A heavy, suffocating silence fills the cab of the truck, broken only by the hum of the tires against the asphalt. I lean my head back against the headrest, my chest aching with every breath.
He hits the brakes, slowing the car as we approach a dirt turn-off, and then smashes the gas. I grip the side of the door as the truck fishtails, kicking up a massive cloud of dust before finding traction.
“I was wrong,” he continues, his voice dropping to a jagged whisper. “I thought you were just here because you felt guilty. I thought that’s all we were. I thought once I got away, I could move on. But…”
He takes his right hand off the wheel and reaches out. His thumb brushes a smudge of ash from my cheek, his touch so gentle it makes my throat instantly tighten.
“I can’t let you go, Rue. I’ll never be able to let you go.”
A fresh tear escapes, cutting a clean track through the dirt on my face. “I love you,” I choke out, unable to hold the truth back anymore.
He grips my hand, his fingers tangling desperately with mine. “I love you, too. And we’re gonna fucking do this together. No more secrets.”
I nod, a profound, terrifying relief flooding my body. “No more secrets.”
Noah shifts his gaze back to the dark, unpaved road stretching out ahead of us. His jaw sets, the protective, lethal edge returning to his profile. “Good. Because Elias is waiting, we have a major obstacle ahead, and we’re officially out of time to do anything but hope for the fucking best.”
61
NOAH
The engineof the stolen truck ticks as it cools, the sound sharp in the oppressive silence of the high desert. I parked behind a cluster of skeletal mesquite trees, miles from the main road.
There is no moon out here. Just a sprawling ocean of black brush and jagged rocks. If Elias decides to put a bullet in us, nobody will find our bodies for a decade.
Come on, Elias. Please don’t fucking ghost us.
Rue sits beside me, her silhouette rigid. The air between us is thick with the scent of smoke and the unspoken weight of what comes next. Her eyes jump to the clock on the dashboard of the truck.
“He’s late,” Rue mumbles, and then looks over to me.
“He’ll be here,” I say, and then shift in the truck seat, the Colt revolver that Rue hid in the bag tucked safely in my waistband. Under normal circumstances, I would question this as the final secret.
But then again, maybe she just forgot about it. Now’s not the time to bring it up.
It’s way more important that we get the fuck out of this country.
I lean back against the seat, closing my eyes for a moment. My ears pick up the scuttle of dry brush, the low moan of the wind through the canyons, and then, finally, I catch it—the crunch of tires on gravel.
My eyes fly open, half expecting it to be the marshals. But lucky for us, it’s just a pair of dim yellow headlights, bouncing as a rusted white van navigates the wash.
Thank God.
It pulls up twenty feet away, the headlights cutting through the darkness to illuminate the side of our truck. The engine dies, but the driver stays behind the glass for a long minute.
“Whatever you do, stay behind me,” I instruct Rue as I slide out of the truck, and she follows suit.
The driver’s door creaks open. A man climbs out—lean, weathered, wearing a denim jacket that’s seen better decades.
This is Elias.I take him in, the guy no taller than Rue. He’s supposed to be our ticket to the shadows of Mexico, a man who asks for cash and offers silence more than likely. But as he walks toward us, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, the hair on the back of my neck stands up.
He isn’t looking at me. He’s looking at Rue. His eyes are bright with a greedy, frantic energy.
“You’re late,” I grit out.
Elias stops ten feet out. He spits a glob of tobacco juice into the dirt. “Roads are crawling with Marshals,Noah. You failed to mention the whole damn country is looking for you—andher.” He pauses, folding his arms across his chest. “And I saidoneperson. I takeoneat a time.”
“Plans change,” I counter. “You take us both across. Tonight.”
