Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Asher’s gaze flicked from the road to the rearview mirror. The truck and sedan were both back there. He pressed the accelerator, tearing down the narrow road.
The sun was high, the trees arching over the road casting shadows that moved them from light to darkness like a strobe.
Hanscom Field was close, but their pursuers were closer. The way the truck had U-turned, the way the sedan had blown through the red light… Their skill and precision set Asher’s teeth on edge. These weren’t amateurs. They were organized, relentless, and somehow always one step ahead.
“Cici, check the map.” His voice was taut, his hands so tight on the wheel that his knuckles were white. “Find me a turn—something sharp, something they won’t expect.”
She fumbled with his phone, her fingers trembling but quick. “Okay, um…there’s a left in about a quarter mile. Looks like it loops around a pond, then reconnects with this road further up.”
“Good enough.” He downshifted to slow without hitting his brakes, the engine growling.
The turn came up fast—a dirt track veering left, barely visible beneath overgrown brush.
Asher yanked the wheel, fishtailing the SUV as it hit loose gravel, praying the driver of the sedan didn’t see where they went.
Cici braced herself, sucking in a gasping breath.
Asher floored it, the vehicle bouncing over ruts, branches scraping the sides.
If this didn’t work…
“Do you see them?” he asked. “Did they follow?”
She twisted in her seat. “The sedan… It’s still back there!” Her pitch rose in panic. “And the truck’s right behind.”
“Dang it.” His mind raced, cataloging options. He’d trained for this—evasion, improvisation, survival. SEALs didn’t quit when the odds stacked up. They adapted.
There was a pond ahead, a glassy shimmer through the trees. He spotted a faint trail branching off to the right, barely more than a deer path that disappeared into dense woods.
Their SUV was high off the ground. The truck was, too, but it was behind the sedan. Maybe….
“Hold on.” He cut the wheel hard.
The SUV lurched onto the trail, tires sinking into soft earth, the undercarriage groaning as it scraped roots and rocks.
Cici yelped, gripping the strap over her door.
He wrestled the steering wheel as they bounced on the uneven ground. “Are they following?”
She watched behind. “I don’t see them.”
With any luck, the sedan had gotten stuck. It would have to be moved to let the truck pass.
He pushed deeper into the woods, the canopy swallowing the sunlight, until the trail widened into a clearing. An old barn sagged at the far end, its red paint peeling, its doors hanging ajar. The trail led straight to it.
He scanned the clearing for another road, but there was nowhere else wide enough for the SUV.
Asher jerked the wheel into the clearing and stopped in front of the barn doors. He hopped out and opened them, the old wood and rusted hinges groaning in complaint. Back in the vehicle, he drove to the center of the dilapidated structure and hit the brakes. “Out, now.”
Cici didn’t argue, just hitched her purse over her shoulder and climbed out.
He grabbed his duffel, slung it on his back, and paused, needing to think.
It was quiet now, but those men were coming.
The air carried the musty scents of dust and hay. Sunlight streamed through gaps in the walls, illuminating stacks of old crates and rusted tools. Asher peeked into a horse stall, then stepped inside. “In here.”
Cici followed, and they both dropped to a crouch behind the weathered planks. “Stay low.”
Her breathing was ragged, but she nodded, eyes wide. “How do they keep finding us?”
“No idea. Sit tight.” He left her hiding there and looked through a crack in the barn wall, waiting for the truck to come, praying it would pass right by the narrow path.
But if his plan worked and the sedan was stuck on the trail, then the truck would have no way to get past it.
Those men shouldn’t have found them. Not after the train, not after swapping cars. Something was off—way off.
He bolted to the far end of the barn, where another set of doors was closed, these secured with a rusty bolt.
Not exactly helpful, considering the broken windows on either side. He spied an old ranch house—almost as small as the trailer where Asher had grown up. Past that, a narrow path wove into the woods in the direction of the pond. The trees were overgrown, the grass surrounding the house knee-high.
Asher turned and searched the barn, looking for anything that might help him create a diversion.
A sound had his stomach souring. He ran back to the front as the truck rolled into view on the trail.
Back up. Nothing to see here.
It was moving slowly and deliberately. Just when Asher started to think it would do as he prayed, the pickup aimed for the barn and parked a dozen yards away.
Four men spilled out.
The bald guard from Springfield, his bulk unmistakable, a handgun glinting in his grip. Another guy—older and wearing a suit—barked orders, pointing at the barn. Was this the slick-talker Cici had told him about?
The other two men weren’t familiar. One was tall and built.
His hair was cropped military style, and he had a bushy beard.
The other was shorter, leaner, and probably faster on his feet.
His face was clean-shaven, and he had longish brown hair with just enough curl that Asher imagined him adding product to make it look just so.
A linebacker and a pretty boy.
Those two headed for opposite sides of the property, weapons drawn, scanning the woods.
“They’re coming.” Panic carried on Cici’s whisper.
“Quiet.” He unsnapped his holster and pulled out the Glock. He had his training and the advantage of cover. He could shoot through the gaps in the walls, then move before they retaliated.
He could kill all four without breaking a sweat.
But, as Bartlett had reminded him, this wasn’t a war zone. He was in rural Massachusetts, where it wasn’t okay to shoot people because they’d followed you.
He’d prefer not to end up in prison. And he’d prefer not to have to live with more bodies on his conscience.
He needed something to slow his enemies down, to distract and confuse them. His eyes landed on a rusted gas can in the corner, half-hidden under a tarp. A long shot, but it might work.
He crept over, keeping low, and shook the can.
A faint slosh. It would be enough. He grabbed a splintered board, wedged it into a gap in the barn wall, and doused it with the gas, letting it drip down the dry wood.
He doused more gas on the wood from there to the front of the structure, then found an old rag.
He moved back to Cici. “Start moving.” He pointed at the broken windows. “When I light this, you go out and head west—toward the pond. There’s a path, but stay off it. Don’t stop.”
“Where will you—?”
“I’ll be right behind you.”
He hoped, anyway. He found a crowbar and then silently opened the SUV’s door.
She started creeping toward the windows. When she was almost there, Asher started the engine and wedged the crowbar against the gas pedal.
He yanked the gear shift into reverse and dove out.
The SUV barreled backward.
Asher pulled a lighter from his pocket and lit the cloth, which he tossed at the gasoline-soaked wood just as the vehicle splintered the doors.
Shouts outside told him he’d gotten the men’s attention.
The flame caught the gas-soaked wood. It flared fast, flames licking up the wall toward the front doors.
Cici scrambled out the window, and he followed, the fire crackling behind them.
More shouts erupted as the flames spread, smoke pouring through the gaps. The barn wouldn’t burn long—he hoped. The last thing he wanted was to cause a forest fire. But the ground was damp, the clearing sparse.
They bolted into the trees. The pond glinted ahead, and he veered left, getting in front of her, pulling her along a muddy bank.
She glanced behind, but he propelled her forward, toward the forest on the far side of the water.
The men behind them had gone quiet, which told Asher they hadn’t been distracted for long. Unless they’d seen where Asher and Cici had gone into the woods—and Asher didn’t think they had—they’d fan out.
Now that they were in the forest, the going was slow, the underbrush challenging to navigate. He paused and turned a circle, scanning the landscape.
“What are you doing?” Cici hissed. “We need to move.”
There. A boulder rose from the ground, maybe forty feet away. He aimed toward it.
She followed silently.
When he reached it, he circled to a huge bush growing against one side. He dropped his bag. “Duck down right here and don’t move.”
“Where are you—?”
“Please, Cici.” He met her eyes, trying to infuse his look with kindness and confidence. “Just do as I say.”
She blinked, seemed to take that in. “Okay.”
He left her there, kept low, and sneaked back toward the barn. When he heard the telltale snap of someone moving, he crouched between two bushes and behind a log.
Ahead, the linebacker crept through the forest. Unlike Asher, he was terrible at stealth.
Or it was a trap.
Asher watched him for a long time, until the man’s gaze moved to his right.
Asher flicked his focus that way.
Sure enough, pretty boy was inching forward, silently.
The linebacker was a decoy to get Asher to show himself.
He moved slowly, carefully, circling pretty boy.
Without a sound, he came up behind him, caught the man’s neck with his arm, and squeezed.
Pretty Boy fought. Asher had been right, the man was strong.
But Asher was stronger.
It took about ninety seconds for Pretty Boy to go limp. Not dead, just down for the count.
Asher was tempted to slice his Achilles but reminded himself, again, that this was America. That he couldn’t just take people out, especially unconscious people.