Running Scared

The tape was small, plastic, and deadly. Claire slipped it into her bra, next to the letter from Lena. She was running out of space to hide the sins of the Vance family, and running out of time to expose them.

"We have to go," Aris said, checking his watch. "If my father knows you're not in the city, he'll track the car."

"He already knows," Claire said. "He knows I'm not at the conference. He knows I'm not at the hotel."

"Then we need to move. Fast."

They left Simon in his exile, surrounded by his ghosts and his whiskey. Claire felt a pang of guilt leaving him there, a broken man in a broken house, but she had her own family to save.

They got back into the sedan. The rain had started again, a relentless downpour that turned the mountain roads into rivers of mud.

Claire drove. Aris navigated.

"Where to?" she asked.

"There's a motel in Kingston," Aris said. "Cash only. No cameras. We can lay low until morning, then figure out how to get to Ohio."

"And then?"

"And then we find Mary Kovac," Aris said. "And we hope she's willing to talk before Arthur gets to her."

Claire gripped the wheel. Arthur. He was always one step ahead. He had the money, the power, the connections.

And he had David.

She glanced in the rearview mirror. The road behind them was empty, a tunnel of black asphalt and wet trees. But she couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.

"Aris," she said. "Check the tracker. The one you put on David's car."

Aris pulled out his phone. He tapped the screen.

"It's still at the marina," he said. " Stationary."

"He didn't take the boat?"

"Maybe he's sleeping," Aris said. "Maybe he's waiting for you."

Or maybe he was at the bottom of the ocean.

Claire pushed the thought away. She couldn't think about that. Not now.

Suddenly, headlights flared in the mirror. High beams. Blindingly bright.

A vehicle was coming up behind them, fast.

"Is that him?" Claire asked, her voice tight.

Aris turned in his seat. "It's an SUV. Black. No plates."

It wasn't the police. It wasn't a local.

It was them.

"Hold on," Claire said.

She slammed her foot on the gas. The sedan surged forward, the tires fighting for grip on the slick road. The SUV matched her speed, closing the distance.

"They're going to ram us," Aris shouted.

The SUV hit their bumper.

The impact jolted Claire forward, the seatbelt biting into her shoulder. The sedan swerved, skidding toward the guardrail. Below, the dark drop into the ravine waited.

Claire fought the wheel, steering into the skid. She regained control just inches from the edge.

"They're trying to run us off the road!" Aris yelled.

"I know!"

The SUV pulled up alongside them. The window rolled down.

A man leaned out. He was holding something. Not a gun.

A tire iron.

He swung.

The glass of the rear passenger window shattered, showering the back seat in diamonds.

Claire screamed. She yanked the wheel to the left, slamming the sedan into the side of the SUV. Metal shrieked against metal. Sparks flew.

The SUV wobbled but held its line. It was heavier, stronger.

"There's a turn coming up," Aris shouted, pointing ahead. "Sharp right. Switchback."

Claire saw the sign. A yellow arrow pointing into the darkness.

"They're too heavy," she said. "They can't make the turn at this speed."

"Do it," Aris said.

Claire kept her foot on the gas. Sixty. Seventy. The SUV stayed with them, the driver confident, aggressive.

They reached the curve.

At the last possible second, Claire slammed on the brakes and ripped the emergency brake.

The sedan spun. A 180-degree turn on the wet asphalt. The world became a blur of trees and rain and headlights.

The SUV didn't brake. The driver realized too late what was happening. He tried to turn, but the momentum carried him forward.

The SUV smashed through the wooden guardrail. It hung in the air for a second, headlights illuminating the void, before plunging into the ravine.

The crash was a series of sickening crunches, fading into silence.

Claire sat in the sedan, breathing hard. Her car was facing the wrong way, the engine stalled, the back window gone. But they were alive.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Aris nodded, his face pale. "I think so. You?"

"I'm fine," Claire lied. Her hands were shaking so hard she could barely grip the wheel.

She looked at the broken guardrail. At the darkness below.

She wasn't just an accountant anymore. She wasn't just a mother.

She was a target. And she had just taken out the hit squad.

She restarted the car. The engine sputtered, then caught.

"We can't go to the motel," she said. "They'll send more."

"Where can we go?" Aris asked. "We have no money. No phones. No car that isn't a wreck."

Claire looked at the road ahead.

"We go to the one place Arthur won't look," she said.

"Where?"

"The place where he thinks he's already won."

She put the car in gear.

"We're going to the cemetery."