Chapter Thirty
Refuge
Jameson Bishop
The ridge rises like a spine above the forest, jagged rock cutting through the trees. I push us hard, faster than Rachel’s shaking legs should be able to manage, but she keeps up; because she knows what I know.
If we stop, we die.
The sun breaks through the canopy, warming our soaked clothes just enough to keep her from slipping into shock. But she’s still trembling violently, her lips pale, her fingers stiff.
Hypothermia is the real threat now. Beth and David are hours behind. Cold can kill in minutes.
I scan the ridge, searching for shelter, for anything that will buy us time. Then I see it, a dark cut in the rock, half-hidden behind a fallen cedar.
A cave.
“Come on,” I say, guiding her toward it.
Inside, it’s shallow but dry. The floor is packed earth, the ceiling low enough that I have to duck. It’s not perfect, but it’s cover. It’s concealment. It’s a place to breathe.
And it’s enough.
I drop my pack, hands already moving. “Sit. Now.”
Rachel sinks to the ground, still shaking. She tries to hide it. She always tries to hide it, but her body betrays her. She’s freezing. She’s exhausted. She’s running on adrenaline and stubbornness.
I won’t lose her to hypothermia.
I gather fallen branches from the cave mouth, snap them, stack them, strike the flint. The spark catches. The fire grows. Heat fills the cave in slow, creeping waves.
Rachel exhales, a sound halfway between relief and pain.
I sit beside her, pulling her against me, wrapping my arms around her to share warmth. She doesn’t resist. She leans into me, her head resting against my shoulder, her breath trembling against my neck.
Her clothes are soaked. Mine are too. Body heat is the fastest way to keep her alive.
“Take off your clothes.” I tell her, already taking of mine.
I help her peel off her layers until her slightly blue skin is visible.
She whispers, voice thin, “We have a few hours.”
“Maybe,” I say. “They’ll find the river. They’ll follow the bank. They’ll look for tracks. But we bought time.”
Wrapping myself around her, I take a moment to breathe her in, grateful I get to hold her like this again.
She nods, eyes half-closed. “We need a plan.”
“We’ll set a trap,” I say. “But not until you’re warm.”
She tries to argue, I feel it in the way her muscles tense, but she’s too cold, too tired, too close to the edge.
I tighten my hold on her. “Rest. That’s an order.”
She huffs a weak laugh. “You don’t get to order me around.”
“I do when you’re dying.”
She goes quiet.
“Bishop-” she hesitates.
The fire crackles. The cave warms. Her shaking slows.
She turns to face me, “Bishop, if we don’t make it out-”
I stop her with a kiss. My lips firm against hers. Pulling back, I stare straight into her eyes.
“You are not going to die.” I promise her. Wrapping her up again in what body heat I can offer, I feel her breathing even out, her body relaxing against mine.
She’s safe for the moment.
Safe because I’m not just an FBI agent.
Rachel murmurs, barely audible, “You do this a lot?”
I’ve done things in forests like this; things that never made it into any official record. Things that taught me how to disappear, how to hunt, how to survive when the world wants you dead.
Things that taught me how to protect people who can’t protect themselves.
I look down at her, at the woman who trusted me even when she shouldn’t have.
“I won’t lose you,” I whisper.
Not to David. Not to Beth.
Not to anything.
She doesn’t answer, she’s already slipping into sleep, her body finally giving in.
Good.
She needs it.
Because when she wakes, we’ll set the trap. We’ll use the ridge. We’ll use the terrain. We’ll use every piece of darkness I’ve ever carried.
And when Beth and David come for us. They’ll learn the truth.
They’re not the hunters.
Not anymore.
The ridge is quiet now. Too quiet.
Rachel sleeps in the cave behind me, finally warm enough that her breathing is steady instead of shaking through her whole body. I keep checking every few minutes, because hypothermia doesn’t care how tough someone is. It takes people fast. It takes them quietly.
I won’t let it take her.
We bought ourselves a few hours. Maybe less. Beth and David will find our trail, follow the bank, realize we climbed out downstream. They’ll search for tracks. They’ll find the ridge.
They can’t let us live. It will ruin their fun.
They’ll come.
And when they do, I’ll be ready.
I move through the rocks, clearing brush, shifting branches, shaping the terrain into a funnel. A choke point. A kill zone. I’ve done this before. Too many times in places far worse than these woods. Hostile territory. Zero backup. Zero margin for error.
This ridge feels familiar in a way it shouldn’t.
I crouch behind a fallen cedar, adjusting the angle of a branch so it forces anyone approaching into the narrowest part of the slope. Rachel helped me earlier. She’s stronger than she knows.
But she’s exhausted. Cold. Still recovering.
She needs rest. I need her alive.
I step back, studying the setup. It’s good. Not perfect. Nothing ever is, but good enough to slow them, confuse them, make them hesitate. And hesitation is all I need.
I hear movement behind me, soft, careful. Rachel.
She steps out of the cave, wrapped in my jacket, hair still damp, cheeks flushed from the fire’s warmth. She looks better. Not great. But better.
“You should be resting,” I say.
She gives me a look that says she’ll rest when she’s dead. “I’m fine. What’s next?”
I gesture toward the ridge. “We set the final piece.”
She walks beside me, scanning the terrain with a sharpness I’ve come to rely on. “They’ll come up here?”
“They have to,” I say. “The river blocks the south. The cliffs block the west. The east is too dense to move fast. This ridge is the only viable approach.”
She nods slowly. “You knew that immediately.”
I don’t answer.
She turns to me, eyes searching. “Bishop… I didn’t know.”
I look away, jaw tightening. “It doesn’t matter right now.”
“It matters to me.”
I exhale, long and slow. “I’ve done things in terrain like this. Things I don’t want you carrying. Things I don’t want you looking at me differently for.”
She steps closer. “I don’t look at you differently.”
Her voice is quiet. Steady. True.
It hits deeper than I want to admit.
I clear my throat, forcing myself back to the task. “We finish the trap. Then we wait.”
She nods, slipping into position beside me as we move through the rocks, adjusting branches, clearing sightlines, preparing the ridge for what’s coming.
Beth and David think they’re hunters. They think they know these woods. They think they’re in control.
They’re wrong.
I was trained for this. I survived worse than this.
When the trap is finally set, Rachel stands beside me, looking out over the forest below.
“They’ll come soon,” she says.