Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Darkness came slowly to Laurel Valley, the sun slipping behind Twin Peaks and painting the sky in shades of orange and purple.
Grant stood at the window and watched Main Street come alive with evening activity.
Tourists moved between shops that glowed warmly in the dusk, their laughter carrying on the cold air.
The Alpine Room’s rooftop bar would be filling up soon, live music drifting down from the mountains where the ski runs were lit for night skiing.
It was the perfect cover for their escape.
Behind him, Liza moved around the apartment, gathering the few supplies Colt had left—water bottles, energy bars, a first aid kit. She’d slept for the past two hours, and the rest had done her good. The color was back in her face, and though she still moved carefully, she seemed steadier.
“How’s the head?” he asked without turning around.
“Hurts. But I’ll live.” She came to stand beside him at the window. “Is it time?”
“Almost.” He checked his watch. “Wyatt’s meeting us at the vehicle access point in ten minutes—Blaze’s cousin, DEA agent. He’s bringing Blaze’s old Bronco—four-wheel drive, reinforced frame. Not fancy, but it’ll handle the mountain roads.”
“And Caine?”
“Lane’s been monitoring. No sign of her since this morning. She’s either lying low or she’s already ahead of us.” He looked at her. “Last chance to change your mind. Stay here where it’s safe.”
Liza’s eyes flashed. “We’ve been over this. Where you go, I go.”
The certainty in her voice did something to his chest. He nodded and grabbed the duffle bag he’d packed—weapons, ammunition, gear. Everything he’d need to keep them alive.
“Then let’s move.”
They left the apartment the way they’d entered, down the reinforced stairs and out through the sheriff’s office. The building was empty—Lane was coordinating the perimeter, and the rest of the small force was scattered throughout town.
A man waited at the edge of Main Street, leaning against a dark green Bronco that looked like it had seen better days. He was tall with sandy-blond hair and sharp green eyes—the O’Hara family resemblance was clear, though he was lighter-colored than Blaze.
“Wyatt O’Hara,” the man said, extending his hand to Grant. “Blaze’s cousin. I work out of the DEA office in Boise.” His handshake was firm, his assessment of them both quick and professional. “Heard you two had a rough day.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Grant said.
Wyatt’s expression was all business. “I’m used to moving people quietly when they need to disappear.
Blaze called from the hospital before they took him into surgery, said you needed wheels and a clean exit.
” He tossed Grant the keys. “She’s gassed up and ready.
I put some extra supplies in the back—blankets, food, medical kit.
Cell reception is spotty where you’re headed, but there’s a satellite phone in the glove box. Emergency only.”
He turned to Liza, his expression softening slightly. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I got hit in the head with a tray of donuts.” But she managed a smile. “I’ll be fine.”
“Good.” Wyatt looked back at Grant. “Lane’s got the perimeter covered, but we’ve had no sighting of Caine since the shooting. She’s either gone to ground or she’s ahead of you.”
“Thanks.” Grant shook his hand. “Tell Blaze—”
“I’ll tell him you said thanks for the loan,” Wyatt said. “Be careful up there. That woman is dangerous.”
“I know.”
They loaded into the Bronco—Grant driving, Liza in the passenger seat. The interior smelled like old leather and pine. The engine turned over with a satisfying rumble.
Grant pulled onto the road heading north out of town, away from the lights and the safety and toward the dark mountains looming ahead.
The streets of Laurel Valley slipped past in a blur of warm light and Bavarian architecture. Normal. Everything looked so heartbreakingly normal.
The last building on the edge of town was The Alpine Room, its rooftop bar crowded with tourists who’d never know how close violence had come to their luxurious mountain getaway.
Music and laughter drifted down as they passed, and Liza felt a pang of something she couldn’t name. Loss, maybe. Or longing for a life where the biggest worry was whether to order another round of drinks.
Then the buildings ended. The manicured charm of downtown gave way to darker spaces—employee parking lots for the ski resort, equipment sheds, the utilitarian side of tourism that visitors never saw.
The streetlights grew farther apart, their pools of illumination shrinking until darkness filled the spaces between.
The pavement changed to gravel beneath the Bronco’s tires, the smooth ride becoming rougher, more uncertain.
Grant’s hands were steady on the wheel, but Liza saw the tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes constantly scanned the mirrors, the roadside, the darkness pressing in from all directions.
Twin Peaks rose ahead of them, black shapes against a sky going from purple to true dark.
What had looked postcard pretty from downtown now felt massive and indifferent.
Ancient stone that had watched civilizations rise and fall, that would still be standing long after everyone she knew turned to dust.
The cold seeped in despite the Bronco’s heater.
March in the Idaho mountains meant temperatures that could drop below freezing once the sun set, and the thin metal walls of the vehicle did little to keep it at bay.
Liza pulled her jacket tighter and watched the last glow of Laurel Valley fade in the side mirror.
The road climbed, switchbacks growing tighter. The Bronco’s headlights carved tunnels through the darkness, illuminating walls of pine and granite that pressed close on both sides. No guardrails here. Just sheer drops into shadows so deep they felt solid.
Grant hadn’t spoken since they’d left town. His jaw was tight, his focus absolute. Liza recognized the look—the cop preparing for threat, running scenarios, calculating odds. She should probably be terrified. Instead, she found his intensity oddly comforting.
At least one of them knew what they were doing.
The gravel road narrowed farther, branches scraping against the Bronco’s sides. They were climbing now, the engine working harder, the air growing thinner. Liza’s ears popped with the altitude change.
“How far?” she asked, her voice sounding too loud in the silence.
“Maybe twenty miles to go.” Grant’s eyes never left the road. “Another forty minutes if we don’t—”
He didn’t finish the sentence. Didn’t need to.
If we don’t run into her first.
Liza looked back one more time. Laurel Valley was gone completely now, swallowed by distance and darkness and the curve of the mountain. They were alone out here. Truly alone. No help, no backup, no witnesses.
Just two people in a vehicle climbing into wilderness, and somewhere behind them—or ahead, or circling around—a woman who’d already proven she was willing to kill.
The mountains loomed larger with every mile, the darkness more complete. And Liza understood, finally, what Grant had been trying to tell her back in the apartment.
This was what it meant to be hunted.
“You okay?” Grant asked.
“Just thinking.” She turned from the mirror. “I came here planning to sell everything and leave. Now I’m leaving, and all I can think about is whether I’ll get to come back.”
“You will.”
The certainty in his voice made her look at him. In the dim glow from the dashboard, his profile was all sharp angles and determined lines. “You sound pretty sure about that.”
“I am.” His hands were steady on the wheel. “We’re going to get through this. Caine’s good, but she’s emotional now. Reckless. That makes her predictable.”
“And predictable is good?”
“Predictable is manageable.” He glanced at her. “How’s your head really?”
“Hurts. But the painkillers are helping.” She shifted in her seat, trying to find a comfortable position.
“We’re almost there.” The pavement had already given way to gravel, the Bronco’s headlights cutting through the darkness. “Try to rest. I’ll wake you when we get there.”
But Liza didn’t want to rest. Didn’t want to close her eyes and see the muzzle flash, hear the sound of shattering glass. So instead, she studied Grant.
“Tell me about Detroit,” she said. “What was it like before everything went wrong?”
He was quiet for a long moment, his eyes on the road. “It was everything. The job, I mean. I didn’t have much else.”
“No family?”
“Parents died when I was in my twenties. Car accident. No siblings. A few cousins I haven’t talked to in years.” His jaw tightened. “The department was my family. The guys I worked with, the people I served with—they were it.”
“And they turned their backs on you.”
“Internal affairs did what they thought was right. Protecting the department’s reputation, minimizing liability.” But the bitterness in his voice said he didn’t really believe that. “Doesn’t matter now. It’s done.”
Liza heard the finality in those words. The way he’d closed the door on twenty years of his life. “So what comes next? After this is over?”
“I don’t know.” He took a curve too fast, then corrected. “Haven’t thought that far ahead.”
“Liar.”
That got a smile out of him. “What makes you say that?”
“Because you’re the kind of man who always has a plan. Multiple plans, probably. Backup plans for your backup plans.” She looked at him more directly. “So what’s the plan, Grant Boone? What do you do when you’re not running from psycho ex-cops?”
He was quiet for so long she thought he wasn’t going to answer. Then he said, “Blaze offered me a job. As the chief deputy. Said the town could use someone with my experience.”
“And?”
“And I told him I’d think about it.” He glanced at her. “Didn’t seem like I had much to offer a place like Laurel Valley. Just a lot of baggage and enemies.”