Page 146 of Unruly

“Yeah. At the back of a mile long line, but they’re closing in. I’ve got five, maybe ten, minutes.”

“Katya got a call.”

Of course she did.

“A friend let her know that a guy she was involved with had a hand in getting information about you, and some of your business. She thought Katya would like to know some of it had to do with gunrunning. The girl specifically mentioned you had a trip coming up for Canada, and that you liked using the Limestone and California Settlement border.”

“People don’t know that information, Zeke.”

“Some of the people in Andino’s organization would know, Cross. Consider that it’s a possibility one of them might have been paid a good enough price to hand a bit of information over.”

Shit.

This was what the Russian meant, he realized. This was what Vlad meant when he said plans were already in motion, and his promise to ruin Cross’s family was not over.

The understanding came on swift and dangerous. Like the undertow in a river, it was going to pull him down and drown him all at once.

He wouldn’t be able to fight back.

Cross wet his lips, and took a deep breath. He couldn’t talk because the more important thing for him to do in that moment was think. Plan. Or rather, go through the plans he already had made for this run.

“It’s a heavily forested area,” Cross said out loud. “Twelve miles past the border and into the woods about fifteen minutes, and I’m at a brook. Downstream another fifteen miles is a private cabin.”

“You said dogs.”

“I need to hit water, especially if they’re human-scent trained.”

“They’ll go down the brook, man.”

“Likely,” Cross agreed. “There’s more cabins, though. Mostly unused given the time of the year.”

“Except you’re at the border right now.”

Cross’s gaze darted left.

Trees stared back at him.

A wall of them. Dense, thick, and great to get lost in. He’d gone over maps, scoured Google Images and Maps for trails and more. He knew these woods just in case.

“As long as I get out of this rig, I am home free.”

His gaze drifted to the window again. A few vehicles and one eighteen-wheeler up, the dogs were coming down with their handler.

“Give me an address,” Zeke demanded. “Somewhere to go, Cross.”

He didn’t have one.

None of those shitty little cabins had addresses.

Nothing.

Rain started falling down outside the rig.

It was going to be wet and cold.

“I’ll call you once I’m … somewhere,” Cross settled on saying.

“Cross—”