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She grabbed her go bag from where it had slid onto the floor of the truck; pulled it over her back. Every muscle ached and blood dripped down her face. She wiped her nose and winced. Broken nose. Not the first time, she knew exactly how it felt.
She pulled at Grant, and finally he slid over the bench seat and out her door. He fell to his knees, coughing from the airbag powder.
“We have to go.”
“Where?” he gasped, trying to catch his breath.
“Back to the house. Through the woods. It’s two miles as the crow flies. We’ll make it because it’s dark. But he’s coming back, so we need to move fast.”
As if to accent her point, the light from their pursuer’s truck whipped around down the road. Solo light—he’d broken one of his headlamps.
“Okay,” he said. “Okay.”
He followed her, and Regan set a brisk pace. She looked at her watch to get her bearings, mentally thanking her dad for teaching her to not only wear but use the military-grade compass watch. Her muscle memory kicked in as she looked at the small compass on the watch face to make sure she was heading in the right direction.
“We should get help. There’s a house over there.” Grant, panting, pointed up the slope to where a house was nestled among the trees. A porch light was on.
“And bring a killer to their doorstep? No.”
Too many people had died. She wasn’t going to risk a civilian.
She saw the light of the truck turn brighter, as their attacker looked for their retreating forms. Fortunately, the thickly leaved birch and maple trees shielded them.
But she had no doubt that he would pursue.
If he didn’t—if he drove away—she wouldn’t go to the cabin. He might expect them to return. But there was no way he could know this area as well as she did. He hadn’t explored it; he hadn’t walked through the woods, played hide-and-seek, taught his son how to use a compass to find his way home.
Regan had done all of that, and more.
In minutes, she knew she was right. The light went off, but the truck didn’t drive off.
“He’s following on foot,” she told Grant. “We have to move faster.”
“I can’t make it.”
“Yes you can.”
“My head hurts.”
“You’re going to make it. You’re going to follow my lead. You’re the only one who can get justice for Chase.”
He was silent, but he kept up with her fast pace.
She hoped the text Grant sent on her phone went through. That Charlie contacted the authorities and they would find the wreck, track them.
The slope was steeper, and while she could manage it thanks to years of hiking in Flagstaff, Grant was struggling.
Their pursuer was gaining on them.
This wasn’t going to work.
“Okay,” she whispered, “we’re going to backtrack to the road.”
“I can do it,” Grant said, breathless.
She couldn’t use a light, that would make it much easier for them to be tracked.
Just as she turned west, so they could walk around the mountain rather than over it, a voice shouted at them. He was close, but not too close.
