Chapter 10 #2
“Sure. It’s right in my car. Latest technology, you know. Crystal clear video. HD quality.”
The man turned toward his Honda.
Dmitri followed.
If he saw the footage, the game would be over.
Asher pushed himself to his feet, bit back a groan. Pain flashed through him. “Hey,” he called. His voice was casual. “Let me see that footage too.”
Dmitri glanced back. Their eyes met.
Dmitri’s hand moved fast, toward his jacket.
Asher started into a run. He hit Dmitri before the gun cleared his pocket.
Dmitri was good. Trained. But his knee was damaged from last night. Buckled when he tried to pivot.
Asher used that. Drove his weight into Dmitri’s injured side. Felt him gasp.
But Dmitri still had the gun. Still had his hand wrapped around the grip, trying to bring it to bear. His finger searching for the trigger.
Asher took him to the ground. They rolled across gravel. Rocks bit into Asher’s back, his shoulders, his arms as they grappled for the gun.
“Hey! Hey!” The witness’s voice cut through the struggle. Panicked. “What are you doing? Stop! I’m calling 911!”
Asher got his hand on Dmitri’s wrist. Slammed it against a rock. The impact made a dull crack. Once. Twice.
Dmitri’s grip didn’t loosen.
They rolled again. Closer to the cliff edge, where smoke from the burning Tahoe drifted up. The smell of burning plastic and gasoline mixed with pine smoke.
Somehow, Asher got his hand wrapped around the barrel. Pushed it away from himself. Away from the witness. Down and toward Dmitri.
The man’s finger was already on the trigger. Then the gun went off.
The report cracked across the mountainside.
Dmitri went still. Completely still. No breath. No movement.
What? Asher froze. Heart pounding. Breath coming fast. The smell of gunpowder sharp in his nose.
Then he felt the warm wetness spreading across Dmitri’s chest. Soaking into the fabric. Sticky and hot against Asher’s hands.
Dmitri’s body went slack.
Asher pushed himself off, his hands shaking. Blood saturated his palms.
The gun had been pointed at Dmitri when it fired. Point-blank range. Center mass.
Asher looked at the witness. The man stood frozen by his Honda. Face pale. Phone clutched in his hand. He stared at the body. At the blood spreading across gravel.
“FBI,” Asher said as he got up. He pulled his badge from his pocket. Held it up so the sun caught the metal. “I’m FBI. That man”—he gestured to Dmitri’s body—“he was going to kill you. For your dash cam.”
The witness stared. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “He was—what?”
“Organized crime. He’s wanted for multiple murders. I’ve been tracking him for months. Your dash cam has evidence he needs destroyed.” Asher took a step toward the man. Kept his hands visible. “Are you okay?”
The witness nodded. Jerky. Stunned. His whole body was trembling. “I’m—yeah. I’m okay. I just—that man tried to—” His voice broke.
“He tried to kill you. I stopped him. You’re safe now.” Asher reached the Honda. Close enough to see the man’s hands shaking. Close enough to smell his fear sweat. “Can I get the dash cam? It’s evidence.”
Then he stepped past the man and leaned into the car. The interior smelled of coffee and air freshener. He pulled the small camera from its mount—a black plastic rectangle about the size of a deck of cards.
He climbed out of the car. “Thank you,” Asher said. “You may have just saved multiple lives.”
The man was shaking. “I didn’t—I was just trying to help. Just trying to do the right thing.”
“You did help. More than you know.” Asher pulled out his phone. “I’m calling this in. Local police will want your statement. You’ll need to stay at the scene. Tell them exactly what happened. Can you do that?”
The witness nodded. Still pale. Still shaking. But functional. “Yes. Yes, I can do that.”
“Good. What’s your name?”
“Martin. Martin Hendricks.”
“Okay, Martin. You did good today.” Asher turned away before the man could ask more questions.
He moved back toward the cliff edge. Toward where Dmitri lay in his own blood. He looked down at the wreckage. Flames still consumed the vehicle. Smoke rising black against blue sky.
But the dash cam in his hand would tell a different story. Would show Daphne in the white Pilot, swerving deliberately. Would show the choreography. Would show Roger and Destiny in her vehicle.
Would destroy everything.
Asher pulled up the camera’s memory card. Small SD card. Everything recorded in HD quality.
He pocketed the card. Then he handed the camera back to Martin. “I got the evidence I needed.”
The sound of an engine cut through the smoke. Coming fast.
Asher turned.
A white Pilot came around the curve. Daphne behind the wheel, her face visible through the windshield—focused, alert, ready. Roger and Destiny in the back seat.
The Pilot’s tires squealed as it stopped. Door opened before the vehicle finished rocking. Daphne jumped out. Weapon drawn and up in a two-handed grip. Eyes scanning the scene.
Dmitri dead on the ground in spreading blood. Martin standing by his Honda with his phone. Asher standing between them, covered in dust and blood. The burning wreckage down the slope still smoking.
“Asher?” She lowered her weapon.
“We’re clear,” he said. Kept his voice calm. “But we need to go. Now.”
He moved over to the car. Heat flared through his torso. His hands left blood on the door handle.
Daphne hesitated. Her eyes moved from Dmitri’s body to Martin to Asher.
“Let’s go,” Asher said.
She got into the car. He eased into the passenger seat.
“Are you okay?” Destiny, leaning up from the back seat.
“I will be,” he said.
“Where are we going?” Daphne said.
He met her eyes. Saw a flare of concern a second before she shuttered it.
“The only safe place I know.”
He hoped.
The gunshot at Blackwater Pass had nearly stopped Daphne’s heart.
She’d heard it as she’d floored it past the death drop where, in her rearview mirror, she’d seen Asher bail out of the SUV.
She’d barely been able to breathe.
Watched Asher get to his feet. Alive.
Then the explosion shook the air, fire blooming. Black smoke rising. Perfect detonation. Perfect timing. Bam. Mission accomplished.
And then Dmitri had pulled up, and she’d just kept driving.
Stuck to the plan.
But her heart had filled her throat until she’d reached a turnaround lip in the road.
Floored it back.
And then the shot—and in that terrible moment, she’d realized…
No way was she going to win at this compartmentalization game. Not with her hands shaking on the steering wheel. Not with the way that made her heart pound and her breath catch and her mind scream No! No! Please!
But that had been thirty minutes ago. Before she’d found him alive yet bloody—what else did she expect?—and standing over his informant’s body.
Before he’d gotten in the car beside her, a little shell-shocked, his hands on his knees, just breathing.
But alive.
She needed to think about the operation. About what came next.
But she couldn’t ignore the terrible relief in her chest, the way it pushed heat into her eyes.
Now, driving through mountains with the afternoon sun painting everything gold and shadows lengthening across asphalt, Daphne kept glancing at Asher.
He sat silent in the passenger seat, staring out the window at passing pine trees and rocky outcroppings and valleys stretching into the distance. His right hand pressed against his ribs where the stitches were. His jaw set. His expression closed.
He hadn’t said ten words since getting in the SUV.
Not about the blood on his jacket or the way he held his ribs or the fact that he’d just killed a man and staged a death and destroyed evidence.
Just silence.
She’d even take a So, that was fun, sugar nugget.
But he just continued to stare and didn’t speak. Wouldn’t meet her eyes.
“You okay?” Daphne asked.
“Fine.”
“Your ribs?”
“Fine.”
“Asher—”
“I’m fine, Daphne. Just—” He stopped. Breathed. “Just drive.”
She drove.
The highway climbed. Steep grades. Switchbacks. Mountains rising on both sides. Aspen trees turning gold in November light. Pine forests thick and dark.
In the back seat, Destiny just sat staring out the window.
Roger hadn’t said anything either, his jaw tight.
“How much farther?” Daphne asked.
Asher checked the GPS on his phone. “Forty-five minutes. Next right onto County Road 17. Then twenty miles.”
“And you’re sure no one knows about this place?”
“I’m sure.” He finally looked at her. “The deed is in a private trust name. Property taxes get paid automatically. Mail goes to a lawyer in Denver.” The closed expression on his face said the topic was done.
She drove in silence.
The highway narrowed, two lanes becoming one and a half. Pavement cracking. Fewer cars. More space between houses and ranches and civilization.
They passed a sign: COUNTY ROAD 17 – 2 MILES.
Asher shifted in his seat. Winced.
And then she saw it—the bloody stain on his chest. “You’re bleeding through your shirt. I’m pulling over.”
“We’re almost there.”
“Asher—”
“I said I’m fine.” His voice went hard. Sharp. “Please, just drive.”
Daphne clenched her jaw. Drove.
County Road 17 appeared on the right, a gravel road that wound into a valley.
“Here,” Asher said.
Daphne turned. The SUV bounced over potholes and ruts. Pine trees closed in on both sides. Aspen groves with leaves turning gold. Rocky outcroppings. The road climbed, no houses, no signs. No indication anyone lived up here.
Just wilderness.
Then the trees opened up.
And Daphne’s breath caught.
The ranch sat in a valley surrounded by mountains, sagebrush and wild grass spreading across the land. A creek running through the property glinted under the encroaching twilight. Mountains rose, purple and gold in the distance.
And the spread itself—beautiful. The main house was massive. Log-and-stone construction. Two stories with a steep, red metal roof. Large windows catching the light. A wraparound porch. The kind of place you saw in magazines.
A barn sat fifty yards away. Weathered wood. Same red metal roof. Corrals beside it with three horses grazing.
A smaller cabin sat closer to the creek. Also log construction.