5. Hunted
Hunted
Steve
The convoy never reaches the airport.
Jan sits beside me in the lead SUV while Angus and Jax follow in the second.
Ten minutes later, Angus speaks through the encrypted radio.
“Black SUV behind us. Two vehicles back.”
I check the mirror. Dark windows. No front plate.
It stays with us through three turns. It could be a coincidence.
Then another black SUV appears ahead and falls in behind Angus. Nobody believes in coincidence anymore.
We leave the freeway, circle a shopping center, and take both vehicles into an underground parking garage.
We wait five minutes before leaving through separate exits and regrouping several blocks away.
The tails are gone.
Twenty minutes later, another finds us. Different SUV. Same dark windows.
Every time we shake one, another eventually appears.
They don’t know exactly where we’re going. They only know we’re still moving.
Jan’s phone vibrates.
Victor. I put him on speaker.
“What have you got?”
“G and Felicity have been watching the airfield. The airport’s burned. Local police, unmarked SUVs, and at least six phones tied to the hotel attack have converged on the private terminal.”
Angus’s voice comes through the radio.
“They were herding us.”
“Abort the flight. Split immediately.”
Angus turns off the highway without hesitation.
Jax glances over his shoulder.
Jan looks at me.
“Steve...”
“Victor’s right. Four of us together makes one target.”
Victor doesn’t waste time.
“Angus, Jax. Draw them east. Change vehicles twice. Burn every phone within ninety minutes.”
“What about Steve and Jan?” Angus asks.
“They disappear.”
Nobody likes it. Nobody argues.
Victor continues.
“Cole and Liberty are wheels up in twenty minutes. They’ll rendezvous tomorrow. Until then, burner phones only. No credit cards. No electronic payments. Stay off every system.”
“Copy.”
We leave the highway at the next exit and use an abandoned service station to divide the gear.
Weapons, cash, medical supplies, and burner phones change hands in less than a minute.
Jan hugs Angus.
“Don’t get yourself killed.”
“I was going to tell you the same thing.”
Jax pulls her into a quick embrace.
“See you tomorrow, Mom.”
“You’d better.”
I clasp Angus’s forearm.
“We’ll see you soon.”
“That’s still the plan.”
They take the SUV east while Jan and I steal an old pickup from a nearby property.
Within minutes, we’re moving in opposite directions and feeding the trackers two possible routes.
By the time we stop changing vehicles, hours have passed in a blur of back roads and cash purchases.
We avoid major highways, toll roads, traffic cameras, and anywhere likely to keep reliable surveillance footage. G feeds us route changes through rotating burner numbers while Felicity scrubs every digital breadcrumb she can find behind us.
The men hunting us keep adjusting. A black sedan appears twice outside different towns. A highway patrol unit slows beside us, then accelerates after receiving something over the radio.
At a fuel stop, Jan spots a man photographing license plates from inside a parked truck. We leave before he reaches ours.
Angus confirms the decoy worked, but only partly. Two vehicles followed him east. At least one stayed with us.
Victor orders him and Jax to keep moving while Cole and Liberty approach from a route no one has connected to HAVEN.
No destination stays fixed long enough to become predictable.
We reach a roadside motel far enough from the interstate to avoid passing traffic and cheap enough to accept cash without questions. The vacancy sign flickers above an almost empty parking lot.
The room smells faintly of bleach and old carpet.
Perfect.
Jan closes the curtains while I check the door, windows, bathroom, and adjoining wall.
One entrance. A rear window that opens. A clear view of the parking lot through a gap in the curtains.
Not secure, but survivable.
We leave the lights off and keep our bags packed.
The burner phone sits on the bedside table between us, silent except for the scheduled check-ins from Victor.
Cole and Liberty are still hours away. Angus and Jax are somewhere east of us, carrying half the pursuit.
The Legacy has turned Texas into a hunting ground.
For tonight, this room is all we have.
Roadside Motel, Texas. 2230 hours.
Jan cleans the last of the dried blood from my forearm before reaching for another dressing.
Most of the glass came from the hotel windows. None of the cuts are deep, but there are enough of them to remind me how close we came.
“You missed one,” she says.
“Thought I was doing well.”
A small smile touches her lips as she dabs antiseptic over another scratch near my elbow.
Her hands never shake.
Mine do. Not much, just enough that I notice.
She tapes the final dressing into place and studies me for a moment.
“We’ve never been the targets before,” I say quietly.
“No.”
“It’s different.”
She nods once.
“Now we know how it feels.”
I meet her eyes.
“Good,” she says. “We should know.”
Since HAVEN began, we’ve helped frightened people rebuild their lives after someone else hunted them.
Tonight, we’re sleeping with a chair wedged beneath the motel door while armed men search Texas for us.
The difference isn’t fear. I’ve known fear before. It’s understanding how quickly normal disappears.
One phone call. One explosion. One road you can no longer take.
Jan rests her hand against my cheek.
“We’ll get home.”
“I know.”
Her expression says she hears everything I don’t add.
She packs away the first aid kit before crossing to Faris’s travel carrier.
“Ready for dinner, sweetheart?”
Normally, he’s waiting at the front before she’s halfway there.
Tonight, he ambles out slowly.
His movements are careful. Unsteady.
Jan frowns as she places his bowl on the floor.
“Slinky?”
He sniffs at the food before taking a few distracted bites.
Usually, he’d already be climbing over her shoulder and demanding attention. Instead, he pauses, blinking as though the room has shifted around him.
She crouches beside him.
“Hey, gorgeous.”
He lifts his head but doesn’t focus on her. Not properly.
Her smile disappears.
“Steve.”
I join her on the floor.
“What is it?”
“He isn’t himself.”
Faris takes a few uncertain steps, loses his balance for a second, then steadies himself against Jan’s leg.
My stomach sinks.
“You think it was the flashbang?”
“I do.”
She strokes him gently behind the ears.
“Ferrets have incredibly sensitive hearing. The blast may have damaged his ears. He could even have a concussion.”
“Can you check him?”
“Only so much.”
She runs careful fingers over his head and along his spine, watching for any sign of pain.
He doesn’t protest. That worries her more.
His breathing is steady, and his pupils look even, but he keeps leaning to one side.
“We need to keep him quiet, warm, and away from bright light,” she says. “No climbing. No sudden movement. Let me get his sleeping bag.”
Poor little slinky. I’ve grown quite attached to the little guy.
He leans against Jan’s hand instead of scrambling into her lap.
She gathers him carefully and settles him inside his sleeping bag. His nose appears at the opening before disappearing again.
“We’ll get you checked by a vet as soon as it’s safe.”
The burner phone remains silent on the bedside table.
Cole and Liberty are still hours away.
Until then, we protect each other and wait.
Roadside Motel, Texas. 2245 hours.
Victor's voice comes through the burner phone while Jan settles Faris’s sleeping bag beside the bed.
"The jet's being moved," he says. "Cole and Liberty will reach you before midnight. Once they arrive, I want you and Jan out of Texas."
"No."
Silence follows. Not surprise. Calculation.
"Steve."
"Harmony's still here."
"Rafael is with her."
"And the Westbrooks have already framed her, attacked the hotel, and burned our route to the airport."
Jan looks over from the bed. She knows where this is going before Victor does.
"You've become a target," Victor says.
"That's not a reason to leave."
"It's exactly the reason."
I cross to the window and ease the curtain aside just enough to check the parking lot. Two trucks. A sedan.
Nothing moving.
"They came after us because we got close to Harmony. If we leave now, they focus everything back on her."
"Rafael can protect her."
"This isn't about whether Rafael can shoot straight."
Jan rises and joins me. Her hand slips into mine.
"We came here to get her out," I continue. "She's still not out."
Victor exhales slowly.
"You've done your part."
"No. We've only started."
Next to me, Jan gives me the smallest nod. She agrees. Not because she's following me. Because she reached the same decision.
"We're staying," she says.
Victor goes quiet again.
"Both of you?"
"We're married," Jan replies. "You don't get one without the other."
A laugh almost escapes me, but the situation kills it before it reaches my mouth.
Victor doesn't argue with her. Smart man.
"You're injured," he says instead.
"They're cuts."
"Your hands were shaking."
I glance at Jan. She told him. Probably while I was checking the parking lot earlier.
"They'll stop."
"And Faris?"
Jan's expression tightens.
“We need a vet,” she says. “But the pressure changes in another flight could worsen the damage to his eardrums. He needs quiet and observation.”
Victor considers that.
"We can find someone discreet."
"Do that," I say. "Here."
"Steve, this isn't stubbornness you can muscle through."
"It isn't stubbornness."
Jan raises one eyebrow. I amend it.
"Not entirely stubbornness."
That earns me the faintest smile.
I turn back to the phone.
"Harmony trusted us enough to get into that car. She left the courthouse because we told her we could help. I'm not disappearing the moment helping her becomes inconvenient."
"Inconvenient?"
"You know what I mean."
"I know you're Australian and impossible."
"Also true."
Jan squeezes my hand.
Victor mutters something I don't catch. Then his voice sharpens.
"Fine. Cole and Liberty take over external movement when they arrive. Angus and Jax stay mobile. You and Jan remain off the grid until we have a clean location."
"We'll need access to Harmony."
"You'll have it when Felicity and G confirm the route."
The decision settles.
Maybe more than before. Now we understand what every woman we've protected has carried into the room with her.
The knowledge that someone wants her frightened enough to stop.
I look at Jan.
She meets my eyes without hesitation.
They picked the wrong people.
Roadside Motel, Texas. 2300 hours.
The curtains stay closed.
One lamp.
Two loaded pistols on the nightstand.
The chair remains wedged beneath the door.
Old habits don't disappear because we're exhausted.
Faris is already asleep beside the bed, curled inside his little sleeping bag.
Every so often he shifts, then settles again.
Jan checks on him one last time before turning back to me.
Neither of us speaks immediately. We don't have to.
The silence feels different tonight. Not peaceful. Earned.
We came close to being killed yesterday.
The realization didn't arrive during the explosions or the escape. It arrived afterward.
When the dressings are on. When the room is quiet. When I can finally look at my wife without wondering whether she's still breathing.
She catches me watching her.
"What?"
I shake my head.
"Nothing."
She walks over until she's standing close enough that our hands brush.
"It wasn't nothing."
"No."
I lift my fingers to her cheek.
"I just needed to see you."
She leans into my hand.
"I'm here."
"I know."
But I touch her anyway, just to be certain.
Outside, a truck rumbles past. Neither of us looks toward the window.
My world is standing right in front of me.
She slides her arms around my waist. I hold her like I've spent the last twelve hours reminding myself what matters most.
Our foreheads rest together.
"I love you," I whisper.
"I know."
"I needed to say it."
Her eyes soften.
"I love you too."
She kisses me. Slowly. Patiently. Like she's reminding both of us that we're still alive.
We undress each other slowly, dropping our clothes onto the floor.
I pull her down onto the bed with me, holding her close. She straddles my hips, her knees bracketing my waist. I run my hands up her arms and lightly across her breasts, making her nipples pebble. I tweak them and she moans.
Her hands move over the small cuts scattered across my chest and arms, her touch light even as her eyes darken with the same raw need I feel.
She sits back against my hips and strokes my cock slowly, spreading the moisture at the tip.
Her hand squeezes and releases along my length, making me harden even more quickly.
“Careful, woman. You might get what you hope for,” I chuckle.
In reply, she lifts herself and reaches between us, guiding me inside her. She’s deliciously wet and hot. For a moment we stay still, our eyes locked. Then she begins to move.
The slow, deliberate glide of her body over mine knocks the air from my lungs.
Slowly at first. Then she picks up the pace and I match her. She rides me with growing urgency, her hips rolling and lifting in a rhythm that turns frantic. I thrust up to meet her, my hands gripping her waist, needing to feel every inch of her.
The fear and adrenaline from the day have nowhere else to go. They pour into this. Into her. Into the proof that we’re both still here, still breathing, still choosing each other while the world hunts us.
"Jan," I breathe against her skin, my mouth at her throat, her name an anchor. "Jan..."
She moves faster, harder, her breath breaking against my ear. I sit up and hold her tightly as the pleasure builds, sharp and overwhelming, until it crashes over us both at the same time.
We come together, her body clenching around mine as I spill deep inside her, both of us shaking with the force of it.
We'd almost died yesterday, so we chose the opposite of dying.
In a cheap motel with the safety off, I loved my wife like it might be the last time, and prayed to God it wouldn't be.
She slides off me and lies beside me with her head resting on my shoulder.
“Sleep, darls,” I tell her. “You’re safe now.”
She kisses me and whispers, “Good night, Mr. Hollands.”