9. Escape
Escape
Janice
The pounding on the door jerks me awake.
“Jan.”
Steve’s voice is calm. He’s already dressed, already moving.
“It’s time.”
I roll out of bed as another knock sounds, three quick taps followed by two slow ones.
Cole.
Steve opens the door just far enough to confirm before letting him and Liberty inside.
“They’re less than five minutes out,” Cole says. “We’ve got one chance.”
Steve collects our go bags while I grab the medical kit and sling it over my shoulder.
“Vehicle?”
“Two SUVs,” Liberty says. “We split up. They can’t follow both.”
She checks the parking lot through a gap in the curtain.
“Movement at the intersection.”
“We go now,” Cole says.
The rear exit opens onto a narrow service lane.
We move fast, keeping low behind parked vehicles until we reach the waiting SUVs.
Cole and Liberty take the lead vehicle.
Steve slides into the passenger seat beside me.
“I’m driving?”
“You’re the best one for it.”
He trusts me without hesitation.
Cole pulls out first. I stay two car lengths behind, Faris secure inside my jacket.
The first gunshots crack through the night before we reach the end of the street.
“They’re here,” Liberty says over the radio.
Headlights flood the mirror behind us.
Three vehicles.
“They’re faster than expected.”
“They knew where to come,” Steve says.
A round shatters the rear window of Cole’s SUV.
“Jan, left!”
I throw the wheel into a hard turn onto a narrow farm road I barely noticed in the dark.
The tires fight for grip on loose gravel.
Steve braces one hand against the dash and lowers the window with the other.
“Keep us steady, love.”
“I’ve got you.”
He leans out far enough to fire two controlled shots.
The lead pursuing SUV swerves, drops back, then recovers.
“They’re still coming,” Liberty reports.
I keep my breathing even.
Patients panic when the person helping them panics.
So do drivers.
The road twists between irrigation ditches and empty fields.
Every decision feels like working an emergency.
Stay calm. Assess. Commit.
No second-guessing.
Another burst of gunfire peppers the road behind us.
Steve fires again.
A front tire explodes on the second SUV. It fishtails across the gravel, slams sideways into a fence, and disappears in a cloud of dust.
A grim satisfaction settles through me. They've spent days forcing us to run. Watching one of them lose control feels like justice.
“One down,” Cole says. “Keep moving,” Steve replies.
The remaining vehicles spread out, one staying behind Cole while the other closes on us.
Across the flat farmland, I can still see Cole’s taillights cutting along a parallel road.
The SUV behind us closes until its headlights fill every mirror.
“Half a mile ahead,” Liberty says over the radio. “Road forks beside an abandoned grain shed.”
“I see it.”
“Cole’s taking east.”
Which leaves us west.
The pursuing SUV edges alongside us, close enough for me to see the passenger raising a weapon.
“Steve.”
“I see him.”
He fires through the open window.
The man drops out of sight, but the driver jerks the wheel toward us.
Metal slams against metal.
Our SUV lurches toward the ditch.
I correct without braking, steering into the impact until the other driver loses his angle.
He overcorrects.
His front wheel catches the soft shoulder.
The SUV spins behind us and rolls into the field.
Steve looks across at me.
“Remind me never to criticize your driving.”
“Keep shooting and I won’t criticize yours.”
His grin flashes before he turns back toward the road.
I don’t look behind us again.
Only forward.
One corner at a time.
HAVEN Safe House, West of Las Cruces, New Mexico. 0430 hours.
The safe house is nothing like Father Gabriel’s parish.
No stained glass. No quiet chapel.
Just a weathered ranch house sitting alone beneath an endless New Mexico sky.
Cole secures the perimeter while Liberty checks every room. Angus and Jax are already here, rerouted by Victor after Steve’s call. Angus takes the kitchen window while Jax checks every lock before giving Steve a brief nod.
Only then do I realize my hands are shaking.
Adrenaline carried me through the chase. Now it’s wearing off.
Steve closes the front door and locks it.
“You all right, love?”
I nod.
“I will be.”
He studies me for a moment, then brushes dust from my sleeve.
A thin line of blood runs along his head where shattered glass caught him during the escape.
“Sit down.”
“I’m fine.”
“That wasn’t a request.”
One corner of his mouth lifts, but he lowers himself into the nearest chair.
I retrieve the medical kit and clean the cut while he watches me instead of the room.
“They knew exactly where to find us.”
“They did.”
“They’ve seen us now.”
He doesn’t answer because there’s nothing to argue with.
Since HAVEN began, we’ve survived by staying in the shadows. Anonymous. Forgettable. One operation flowing into the next before anyone could connect the faces behind them.
Not anymore.
Westbrook knows who we are.
The family sent armed men into a Texas motel and chased us across state lines. They weren’t trying to frighten us away. They were trying to remove us before we learned anything else.
Steve crosses to the window and lifts the edge of the curtain far enough to study the empty road.
“They’ll circulate our photos,” he says quietly. “Every contractor, mercenary, and corrupt official working for Legacy will know what we look like.”
Did he have to say that? God, I hate how right he is.
“The anonymity’s gone.”
“It was always going to happen eventually.”
“But not this soon.”
Steve lets the curtain fall.
“We adapt.”
That’s what HAVEN has always done. But adaptation comes at a cost.
More safe houses. More security. More people protecting those who usually do the protecting.
It means changing routes, separating teams, and accepting that our families may become leverage if Legacy can’t reach us directly.
Steve reaches for my hand.
“We’re not stopping.”
“I know.”
“They want us afraid.”
“They’ve managed that.”
His fingers tighten around mine.
“Fear isn’t the same as surrender.”
Outside, the first trace of dawn lightens the horizon.
Inside, six exhausted people prepare to disappear again.
The war has changed.
So have we.
HAVEN safe house garage, west of Las Cruces, New Mexico. 0515 hours.
The safe house garage smells of hot metal and desert dust.
Morning light creeps through the open roller door, catching the damage we ignored during the drive.
Bullet holes scar the driver's door and rear quarter panel.
The windshield is crazed with cracks where rounds struck but didn't penetrate.
One side window is completely gone, jagged glass still clinging to the frame.
I stand there longer than I should.
This vehicle brought us out of Texas alive.
It also reminds me how close we came to dying there.
Steve unloads the last of our bags without saying much. When he reaches for another case, he winces almost imperceptibly.
“Stop.”
“I’m carrying one bag.”
“And reopening the cut in your arm.”
He looks down as though he’d forgotten about it.
The bandage is already stained pink.
I duck inside for my medical kit, then return and guide him onto an old wooden stool beside the workbench.
He offers his arm without protest. The glass wasn’t deep, but it was dirty. I clean the wound again, apply fresh antiseptic, and wrap a clean bandage around his forearm.
“You’ll live.”
“I was hoping for better news than that.”
A laugh escapes before I can stop it.
His smile fades as my eyes drift back to the SUV.
“This is our life now.”
He follows my gaze.
“The shooting?”
“The running.”
He thinks about it before answering.
“We’ve always known the job could turn ugly.”
“But we’ve never had to disappear.”
“No.”
He studies the damaged vehicle beside me.
“They’ve changed the rules. But as far as they’re concerned, everyone’s expendable.”
Silence settles between us. Somewhere inside the house, a floorboard creaks.
Outside, the desert is still. Safe, for now.
Something clicks into place.
This isn’t just about keeping Harmony alive anymore. Or Rafael. Or any single mission.
Legacy has decided HAVEN itself is the target.
If they can’t stop us by protecting their secrets, they’ll stop us by eliminating the people uncovering them.
Every rescue from now on carries another objective.
Survive long enough to reach the next one.
I fasten the final strip of tape over Steve’s bandage and smooth it into place. He reaches for my hand before I can step away.
“We won’t spend forever looking over our shoulders, love.”
I meet his eyes.
“No.”
I glance back at the SUV one last time, battered but still standing after everything thrown at it.
It’s a little like us. Bruised. Scarred. Still standing.
I lace my fingers through Steve’s.
“Then we stop running.”
His grip tightens.
“And start hunting.”
Victor will want a full report when he calls. Felicity and G will want the route data. Shane will want every detail about the men who came after us.
They can have all of it.
What they won’t get is our fear.
Legacy made the mistake of showing us its hand.
HAVEN safe house, west of Las Cruces, New Mexico. 0530 hours.
Exhaustion catches up with me all at once.
Steve studies my face.
“You’re running on fumes, love.”
“So are you.”
He glances down at the fresh bandage on his arm before looking back at me.
“Probably.”
I reach for his hand.
“Come on.”
One corner of his mouth lifts.
“Doctor’s orders?”
“Wife’s.”
His fingers tighten around mine as I lead him toward the bedroom.
“Shower, then bed.”
The motel, the gunfire, the shattered glass, the desperate drive across the state line, they’re still with us. They linger in the corners of every quiet moment, waiting for an invitation back in.
I refuse to give them one.
“You all right, love?”
I look at the new bandage wrapped around his arm, then at the faint cuts across his cheek that will disappear in a week if we’re lucky.
“They’re adding up.”
His gaze follows mine.
“The scars?”
I nod.
He smiles, soft and tired.
“Every one means we made it home.”
My throat tightens. Every scar tells a story. Together they map every life we’ve managed to save.
They also remind me how easily this story could have ended differently.
I lock the bedroom door behind us.
The bathroom light spills warm across the tiles as steam begins to fill the shower.
Only now do I realize my hands have been shaking ever since the motel. Now they finally stop shaking.
Only because they’re on him.
We strip each other’s clothing away, letting the heavy, battle-worn gear fall to the floor. Steve steps into the shower and turns the water up high, letting the roar of the spray muffle every sound we make.
He pulls me back toward the mirror, turning me so my hands rest flat against the cool edge of the vanity. I lean over, catching his blue eyes in the glass. He steps close behind me, his hands sliding over my hips, guiding me into position. With one smooth thrust he enters me from behind.
Gasping, I bend farther over the counter as he settles into a steady, deep rhythm. In the reflection, our gazes remain locked. His hand moves over my hip, trailing up to cup my breast, his thumb brushing over my nipple while his other hand slides between my legs to stroke my pussy.
The double sensation makes my knees tremble. He leans down, pressing hot, possessive kisses along the curve of my throat while watching my reaction in the glass. Every time he finds that deep place inside me, I groan, staring into his eyes as he drives into me faster and harder.
“Steve…” I gasp, my fingers gripping the vanity until my knuckles turn white.
He meets my eyes in the mirror, his own filled with love and raw satisfaction as the pace turns fierce. The pressure builds, hot and unbearable, until a violent tide of pleasure sweeps through me.
I cry out as my body contracts around him, shattering into a breathless climax just as he groans and spills deep inside me. He holds me firmly against him as we both tremble together.
Once we’ve calmed down, we step into the shower to clean up, soaping each other in slow, slippery strokes.
Later, we lie beneath the blankets, the house silent around us.
I trace the newest bandage on his arm with the backs of my fingers.
We’re collecting scars. Each one a story from a mission, proof we’re still alive.
Each one a reminder that our lives have been threatened.
Tonight, I put him back together with my hands, my mouth, and everything I have left to give.
When he finally says my name, I let myself believe we’re going to be all right.