I climb onto the back step as the truck lurches forward, one hand gripping the rail, the other still on my weapon.
Olivia is crouched among the children, staring at me.
Not with anger this time.
Not only anger, anyway.
Something else has joined it now.
Recognition maybe.
Or shock.
Or the first unwilling flicker of the same thing punching through my own chest.
I don’t know.
I just know that when the truck tears into the dark, with war at our backs and half a miracle in the bed behind us, I can still feel the imprint of her against me.
And I have the sudden, unwelcome feeling that rescuing Olivia Taylor might be the least dangerous thing about her.
4
Russ
The truck tore across the desert road hard enough to rattle teeth.
Metal groaned beneath my boots as we hit another rut. The tailgate slammed against its hinges. Dust rolled through the open bed in thick clouds, coating my tongue with grit.
Lucas pushed the engine harder.
Too hard.
But slowing down wasn’t an option.
I twisted at the waist and looked back down the road.
Headlights.
Two sets.
No—
Three.
They cut through the dark fast and straight, eating up the distance behind us.
“They’re gaining,” I growled.
I braced against the side rail, lifted my rifle, and squeezed off two rounds.
The muzzle flash lit the darkness for half a second.
One windshield exploded.
Glass sprayed into the air.
The vehicle swerved—
