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The threat slowly became another ghost. Except Anton Markovic was released four months ago. I stare at the update attached to the file.

A conviction overturned because of compromised evidence. Extradition proceedings delayed. Current location unknown.

I check Viktor Sava’s status. Unknown. Last confirmed sighting: three years ago in Montenegro. Not anymore.

He was at the Covered Bridge Market. He was reaching for Sophie. This isn’t ransom. It’s retaliation.

Markovic used his daughter as a shield, and she died in the crossfire. In his mind, Doug took his child from him. Now he intends to take Doug’s.

The cabin seems to tilt around me. I return to the security monitor and pull up the western road camera. Static. I switch to the highway feed. Static. My network has been taken down.

“No.” My voice sounds raw inside the empty cabin.

I try Doug’s number. The call fails. I try Sophie. Nothing.

Doug told me he would kill me if I followed them. He meant it. That doesn’t matter now.

I close the laptop and shove the drive into my pocket. Then I retrieve the rifle from the wall, check the magazine, and secure it behind the seat of my truck.

My hands remain steady. Inside, I’m tearing apart.

Sophie believes her father’s hatred matters more than what exists between us. Doug believes I invented the danger to keep her close. Both of them are wrong. None of it matters if Markovic reaches them first. Or worse, what if he already has them?

I take one final look at the cabin. Hours ago, I promised I wouldn’t follow. I’m about to break that promise. If Doug sees me, he may shoot. If Sophie sees me, she may believe I never intended to let her go. I’ll accept both risks.

Seven years ago, Anton Markovic placed his daughter between himself and a bullet. Now he is coming for Sophie to settle the debt.

I climb into my truck and start the engine. Doug can hate me. Sophie can hate me. They only have to stay alive long enough to do it.

CHAPTER

NINE

SOPHIE

The rope cuts into my wrists every time I move. I stopped struggling minutes ago, but my hands still throb behind the wooden chair. Another length of rope binds my ankles together. A strip of cloth has been pulled between my lips and knotted so tightly behind my head that my jaw aches.

I can’t call for help. I can barely breathe. All I can do is watch the man with the scar punch my father again. His fist crashes into Dad’s cheek.

The chair tips sideways before one of the other men catches it and slams all four legs back onto the concrete floor. A broken sound tears from my throat. Dad’s head hangs forward. Blood pours from his nose and runs over his lips, dripping onto the front of his shirt.

“Sophie,” he rasps.

The scarred man grabs his hair and jerks his face upward. “Don’t speak to her.”

He strikes him again. Dad’s head snaps back.

I scream behind the gag. The sound comes out muffled and useless, trapped between my teeth and the filthy cloth.

The scarred man looks at me. Recognition passes through his cold eyes. I saw him at the Covered Bridge Market. He was the man who stepped into my path after I jumped out of Samuel’s truck. He smiled as if he only wanted to ask me a question while his hand reached beneath his coat.

Samuel saw the gun. Samuel saw all of them. He was telling the truth. The realization comes too late to help us.

Dad and I never made it home. We were less than ten miles from Samuel’s cabin when a fallen tree blocked the mountain road. Dad got out to inspect it. A black sedan came around the curve behind us.

The next few seconds exist only in pieces. A gun pressed against my window. Dad reaching for his weapon. A sharp blow to the back of his head. A hood pulled over mine.

Now we’re trapped inside our house. I don’t know how long we’ve been here. I don’t know if anyone knows to look for us, let alone that we’re here.