Page 17 of Burning Justice (Chasing Fire: Alaska #6)

Nine

At the end of the empty hallway, she found a door. Maria didn’t look back. She would see the man lying on the floor with pliers sticking out of his… Don’t think about that.

She tucked her right hand against her body, holding her arm, and stepped into a sort of mud room. A heavy coat hung on a hook, so she slipped her arms into it, ignoring the pain. Breathing through gritted teeth.

Trying not to pass out.

They would realize soon enough that she’d escaped. Only God knew if she’d manage to get out the door and away from here to a place where she was safe.

Help me. Don’t help me. Either way, I’m not staying here.

She used her off hand for the handle, and a rush of cool air from outside brushed her hair back from her face. Even that hurt. But she wasn’t going to think about it.

She hadn’t said anything.

He’d tried what he’d tried. When she’d grown exhausted, or so he’d thought—though, she’d only been slightly pretending, most of her reactions truthful—eventually he’d decided to give her a break. He’d told her he would come back later for round two.

Cue, escape.

Maria stumbled off the back step and headed for the trees, not the outbuilding. Run. It didn’t matter how far she had to go or how long she would have to run. She would run all the way back to base camp if it came to it.

Hopefully it wouldn’t.

Trees surrounded this homestead on all sides she could see. There had to be a fire road or some other kind of access, given they’d driven in. She remembered that much through her haze of semiconsciousness from the ride over after the bus crash.

Finding the road was the worst idea.

But then, if Kane was coming…so was leaving the house.

She ran anyway, until she stumbled and had to slow. Maria leaned against a tree and looked down at her mangled, broken fingers. The indent where the tracker ring should be.

He’d been interested in it and had cut it off her. Probably why he’d opted to give her a break—so he could show it to the others.

“Go.” Don’t think. If she stopped long enough for her thoughts to catch up, she would be lying in a ball in the dirt, crying.

Not a lifesaving tactic, even if sometimes it was necessary.

Later.

Shouts erupted behind her, back at the cabin.

Maria pushed off the tree and kept going, thinking about her stride. Her breaths. The angle of her hips and how her foot snapped forward again after she kicked it back. The kind of control that got a person through the stall to the end of a marathon.

Through the point where they felt as if they couldn’t continue.

She hugged the coat against herself and just ran. “Don’t stop.” She needed the encouragement, even if it was only from herself.

In her mind, she imagined Kane beside her, urging her on the way he did in training. The way they all did. Cheering each other on with encouragements until things got dire and the encouragement became an order from a superior.

Don’t quit.

You quit and people die. Are you gonna let that happen?

They’d been military trained. She’d been CIA trained. It was always life or death for them, and that was what it felt like for people who were about to lose everything because of a wildfire.

Maria stumbled and her elbow hit the ground first. Blinding white-hot pain sprang from her fingers up her arm. She pushed off with her other hand and stood, glancing over her shoulder.

Too far back to see her pursuers, but they were there.

Chasing her.

She had no clue what this terrain was like, but some of those militia guys had dogs. Elias wouldn’t quit until he had her in his grasp again.

She couldn’t hide and wait it out, even if the sky wouldn’t darken for a few hours yet. It was far better to risk the dangers of the backcountry and keep going.

Don’t stop.

This family doesn’t quit.

A twig snapped to her left.

Maria spotted a black mass between the trees but wasn’t going to slow down enough to meet that creature. She angled to the right, away from it. Ignore me. Everything’s fine. She kept running.

Her head swam.

She sucked in some cleansing breaths.

A river would be nice. Except it would probably be ice-cold snow runoff. Even this time of year the water would be freezing. It would feel good, and it would numb her hand. But before long, it would kill her.

No rivers.

She stumbled to the side, and her shoulder glanced off a tree.

She managed to choke back the cry that wanted to escape her lips and grabbed the next trunk with her free hand.

Branches covered with pine needles scratched at her face.

She wove between them, praying she disappeared into the darkness of the close-growing vegetation.

At least another half a mile she picked her way slowly in erratic directions.

The landscape started to slope down, hopefully bringing her to a valley. One with a busy highway or an airport. She would even settle for train tracks. Not that she could jump on a moving freight car right now.

Dirt beneath her boot moved with her, and she surfed for a second. Maria held her arms tight to her front, resisting the urge to windmill them and keep her balance.

Her knee hit the dirt, and she waited a second, then pushed back up. Almost didn’t make it. She was losing strength. Losing the wherewithal to keep going.

Run.

Or hide.

Like in that opening, the one that looked like a lifeline. Not like a bear cave. God, I don’t want to get mauled. Or captured.

She needed rescue, but that would take a miracle.

Maria ducked her head. The cave was only an overhang with heavy growth on both sides. She sank to the ground, breathing hard, pain reverberating in every inch of her body. She turned, knowing she was going to hit the ground. Her shoulder landed in the dirt.

All her strength seemed to seep into the dirt beneath her feet.

Still, she could hear Kane yelling in her ear.

Maria gritted her teeth. “I can’t do it.”

She didn’t have any more strength. This was it, the place where they’d find her. The spot where she would either die or be captured again for more questioning.

She shifted enough she could hold her arms in front of her, trying to lessen the pain at least a little. But it didn’t. It never had. Not since she’d seen her mother die and her father taken from her.

She lay there, breathing hard. Her pulse throbbing in her temples.

Tears slid from her eyes, but crying just made her hurt more. She didn’t want that. She didn’t want to shed tears for that man. She shouldn’t cry for her father. Not after he had escaped his captors and hadn’t come looking for her.

She’d spent years looking for him. Training. Working missions. Going to the farthest, darkest corners of the world. Constantly trying to convince people he wasn’t evil. That he hadn’t turned on this country. He was a victim.

Maria had spent her life trying to rescue her father.

Now, when he was free, he hadn’t come for her. He’d left her to fend for herself. Probably told those men that she knew the code, making her a target when he’d saved himself.

She looked down at her hands, both the broken one and the other.

At least two of her fingers were bent in ways they shouldn’t be.

Blood coated her palms and fingers, dry now.

The blood of the guy who’d been guarding the door, who would’ve killed her after those others had tortured her—and nearly did before she escaped, leaving him not breathing.

Life or death.

That was the life her father had given her.

Even if not by his own choice, it was by his design that he’d been gone so long, considering he had the power to escape them now and he’d done it.

He’d been on the run for weeks now and hadn’t found her.

Never once even called. He’d just sent her that nothing note and put her in danger. Maybe he didn’t even care.

This was who she had been forced to become. The kind of woman now lying in the dirt, covered in blood, waiting for a miracle that wasn’t going to come.

All of it for a man who didn’t care.

It was after midnight when they stopped their ATVs outside a cabin—a remote homestead that had taken them far too long to reach.

Kane shut off his engine and swung his leg over, going first toward the front door. Gun out. Ready for whatever happened next.

“Itching for a fight.”

Saxon had a point.

“Fine.” He would slow down, ease up, and let them help him. Do this as a team.

Tristan said, “Did that make sense to anyone?”

Crew came up beside Tristan, and thankfully no one came out the front door or started shooting at them from any direction. It gave Kane a second to say, “What?”

Crew said, “You guys talk in shorthand.”

“It’s annoying.” Tristan walked to the right. “I’ll go around back.”

“I’ll go with him.” Saxon jogged after Jamie’s brother.

“I guess we have the front.” Crew crossed the grass toward Kane. “You think his arm is really okay?”

Kane scanned the area. “Three stitches? He’s fine.” Tire grooves in the dirt. Trees too close together and too close to the house, which was the worst way it could be if a wildfire came through this area. “They were here.”

“You think they’re gone?”

“This is where her ring is.” Kane kicked the front door because he needed to let out some of this tension, plus he could keep two hands on his gun and get the door open. Thankfully, it wasn’t wired up to blow, because no one needed that.

Arctic entry, plenty of boots and coats. Skis stacked in the corner, and a snowboard hanging on the wall above his head. A place to don cold-weather gear and then leave the dirt and snow outside before you went into the house.

Inside smelled stuffy and wasn’t all that warm.

Someone had eaten but not cleaned up. The trash overflowed with beer cans and pizza boxes.

Bare wood floors. Wainscoting on the walls.

A couple of seventies-era paintings of mountains and bears on the walls, and one of those mechanical fish that sang—until you got sick of it.

“Living room is clear.”

Saxon met him in the hall and tipped his head toward a door beside where he stood.