Chapter Nine
Doc
The guard’s flashlight beam lingered on the computer as his footsteps drew closer to where I hid.
Combat training kicked in -- assess, adapt, act.
Nova stood too far away for us to coordinate, and the flash drive with our evidence burned in my pocket like a live coal.
Getting caught wouldn’t just mean arrest; it would tip off everyone tied to the trafficking ring that someone hunted them.
The trouble Nova had faced so far would escalate and soon she’d be the one dead and buried.
Not an option. My gaze locked with Nova’s across the dark room, and I raised my hand in a sharp signal: Stay. Don’t move. Let me handle this.
She gave a barely perceptible nod, pressing herself deeper into the shadows behind the filing cabinet. I tracked the guard’s movements, listening as he muttered to himself, the click of the mouse indicating he was checking the computer.
“System’s running… who the hell was in here?” His voice carried easily in the silent office.
I needed to draw him away from both Nova and the computer. A quick scan of the room revealed a heavy stapler on the desk near my position -- perfect. I waited until the guard focused on the monitor, then slid my hand up and closed my fingers around the metal object.
With one fluid motion, I hurled the stapler across the room, aiming for the far corner where a door stood partially open. The stapler crashed against something metal -- a trash can, from the sound of it -- creating a satisfying clatter that echoed through the quiet office.
“Who’s there?” The guard’s voice sharpened, his flashlight beam immediately swinging toward the noise. “This is security. Come out now!”
I pressed myself flat against the floor as the guard moved past my hiding spot, his heavy footsteps heading toward the break room. The moment he passed, I signaled to Nova -- two quick hand gestures we’d established earlier. Get the evidence. Head for the exit.
She moved immediately, slipping from behind the filing cabinet and back to the drawer she’d been searching. Her movements were quick but deliberate as she gathered the remaining financial records, sliding them into her messenger bag.
I stayed low, crawling toward the side door we’d entered through.
When I reached it, I waited, watching as Nova finished collecting the documents.
She took one step toward me, then froze as her elbow caught a stack of folders balanced precariously on the edge of a desk.
For one suspended moment, I thought they might stay put.
They didn’t.
The folders crashed to the floor, papers spilling across the linoleum with a sound that might as well have been a gunshot in the silent office.
“Hey!” The guard’s shout was immediate, his flashlight beam swinging back toward the main office area, catching Nova in its glow. “Stop right there!”
“Run!” I called, abandoning stealth for speed.
Nova sprinted toward me as the guard emerged from the break room. I yanked the side door open, holding it for her as she flew past me and into the night. The guard was faster than he looked, already closing the distance.
“Security breach at the county clerk’s office,” he barked into his radio as he gave chase. “Two suspects, male and female, fleeing the building!”
I grabbed Nova’s hand as we ran across the parking lot. “This way.” I pulled her toward a narrow alley between the clerk’s office and the adjacent building. “There’s a service road that runs behind these offices.”
We sprinted down the alley, the guard’s flashlight beam bouncing wildly behind us.
I knew these small-town buildings from countless similar layouts -- connected by service corridors, sharing loading docks, with multiple exit points that most people never noticed.
My time in Afghanistan had taught me to always know my escape routes.
“Left here,” I instructed as we reached the end of the alley. “There’s a gap in the fence behind the electrical junction.”
Nova followed without question, her breath coming in sharp gasps as we pushed our pace. The messenger bag bounced against her hip, heavy with evidence that could expose the entire trafficking operation. Evidence worth killing for.
We rounded the corner of the building just as the first shot cracked through the night air. The guard was armed -- something I’d calculated as a possibility but hoped to avoid.
“Warning shot.” I pushed Nova ahead of me, using my body as a shield between her and the guard. “He’s trying to scare us into stopping.”
“Is it working?” I could hear the fear and exertion in her voice.
Despite everything, I felt a smile tug at my lips. “Not even close.”
We sprinted across an empty loading area, aiming for the gap in the chain-link fence I’d spotted earlier. I could hear the guard behind us, his footsteps heavy, his breathing labored. He was falling behind, but still close enough to be dangerous.
Another shot rang out, this one hitting the metal dumpster to our right with a metallic ping. Maybe not just warning shots after all.
“Almost there.” I guided Nova toward the fence. “Through here, then cut right toward where we left the bike.”
She nodded, pushing herself harder. We reached the fence, and I held the gap wider for her to slip through. As she squeezed past, her foot caught on an uneven patch of gravel. She pitched forward with a startled cry, hitting the ground hard on the other side.
“Nova!” I was through the gap in an instant, kneeling beside her.
“My ankle.” She gasped, and her face contorted with pain. “I twisted it.”
My medic training kicked in, and my hands moved automatically to assess the injury while my brain calculated the shrinking distance between us and the pursuing guard. I didn’t have time for a full exam, but a quick check told me it wasn’t broken -- just a bad sprain.
“Can you stand?” I asked, already sliding an arm around her waist.
She nodded grimly, gritting her teeth as I helped her to her feet. She put weight on the injured ankle and immediately winced, her body sagging against mine.
“Not well,” she admitted.
The guard’s flashlight beam swept across the fence behind us. We had seconds, not minutes.
“Hold onto me.” I bent to lift her into my arms.
“Doc, no,” she protested. “I can walk, just --”
“Not fast enough,” I cut her off, already scooping her up. She weighed almost nothing. “Hold the bag tight.”
She clutched her messenger bag with one hand, the other arm wrapping around my neck as I started running. My military training had prepared me for carrying wounded comrades under fire -- Nova was significantly lighter than the average soldier in full gear.
The guard reached the fence just as we disappeared around the corner of the next building. I heard him cursing, the rattle of chain-link suggesting he was trying to follow through the same gap.
“He’s still coming.” Nova pressed her face against my shoulder.
“Let him.” I lengthened my stride. “We’ve got a head start now.”
I could feel her heart hammering against my chest, her breath warm on my neck as I ran. The motorcycle waited exactly where we’d left it, hidden in the shadow of a large oak tree two blocks from the county building. I set Nova down gently, leaning her against the tree while I prepared the bike.
“How bad is it?” She gestured to her ankle.
“Bad enough.” I did a quick assessment. The joint was already swelling. I’d have to take a closer look later. “Pretty sure it’s a sprain, not a break. We’ll need to ice it when we’re safe.”
The sound of distant sirens cut through the night. The guard’s backup had arrived.
“We need to go,” Nova said, urgency overriding the pain in her voice.
I helped her onto the motorcycle, acutely aware of her wince as she swung her injured leg over the seat. “Hold tight. And stay low. We’re going to take the farm roads, avoid the main highways.”
Nova pressed herself against my back, her arms circling my waist with more confidence than before.
Her front molded to my back, her thighs gripping the outside of mine as I guided the bike away from the curb.
Despite the danger, despite the sirens growing louder in the distance, I was intensely aware of her body against mine, the trust implicit in the way she held on.
I kept the headlight off for the first few blocks, navigating by moonlight and memory until we reached the outskirts of town. Only then did I switch on the light, accelerating onto the narrow country road that would take us away from pursuit and, hopefully, toward safety.
Nova’s arms tightened around my waist, her face pressed between my shoulder blades.
I could feel her trembling -- from cold, from adrenaline, from pain, I couldn’t tell.
Probably all three. But she never asked to stop, never complained.
Her grip remained steady as we raced through the darkness, the evidence that could bring down an entire trafficking ring secured between us.
The wind whipped past us, carrying away the sound of sirens until there was nothing but the rumble of the engine. For now, at least, we’d escaped. But the night was far from over.
* * *
The abandoned barn loomed against the night sky, its weathered silhouette a stroke of luck in miles of empty farmland.
I’d spotted it from the road, half-hidden behind overgrown brush and a stand of maple trees.
Perfect for our needs -- isolated, sheltered, unlikely to attract attention.
Nova remained quiet, her arms around my waist loosening as exhaustion and pain took their toll.
I guided the motorcycle down a rutted dirt path, feeling her stir against my back as we approached our temporary sanctuary.
“Where are we?” Her voice sounded thick with fatigue.
“Somewhere safe.” I stopped the bike beside the barn’s side door. “For now, at least.”