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Cormac,

I can't let you do this. You're trying to take the blame for a fire I started, and I won't let you spend the rest of your life behind bars because you cared about me. You have to get back to Chicago. You have to reach Declan and protect your men.

I'm calling Reyes and pulling them north to come after me. By the time they realize what's happening, you'll have had time to disappear.

Please don't follow me. Run.

I stare at the paper. The words I love you rise up in my chest, and my vision blurs with hot tears.

I don't write them. Putting it on paper won't help. It will only make him hesitate, make him come after me with that stubborn, furious loyalty that got him into this mess in the first place. He needs to think clearly. He needs to be the cold, ruthless enforcer who survives.

I lay the note flat on top of his wallet on the nightstand, right beside the lamp. I pull on my boots, lace them tightly, and slip into my cardigan. I grab the burner phone and take one last look at him before I slip out the door.

The lock clicks shut with a soft, final snap.

Outside, it's cold and foggy. I walk quickly to the far side of the building where the sound of my voice won't carry toward our room. My fingers are stiff from the cold as I peel the plastic wrapper off the burner, punch in the activation code, and wait for the signal bars to illuminate the cheap screen. I know the number by heart.

I dial. It rings once. Twice. "Reyes," she answers, her voice crisp and wide awake.

"It's Oksana," I say. My voice shakes for a fraction of a second, but I bite the inside of my cheek, grounding myself. "I'm alone."

I can hear the rustle of papers, the click of a pen, the sudden background shift of someone moving quickly. "Where are you?" Reyes demands, the sharp edge in her voice snapping into place instantly.

I give her a landmark that I can walk to. "I slipped out while he was passed out."

"Where is Cormac?"

"He's at a hunting cabin near where our car crashed, but he's injured," I say, feeding her just enough truth to make the lie believable. "His shoulder is torn open from the crash. He can barely move without bleeding through his bandages. If you want him without a shootout, and if you want the documentation, you meet me at the rest stop I gave you."

"Do you have the photos of the files from his laptop?" Reyes asks, her tone sharpening.

"I have everything you asked for," I lie. The FBI isn't getting those files.

"Thirty minutes," Reyes snaps. The call ends.

I drop the phone into my pocket and start walking toward where I told her to meet me. I'm hungry and nauseous, and I feel worse with every mile I walk. He's going to wake up and find the note, I think. He's going to know I ran.

He'll think I betrayed him again. He'll think I ran back to the feds. Let him think it, a quiet, agonizing voice whispers inside me. If it keeps him alive, let him hate you.

—

There's hardly anyone at the rest stop. I sit out front, watching for Reyes, pressing my hand against my stomach. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, little one. I'm doing this to save your father.

Ten minutes later, headlights slice through the fog. A black Ford Explorer pulls into the rest stop, its tires crunching. The doors open simultaneously.

Special Agent Reyes steps out from the driver's side, wearing a heavy dark raincoat over civilian clothes, her eyes scanning the perimeter before locking onto me. From the passenger side, Agent Brennan emerges, his hand resting casually inside his jacket where I know his gun is holstered.

"Oksana," Reyes says as she approaches, her boots hard against the wet asphalt. She stops six feet away, looking me up and down. Her gaze catches the dark circles under my eyes, the dirt on my jeans. "You look like you've been through a meat grinder."

"I was in a car wreck," I say, keeping my chin lifted, forcing my spine to stay straight despite the trembling in my knees.

Brennan looks impatient. "Where is he?"

"I told you," I say, looking directly at Reyes. "He's at the cabin."

"We had agents sweep the area where your car crashed after you called," Brennan snaps. "There's no one out there."

My stomach drops, but I don't let my expression flicker. "He must have left, then," I say tightly. "Maybe he's looking for me. He'll come back."