark humor. “I don’t think Muay Thai is what kept me from the crown, Dawson. Pretty sure it was the mob hitman who tried to throw me off the roof.”

“Yeah, that’s possible...”

“You remember him, right? The dark-haired tank that did chuck you over?”

“Huh. Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“ Doesn’t ring a bell ,” I scoffed as I turned onto a back road that would shave time off our trip. “I like that we can joke about this stuff now. Feels healthy. Dr. Chin would be proud.”

“I think she’d call this trauma bonding.”

“Sounds about right. I’ll check with her if I survive long enough to see her again.”

“I’d tell you to Google it, but…”

I chuckled to myself as his voice drifted off. Silence fell upon us once again, taking the brief moment of levity along with it. The second it disappeared, those feelings I’d locked away deep inside began to stir.

“Tell me about Quantico,” I said, drawing him into conversation, if for no other reason than to make sure he wasn’t falling into a coma next to me.

“Why? You thinking of going?”

“Maybe. Or maybe I just want to hear about the life of a top-of-his-class graduate. I’m sure it was riveting.”

“Be careful what you ask for, Danners. Once you hear some of this, there’s no going back.”

“Big talk for a guy who wears chinos to work and drives a reliable vehicle. I bet your gas gauge never goes below the halfway mark.”

“Not if I can help it.”

I rolled my eyes and prepared a number of scathing retorts, but to my surprise, he actually acquiesced and began to tell me about his time at Quantico as we drove through the backwoods of the Appalachian foothills and into an uncertain future.

But we were alive, and in that moment, that was all that mattered.