Chapter Ten
Nova
I pressed my eye to the crack in the barn wall, my heart hammering so loud I was sure it would give away our position.
The beam of a flashlight cut through the darkness outside, sweeping across the overgrown path we’d taken not an hour before.
I couldn’t see clearly to know who it was, but I could tell it was an officer.
He moved with the confident stride of a man who knew the law would never touch him -- because he was the law. And he was coming straight for us.
“Doc.” I pulled back. “It’s the police.”
Doc was already shoving the last of the papers into a duffel bag, his movements quick but controlled.
Unlike me, he didn’t panic. His face remained calm, though his eyes had taken on that focused intensity I’d come to recognize -- the same look he’d had when treating wounded brothers after the clubhouse shooting.
“How far?” He zipped the bag closed.
“Fifty yards. Maybe less.” I limped toward him, my ankle throbbing with each step. The pain had settled into a constant ache that flared into something sharper whenever I put weight on it. “He’s armed.”
Doc slung the duffel over his shoulder and grabbed my elbow, steadying me as I stumbled. “Back of the barn. There’s a gap in the boards I spotted earlier.”
We’d barely taken three steps when a shout froze us in place.
“Police! This is Deputy Chief Wallace. Come out with your hands up!”
His voice carried easily through the weathered boards of the old barn, authoritative and cold. I felt Doc’s hand tighten on my arm as he pulled me behind a stack of hay bales, his body shielding mine as Wallace’s flashlight beam sliced through gaps in the barn wall.
“We know you’re in there, Treemont! Make it easy on yourself.”
Doc’s mouth was against my ear, his breath warm on my skin. “Stay low. Follow me.” He helped me crouch behind the bales, taking some of my weight to ease the pressure on my injured ankle.
The barn door crashed open, wood splintering as Wallace kicked it in. His flashlight beam swept across the dusty floor, catching particles of hay and dirt swirling in its path. I pressed myself deeper into the shadows, feeling Doc’s arm around my waist, keeping me steady.
“You really think you can hide?” Wallace’s voice had taken on an almost conversational tone. His boots crunched on the dirt floor as he moved deeper into the barn. “I’ve been doing this a long time, Ms. Treemont. Finding people who don’t want to be found.”
We inched backward, keeping the hay bales between us and Wallace. My ankle screamed in protest, but I bit my lip to keep from making a sound. Doc bore most of my weight, his arm solid around my waist as we crept toward the back of the barn.
Wallace’s flashlight beam swept closer, illuminating the space where we’d been examining the evidence minutes before. I watched his shadow grow larger on the far wall, distorted and menacing.
“You’re just like your mother.” His voice carried in the cavernous space. “She couldn’t leave well enough alone either. Had to keep digging, keep pushing.” A humorless laugh echoed through the barn. “Know what happens to people who don’t mind their own business, Ms. Treemont?”
My blood ran cold. Doc’s arm tightened around me as we reached a rusty tractor, ducking behind its massive wheel. I could see Wallace now through the gaps in the machinery, his uniform crisp despite the early hour, his gun held casually at his side like an extension of his arm.
“Accidents happen.” He kicked at the remnants of our makeshift workstation. “Just like what happened to your parents. People lose control of their vehicles. Brake lines fail. Cars go off roads. Very tragic.”
A small sound escaped me before I could stop it -- something between a gasp and a whimper. Wallace’s head snapped up, flashlight beam cutting toward the tractor.
“There you are.” Satisfaction colored his voice.
Doc reacted instantly, pushing me down behind the tractor as Wallace’s light found us. “Run for the back. I’ll distract him.”
“I’m not leaving you.” Doc ignored me and darted away toward a stack of rusted farm tools.
Wallace’s flashlight tracked him, the beam bouncing as the deputy quickened his pace. “Stop right there!” he shouted, all pretense of casual conversation gone.
Doc grabbed a shovel from the pile, sending the rest crashing to the floor with a deafening clatter of metal on concrete. Wallace swung toward the noise, momentarily distracted, and I seized the opportunity to limp toward the back of the barn, each step sending fire up my leg.
“Your mother had evidence. Just like you do. Difference is, she tried to bring it to us. Well, not me, but local law enforcement in general. Thought the system would protect her.” He laughed, the sound chilling in its emptiness. “System protects its own, Ms. Treemont. Always has. Always will.”
I froze, halfway to the back wall, his words hitting me like physical blows.
Mom had gone to them. Had trusted them. And they’d killed her for it.
Had she hoped they would want to know about the corruption within their department?
After all, not all law enforcement were bad guys like this one.
Most upheld the law. If that’s what she’d gambled on, it had cost her dearly.
The moment’s hesitation cost me. Wallace’s flashlight beam found me, pinning me in its harsh glare like a butterfly to a board.
“There’s the daughter.” His gun came up, aimed steadily at my chest. “Now, where’s your doctor friend?”
“Right here.” Doc’s voice came from behind a pillar to Wallace’s left.
The deputy chief swung toward it, but too late.
Doc had already launched himself at a stack of feed barrels, sending them crashing toward Wallace.
The officer jumped back, his shot going wild as the barrels rolled across the floor.
The report of the gun was deafening in the enclosed space. I dropped instinctively, hands covering my head as splinters of wood rained down from where the bullet had struck a beam above me.
“Nova, go!” Doc shouted, already running toward me as Wallace recovered his balance.
I scrambled toward the back wall, ignoring the screaming pain in my ankle. Behind me, I heard another shot, followed by Doc’s sharp intake of breath. I turned in time to see him stumble, his hand going to his upper arm where dark liquid was already spreading across his sleeve.
“Doc!” I cried out, starting back toward him.
“Keep going!” He reached me in three long strides, half-lifting me as we ran for the gap in the boards. “He clipped me. It’s nothing.”
Wallace was shouting behind us, his footsteps heavy as he gave chase.
Doc shoved me through the opening in the wall, then squeezed through after me, grimacing as the rough boards scraped his injured arm.
The cold pre-dawn air hit my face as we emerged into the open, the eastern sky just beginning to lighten.
“The bike,” Doc panted, pulling me toward where his Harley waited, next to the barn. Blood soaked his sleeve, black in the dim light, but his grip remained strong as he helped me onto the motorcycle.
Behind us, Wallace burst through the barn door, gun raised. “Stop or I’ll shoot!”
Doc swung onto the bike in front of me, kick-starting the engine with a roar that seemed to shake the very ground. I wrapped my arms around his waist, feeling the warm wetness of blood beneath my fingers as I clung to him.
“Hold tight.” He gunned the engine as Wallace’s next shot whistled past our heads.
We shot forward, the motorcycle’s wheels spraying dirt and gravel as Doc guided us onto the rutted farm track. I pressed my face against his back, feeling his muscles tense beneath me as he navigated the rough terrain.
Wallace’s shouts faded behind us, replaced by the thundering of the engine and the rush of cold air against my skin. My ankle throbbed in time with my racing heart, but I hardly noticed the pain. All I could think about was Wallace’s statement: System protects its own.
And now, that system was hunting us both.
* * *
The wind tore at my clothes as we sped down back roads, Doc hunched forward over the handlebars, his injured arm held tight against his body.
Blood seeped through his sleeve, dark against the fabric, but he never slowed, never wavered.
My arms wrapped around his waist, I could feel the tension in his muscles, the occasional tremor that betrayed the pain he refused to acknowledge.
We were alone now -- truly, completely alone.
The club couldn’t help us. The police wanted us dead.
We had only each other and a duffel bag of evidence that people had already killed for.
After twenty minutes of riding, Doc slowed the bike, pulling off onto a dirt track nearly hidden by overgrown weeds.
My ankle throbbed mercilessly, every vibration of the motorcycle sending fresh waves of pain up my leg.
I bit my lip to keep from making any sound, knowing Doc had his own pain to manage.
“There.” He nodded toward a dark shape ahead. An old, boarded-up gas station. He guided the bike behind the building, out of sight from the main road, and cut the engine.
The sudden silence was deafening. I could hear Doc’s ragged breathing, feel the slight tremors running through his body as he sat still for the first time since the barn.
“We can’t go back to the clubhouse.” His voice was tight with pain and something else -- resignation, maybe. “They’ll be watching it.”
I nodded against his back, catching the words he didn’t speak. We had no contact. The club -- the only safety net we had -- lay beyond reach.
“Your arm.” I slid off the bike carefully, testing my injured ankle. It held, but barely.
Doc dismounted slower than usual, his movements stripped of their normal fluid grace. Blood soaked the sleeve of his jacket, glistening in the pale dawn light.
“Inside.” He nodded toward a door at the back of the station. “Need to check it first.”