“All right.” Looking stressed, Preston huffs. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’ll go around the house while staying in the trees. Once we get to the lane, we can look for their car. They have to be driving something. If it’s a government vehicle, they’re probably from the FBI. That would be preferable to the alternative.”
“You think they were sent by my mom?”
“Possibly.” He begins shedding his rubber boots. “Maybe they’re just people who lost their way. Could be squatters.”
As much as I appreciate Preston’s optimism, I highly doubt the men are random. “I don’t like this.”
“Neither do I, Rosie.” Preston slips his hand into mine and we start our trek. “The way I see it, we’ve got two options.”
“I’m listening.”
“Well, we could hide in the woods and try to wait them out. See if they eventually leave. But we don’t know how long that could be, and it’s too cold for you to be outside all day.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “What’s the second option?”
“I have my keys with me.” Preston pats his pocket. “Once we assess the situation, we can make a run for it to the van and get out of here.”
“But we’d be leaving our stuff behind. The pregnancy suit, all our clothes.”
“Those are just things. We can get more disguises.”
An unnerving silence accompanies us as we walk the rest of the way. All I hear are the sounds of nature, our footsteps, and my choppy breathing.
Soon, we’re near the side of the cabin.
Staying about fifty feet back in the forest, we crouch down and watch the house. One of the men is standing on the front porch smoking. Dark sunglasses cover his eyes. He has a brown beard, but his pale head is bald.
I shouldn’t be judging anyone on their appearance, but he looks mean. He keeps flicking his cigarette aggressively, like he’s mad or impatient.
“Let’s go.” Preston nudges me, and we make our way toward the lane to scope out their ride.
About a hundred yards away, we find a huge RV parked smackdab in the middle of the road to our only exit.
I make a sound of distress and whisper, “Even if we do get the van, they’re blocking the way.”
With his eyebrows pinched together and his jaw clenching repeatedly, it’s safe to say Preston is just as troubled as I am. And that’s not reassuring.
“I can squeeze by on one side,” he says, injecting confidence into the quiet claim. “I’ll probably lose a mirror, but oh well.”
“What’s your take on these guys?”
“I didn’t see any badges, and they’re driving a fucking RV, so they’re not FBI. With the way they’re dressed, I’d say we can rule out campers, too.”
“That leaves my mom’s reward hunters?”
Preston hesitates, like he hates to speak the next possibility out loud. “Or your father’s men.”
“The mafia?” I ask in a strangled voice. “How the hell would they even find us?”
“No fucking clue.”
Getting out of here is sounding better and better.
Keeping his hand wrapped around mine, Preston starts walking us back to the van and the cabin.
My pulse won’t stop going haywire. Even though we’re not exerting ourselves, I’m struggling to catch my breath.
Preston studies me with a side glance. “How are you holding up?”
I put a hand over my thundering chest. “Oh, you know. Just panicking.”
Stopping, he brings me in for a hug. God, he really knows how to dish out some comfort. With his arms wrapped around me, it’s hard to think about anything outside of us. Concentrating on his warmth and scent, I breathe until I feel better.
Pulling back, I give him a nod. He nods back. Just like that, my strength is replenished. A little.
Once we get back to the spot we were in before, we spy on the second guy who’s outside now. He looks a lot like the other guy, only he isn’t completely bald. His dark hair is buzzed short, just like the stubble on his face.
Pacing on the porch, he holds his phone up, waving it around in an agitated way. He barks a few words into the house that I don’t understand.
“Russian,” Preston supplies, and my heart knocks against my sternum when I realize what that means. “I can’t tell what he’s saying, but I think we both but know who sent them.”
Fucking Ivan. Of all the people hunting us, it had to be the Russian mafia.
But how, though?
Out here in the middle of nowhere, I should be untraceable for everyone.
I suppose he could’ve dug back in my foster care history. He could’ve seen that I aged out with the Marshalls, leading him to believe we’re still on good terms. All he’d have to do is look up properties belonging to them, and boom. We’re caught.
Long fucking shot, though. It’d be a lot of effort to send his guys across three states just on a hunch.
Ultimately, it doesn’t really matter how Ivan figured it out. The fact is, we’re in deep shit.
The guy on the porch curses at his cell phone, then bangs it on the railing. He tries to dial someone, but he gives up when it’s clear there’s no signal. Yeah, reception out here is a bitch. That’ll work in our favor.
Rosalie shivers next to me, her shoulder quaking against my arm.
We really need to get this girl a suitable coat. Something insulated. My leather jacket isn’t meant for near-freezing temps.
Slipping off my flannel button-up, I drape it over Rosalie to give her another layer.
As she tugs it across her chest, she eyes my exposed arms. “What about you? You’re only wearing a T-shirt.”
“Cold doesn’t bother me,” I downplay it. Because although I don’t mind the nippy weather right now, I’m not invincible. Hypothermia would get to me eventually.
No matter. Soon, we’ll be in the van, and we’ll be speeding away from here.
“See that chump?” I ask Rosalie quietly, tipping my head toward the guy on the porch. “We’ll wait until he goes into the house. Then we’ll make a run for it to the van.”
Biting her lip apprehensively, Rosalie’s blue and green eyes peer up at me with fear. “What if they see us?”
“We’ll stay low—we’ll be partially blocked by the vehicle, and it’s not very far. I’ll get into the passenger side first and slide into the driver’s seat. You follow me. Then, we’re out of here.”
I’m trying to sound as upbeat and positive as possible, and it seems to help. Pressing her lips together, Rosalie gives me a determined nod.
A few seconds later, the guy goes into the cabin.
And that’s our chance.
“Now,” I whisper, rushing forward.
Reaching behind me, I open my hand. Rosalie’s soft fingers slide against mine and latch on. Staying bent at the waist, we burst from the trees and make a beeline for the van. Thankfully, I left it unlocked so I don’t have to waste time fumbling with the keys.
Keeping my eyes on the house, I open the door, dive over the passenger seat, and scramble behind the wheel. While I’m sliding the key into the ignition, Rosalie gets in and shuts the door as softly as she can.