Chapter 8 Sawyer #2
I step to the ravine’s narrow bend, placing my boots directly into the pockets of shadow where the stone is slick and hard—no tread, no trace. “Put your feet where mine go. No edges. No soft spots.”
She nods, trembling but steadying, and follows behind me.
I guide Savannah into a deeper cut in the ravine and lower my voice. “We’ll hug the stone for the next half mile. No footprints. No scent trail worth a damn. They’ll spread out and waste time.”
“And us?” she whispers.
I take her hand, guiding it to the cool stone wall. “We disappear.”
Then, softer—because she’s shaking again and I feel it in the way she presses close:
“They won’t find you. Not while I’m breathing.”
"There." I spot what I'm looking for—a cave entrance, partially hidden by fallen trees.
"We'll be trapped—"
"Trust me."
We squeeze through the entrance into darkness. I click on my tactical light, revealing a narrow passage that goes deeper into the mountain. I've explored these caves before, mapped them during my bolt-hole preparations. There are three exits, two of which they won't know about.
If they manage to track us to the cave, they’ll have an impossible time finding where we exit.
"Stay close." I lead her deeper, the passage narrowing until we're sideways, rock pressing from both sides.
Her breathing is fast, on the edge of panic. "I can't—it's too tight—"
I turn awkwardly and cup her face. "Hey. Look at me. I’m bigger than you, and I fit. You're okay. It opens up just ahead."
She focuses on my eyes, using them as an anchor, the way I taught her on the cliff. We shuffle through, and then the passage opens into a larger chamber. Water drips somewhere in the darkness, an echo telling me the space is significant.
"We can rest here a minute," I tell her, but when I turn, she's right there, closer than expected.
The tactical light throws harsh shadows, making her eyes look darker, the blood on her face stark against pale skin. She's shaking—adrenaline crash, cold, fear, all of it hitting at once.
"You saved my life. Again." Her voice is rough. "That's becoming a pattern."
"It's my job."
"No." She steps closer, and I can feel heat coming off her despite the cave's chill. "Your job was extraction. Everything since has been personal."
She's right.
It’s been personal from the moment she kissed me back on that motorcycle. "Savannah—"
I kiss her. Can't not kiss her. She makes a sound that goes straight through me, pressing closer, and I'm lost. My hands tangle in her hair, and hers fist in my shirt, and we're trying to crawl inside each other's skin.
She makes a sound that echoes in the chamber—need and relief and something desperate.
My back hits the cave wall, and she follows, pressed against me from chest to thigh. Heat builds between us, inappropriate and perfect, and absolutely the wrong time. Her leg slides between mine, and I groan into her mouth, control slipping.
"Want you," she breathes against my jaw, and those two words nearly undo me.
"Not here." It takes every ounce of willpower to catch her hands, still them. "Not in a cave while we're being hunted. You deserve better than that."
She makes a frustrated sound that turns into a laugh. "You're too noble for your own good."
"You're too tempting for mine."
I lead her through the cave system, following mental maps laid down years ago. We take passages no one would think are passable, moving steadily toward the exit that opens a mile from where we entered.
"How did they find us?" She asks as we navigate a particularly narrow section.
"Satellite surveillance, maybe. Or they've been checking all the abandoned structures in the area." I pause at a junction, choosing the left passage. "Doesn't matter now. What matters is they showed their hand—they want you dead, not captured."
"Because I have the evidence."
"Because you're the only one who can decode it fully." I help her over a rock formation. "Kill you, destroy the laptop, and Prometheus continues as planned."
Light ahead—natural, not artificial. The exit. I motion for silence, move forward to scout.
The opening is clear—no movement—but that means nothing.
"Stay here," I tell her. "I'm going to check—"
"No." She grabs my arm. "We stay together. You promised."
I want to argue, but she's right. I did promise. "Together then. But you stay behind me."
We exit the cave carefully, and I scan for threats. Nothing immediate, but the forest is too quiet. Birds should be singing. Their silence means predators.
"We need to get to a vehicle," I tell her. "There's a ranger station four miles northeast. They'll have trucks."
"Can we make four miles?"
"We have to."
We move through the forest, using game trails and natural cover. She’s naturally learning by watching me, moving quietly, and placing her feet where I place mine.
Every hundred yards, I stop to listen, check our six, and make sure we're not walking into an ambush.
Two miles in, she's flagging. Adrenaline crash, exhaustion, the accumulated stress of four days running. She stumbles, and I catch her.
"I'm fine," she lies.
"You're not." I scan our surroundings, spot what I need. "That deadfall. We'll rest for ten minutes."
"We don't have time—"
"Ten minutes won't matter if you collapse." I guide her to the fallen tree and make her sit. "Drink." I hand her my water bottle.
She drinks, hands shaking slightly. "I'm not usually this weak."
"You're not weak. You're human. There's a difference." I check her for injuries I might have missed, and find bruises blooming on her ribs from our hard landing. "Anything broken?"
"No. Just sore." She looks up at me, and there's something vulnerable in her expression.
A branch snaps fifty yards away.
I pull her down behind the deadfall, hand going to my weapon. Through the gaps in the wood, I see them—two men in tactical gear, weapons ready, sweeping our trail.
They're going to find us. The cover's not good enough, and we can't run without being seen.
"Stay down. No matter what happens, stay down."
"Sawyer—"
I'm already moving, rolling out from cover, and engaging. My first shots take the nearest shooter center mass, spinning him down. The second dives for cover, returning fire that chews bark from trees inches from my position.
I flank left, forcing him to track me, drawing his attention from where Savannah hides. He's good, professional, but I'm motivated.
He's hunting for money.
I'm protecting someone who matters.
The dance is familiar—move, shoot, cover, repeat. I take a graze across my ribs that burns like fire, but it gives me the angle I need. Three rounds, tight grouping, and he's down.
"Clear," I call, and Savannah emerges from behind the deadfall.
She sees the blood immediately. "You're hit."
"Graze. I'm fine."
"You're not fine, you're bleeding." She's at my side, pulling up my shirt to examine the wound. "This needs treatment."
"Later."
"No, now." She tears strips from her already-ruined blouse. "Sit still."
"Where did you learn field medicine?"
"Red Cross volunteer in college. Seemed like a useful skill." She ties off the bandage, gentle but efficient. "This'll hold until we can do better."
"We need to move. Those shots will bring more." More concerning is how they found us so quickly.
She helps me up, and I notice she's taken one of the dead mercenaries' weapons—a compact HK416.
"You know how to use that?"
"Point and squeeze, right?" At my look, she smiles grimly. "Daddy was a Marine. I've been shooting since I was a kid. Just never shot at people before today."
We move faster now, urgency overriding exhaustion. The ranger station appears through the trees, and miracle of miracles, there's a truck parked outside.
"Wait." I hold her back, studying the scene. "Too easy."
But scans reveal nothing, and we're out of time. More voices behind us, closing fast.
"We go fast," I tell her. "I'll cover, you get the truck started."
She nods, and we break from cover together. No shots, no ambush. Maybe luck's finally on our side.
The truck's unlocked—rangers up here don't expect theft. Savannah finds the keys, and the engine roars to life.
"Go, go, go!"
I dive in as she accelerates, tires spinning on gravel. In the mirrors, figures emerge from the forest, muzzle flashes, but we're already around the bend, gaining speed.
"Where to?" she asks, hands steady on the wheel despite everything.
"South. Los Angeles." I pull out her laptop, praying it survived the chaos. It powers on, and relief floods through me. "We've got thirty-six hours to stop Prometheus. Time to go on offense."
"How?"
"You've got their membership list. We're going to start dismantling their network, one member at a time."
She glances at me, something fierce in her expression. "Together?"
"Wouldn’t have it any other way."