Chapter 9 Two Lane Highway, New Mexico—Just past The Refuge #2
The Charger gunned forward. Tires screamed. Engine growled.
Kawan's knuckles went white on the wheel. "Get the plate."
"Got it." Lark's fingers flew over her phone. "Sending to Jupiter."
The Charger lurched forward. Backed off.
"Don't like this dance." Kawan shifted his gaze from the review to the road and back again.
The Charger lunged left. Engine roaring. Windows flashing like black mirrors as the vehicle roared past.
It swerved hard. Cut in front. Inches to spare.
"Motherfucker." Kawan yanked the wheel. The SUV jerked right, tires hitting the rumble strip. Gravel exploded against the undercarriage.
The Charger sped off—but not for long. Brakes locked. Tires screaming.
Kawan slammed his foot down, steering hard. The SUV swerved, sliding sideways, then steadied. "Asshole."
The Charger shot forward again, fishtailing for effect, kicking up a cloud of dust and rock that pelted their windshield.
"Class act." Lark pressed the phone to her ear. "Hey—it's Lark. Specs there?" A pause. "Oh. Okay. Well, can you run this plate: Golf-Seven-Four-Charlie-Kilo-Tango-Zero-One."
Kawan risked a glance her way as she ended the call. "Jupiter or Ry?"
"Jupiter. But he's with Ry."
He exhaled, trying to calm the pulse hammering in his ears. "You know how I feel about coincidences."
"Yeah." Lark shoved her phone into her thigh holster. "They're a bad rash."
Ahead, the black Charger suddenly veered off the pavement—onto what looked like a dirt access road. No signal. No brake lights. Just a last flash of taillights and dust.
"What the fuck..." Kawan slowed. "Keep your eyes on that car."
Lark pressed a hand to the window, straining to see through the glare and haze. "All I see is dust, that sign, and tall brush. I don’t see the vehicle."
"I have no idea where that road leads. It could be a ranch road. Could be a goddamn trap." He gritted his teeth. "We're not following."
"Didn't think we were."
He accelerated, trying to keep his breathing even.
Then—without warning—the Charger shot out from a narrow side road from behind the signage, slicing across both lanes like a missile.
"Son of a—" Kawan cranked the wheel left. The SUV skidded hard. Tires screaming. Rubber peeling across pavement.
They spun once—twice. Lark gripped the dashboard. Her body lurched with the G-force.
The rear clipped gravel. Dust exploded. The front end slammed into the guardrail with a metallic crunch, then bounced off, jolting to a stop at a skewed angle across the shoulder.
Silence filled the vehicle.
Lark breathed hard, wild-eyed. "Are you okay?"
Kawan's chest heaved. "Just pissed. You?"
"Same." She flexed her fingers, pressing her palms against her thighs and dragging them down in sharp, agitated strokes. "That wasn't a scare tactic. That was a message."
"No kidding."
He popped his seatbelt, grabbed the Glock from under his seat that Brick made sure would be there, and shoved open the door.
Hot, humid air hit him. He moved in a wide arc around the vehicle, scanning the road, finger resting alongside the trigger guard.
Nothing.
No sign of the Charger. No engines. No taillights. Just the long, narrow ribbon of blacktop stretching out in either direction and the orange sun bleeding colors onto the horizon behind the mesa.
Lark joined him, arms crossed tight, tension radiating off her. "I don't like this," she said.
"Neither do I. To loop around like that and cut us off? That's not road rage."
"They knew where we were. Knew the route back to The Refuge."
Kawan mentally retracing their path, calculating the exact moment that Charger had picked them up.
"I didn’t notice anyone else in that grocery store, but that car was hard to miss," he said finally. "I doubt that call from Lorre was convenient timing."
Lark narrowed her eyes at the bend in the road. "So, either we've got a tracker—or someone's leaking real-time movement."
"Or both." The hairs on the back of his neck stood up straight.
Lark glanced down at her cell. "Not to be overly paranoid, but I wasn't on that call long enough for Lorre to trace it, but this cell came from a collection of burners he provided."
Kawan snagged it, dropped it to the ground, and stomped on it. "No point in taking chances." He holstered his weapon and scanned the SUV for damage. Scrapes and a busted fender. Drivable. "Let's get the hell out of here."
They climbed back in. He turned the key—engine coughed once, then caught. He pulled a slow U-turn and headed toward The Refuge.
"I've done a million ops for Lorre, and while he's always been a thorn in my side, I can't believe he'd betray this country,” Lark said.
"You'd be surprised what some people will do if backed into a corner. Or for the right amount of money."
"Not everyone is an asshole willing to turn their backs on what is right." She glared.
He cracked a grin. "Everyone has a price, including you. Only, your price isn't monetary. It's personal."
"Maybe. But I wouldn't do it willingly, and I'd be looking for a way out. I'd also be trusting people like me."
He pressed his foot on the gas. However, he’d be keeping a watchful eye on the rearview for the rest of the drive. As the gate came into view, a new kind of tension settled over him.
The war they thought they left behind had followed them home.
And they were running out of road.
The wood beneath Lark’s bare feet was warm from the day’s sun, a heat that had nothing to do with comfort and everything to do with friction. That’s what this place was—beautiful on the surface, abrasive underneath. Like standing in the eye of a storm and pretending the silence was safe.
But no place was ever truly safe. A utopia like that would have no need for her. She nearly shivered at the thought.
“You had a frightening morning,” Henley said as she rocked gently back and forth in the wicker chair. “Are you sure you don’t want to go for a walk? That might help you relax.”
“I’m fine here.” Lark shrugged as she leaned against the porch railing of her cabin, arms crossed, watching the horizon paint the distant hills with color.
The sun dipped lower, throwing long shadows across the high desert landscape.
The smell of juniper and pine carried on the dry, dust-laden wind.
She stared at Jupiter’s cabin. Kawan leaned against the railing, arms hanging loosely at his sides, as if the day hadn’t beaten them up already.
Jupiter stood only a foot away, in the same stance.
“Do you want to talk about what happened earlier?”
“That was a cake walk compared to most days,” Lark said.
“I suppose it was. However, you’re piling one adverse event on top of another. That doesn’t help anxiety.”
“I’m not anxious. I’m dialed in. Besides, I told you,” Lark said, without turning. “Therapy’s never really been my thing. Tried it when I was younger, and it didn’t do anything for me.”
“I’ve honestly never loved the word therapy,” Henley said.
“You’re simply having a conversation and taking care of yourself.
And everyone needs to be heard. To be supported.
We all face tragedy. Experience heartache.
And sometimes, simply navigating everyday life can be a challenge.
The human condition isn’t unique to anyone. However, it is complicated.”
Lark glanced sideways. Henley, dressed in jeans and a loose linen shirt, her hair up in a knot, and eyes steady, was too damn perceptive.
“I honestly appreciate what you do. The patience, kindness, and empathy that must be required—I applaud that. And I know it’s necessary.
I’ve seen the benefits. I’m just not one to emotionally bleed. ”
“This isn’t about bleeding.” Henley smiled softly. “It’s about healing. Moving forward when parts of us have been stuck somewhere else.”
“I don’t dwell on what I can’t change.” “Another falsity to add to the collection because Lark dwelled on it all the damn time. Every second she wasn’t doing her damndest to redirect her mind elsewhere.
“Shoving things aside so you can exist is different from dealing with the fallout so you can live past survival mode.”
Christ. Lark had heard it all before. Every flipping Army shrink she’d been forced to have a sit-down with had all told her the same thing.
While she had real emotions like everyone else, Lark wasn’t processing them the way most people did.
It wasn’t because there was something wrong with her.
Nope. She wasn’t void of emotion. She just didn’t wallow in it.
But she couldn’t run from this, and she knew it. It didn’t mean any of this would come easily, though.
Lark shifted her weight. “Look. Before you get into whatever line of questioning you’ve prepped, I need to know about Specs.”
Henley tilted her head. “I can’t discuss her care.”
“That’s bullshit,” Lark snapped. “She’s part of my team—what’s left of it. I have to know if she’s mentally sound enough to work—if she’s mentally sound at all.”
She couldn't lose Specs too. Not like this. The dead were gone—Lark had failed them, but at least their suffering was over. However, Specs was still here, still hurting, and Lark had no idea how to fix what she'd broken.
“I understand you’re in the middle of something. That you can’t sit idle. That too much is at stake.” Henley shifted, resting her hands in her lap. She was calm. Relaxed.
Lark knew how to release tension in her body.
To uncoil her muscles. But she didn’t know shit about how to settle herself into a quiet space where she could just be.
The one thing she’d taken from a therapist that did help resolve the chaos that floated through her brain was that damn stress ball, and so far, she’d been unable to find a new one.
“But I can’t discuss Specs’ session. That would be unethical,” Henley said. “You care a great deal for her.”
“Of course I do, and I need to know she’s going to get to the other side—that this didn’t—break her.”