Chapter 11 Dane
DANE
The truck rumbles up the mountain, putting distance between us and town, and I'm trying to keep my mouth shut.
I know how this conversation will end but the anger is building, eating through the restraint I'm clinging to.
I know how she feels and I know it can't be easy for some normie like her to hole up in an off-grid cabin with a man like me.
Sloane sits in the passenger seat, arms crossed, staring out the window. She hasn't spoken since we left town or acknowledged the fact that we've been driving in circles for twenty minutes while I make sure no one's following us.
I don't want to be angry with her. I understand why she did it—the desperation to contact her friends, to let someone know she's alive.
I've caught myself wanting things for her too.
Wanting her safe, wanting her happy, wanting her in ways I know will only end badly for me.
Three weeks of her in my cabin, in my bed, under my skin and I'm compromised, distracted—stupid.
But understanding doesn't erase the danger she's put us both in.
"You're going to have to talk to me eventually," she says, breaking the standoff between us.
"I'm aware."
"Then talk. Tell me what's got you so worked up."
I take the next turn harder than necessary and the tires protest on the pavement. "You called your friend. You compromised our location and gave whoever's tracking us another data point to work with."
"I told her I was fine, that's it, just that I'm safe and she should stop worrying." Her tone is defensive. "My best friend thought I was dead, Dane. She was on the news crying about me. I couldn't just—"
"You could and you should have." I grip the wheel tighter, jaw clenched. "God, can't you see how foolish it was?"
Sloane sits there with her head hanging and shame scrawled all over her body while the knot of frustration continues to unravel. I just can't stop it.
"I'm a professional assassin who's killed more people than I can count…" I didn't think I'd have to explain this to her. She's a smart girl, just impulsive. "That'll go over great when they look me up. They'll really believe I'm innocent and just trying to protect you."
She flinches but doesn't back down. "There has to be something we can do besides hide in your cabin and wait for him to come for us."
"There is. And it involves you keeping your head down and your mouth shut until I figure out how to end this.
" I take another turn, this one onto a gravel road I don't need, adding more distance and confusion to our route.
"But you couldn't do that. You had to reach out, had to make contact, had to—"
"I'm not your prisoner!" Her voice rises, anger matching mine. "I didn't ask to be drugged and dumped in your town. And I definitely didn't ask to be ignored after we had sex."
Her words sting and I almost bite back about her being wasted, but I was the sober one.
I was the one who could’ve stopped all of that and just tucked her into bed to sleep it off.
But I didn't. And I liked it. And I might have liked it so much that I hid from her to control my urges because I want it again.
But that doesn't change what happened today.
"Wade stopped me at the gun shop." If she's not going to listen to reason, then she has to know the truth. "Asked me who you really are."
She fidgets in her seat and crosses her arms more tightly, like she wants to be hostile and angry but doesn’t know how anymore. "What?" she asks and then clears her throat.
"Someone thinks you resemble the woman on the news.
The missing nurse from New York." I keep my eyes on the road, can't bear to look at her, but at least my anger is starting to fade a little too.
This afternoon has been a tense one and I've been taking it out on her.
"Wade's suspicious. He doesn't buy the sister story, and if he starts digging and connects you to Sloane Grady…
" I glance at her and say, "I don't think I have to tell you what it means if he finds out I've been harboring a missing person. "
"I'm not missing. I'm right here."
"You're a victim of an abduction. The NYPD is looking for you. Your face is all over the news, and you're sitting in my truck wearing my clothes while I stockpile ammunition and lie to law enforcement." I take a breath, trying to calm down. "This is bad, Sloane, really bad."
She's quiet for a long moment. When she speaks again, her voice shakes a little. She's finally getting the severity of this and I don't like the way it makes her blanch like a ghost. "What do we do?"
"You change your appearance. Hair color, different style, maybe contacts to change your eye color. Enough that a casual observer won't connect you to the woman on TV." I hate saying it, but it's the only way and it might not even work.
"No."
"No?" I repeat, sure I misheard.
"I'm not morphing into some different person just because you're paranoid." Her arms cross tighter. "I barely know you, Dane. We've slept together, sure. But that doesn't mean I'm going to alter my entire identity for you. How do you know they'll even kill me?"
The anger flares hotter this time. "This isn't about feeling safer. Did you forget the second little gift this fucker sent us? He's been stalking you."
"He's doing it to taunt you." She huffs and turns to stare out the window, going so far as to angle her shoulders so they face away from me.
"You're being naive."
Her hazel eyes are blazing now. "You've spent five years hiding, becoming someone else, burying who you used to be. Maybe that works for you, but I'm not built that way. I can't just erase Sloane Grady and pretend she never existed."
"Then you're going to get us both killed."
She's quiet the rest of the drive, but the tension doesn't lessen at all. After what Sheriff Carver insinuated, I'm too upset to put into words the things I'm thinking, so I shut my mouth too in favor of keeping the peace.
We pull into the driveway, and I take the long route around the property, checking for disturbances, for tracks in the dirt, for any sign someone's been here. Then I park near the barn and kill the engine, and we sit there in silence loaded like a shotgun.
"I understand why you're angry," she finally says. "I do. But I needed to tell Erin I'm alive so she wasn't blaming herself for what happened that night. You can be mad at me for that, but I'm not apologizing."
Sloane slides out of the truck and slams the door, and I sit there for a second to clear my head.
If the local law enforcement really does come sniffing, she's gonna have to play a better part than the one she's been playing.
I'll admit the rustic version of her might not be as polished as the version of her on the TV, but Carver's not stupid.
He understands women clean up well and flannel looks different on a woman's curves than those suits and lab coats she's been shown wearing on the news. Her going to that Halloween party wearing that dress didn’t help.
I grab the ammunition from the truck bed, along with the package Miles dropped off this morning. Another installment in Cal's twisted game. I carry everything toward the barn, needing space away from her before I say something I'll regret.
"Where are you going?" she calls after me.
"Barn. I need to check something."
"Dane—"
"Just go inside, Sloane. Lock the door. I'll be in soon."
I don't wait for her response and she doesn't say a word to me. I reach the barn and duck inside. It's cold and dark, and I set the ammunition on the workbench and turn my attention to the package.
I'm getting sick of these things popping up, and by now I know they're not going to stop until he's done with his mind fuckery.
Every one of them adds another layer to this puzzle that confuses me.
It's like he's trying to torment me and make me slip up or make a mistake.
Or maybe he feels tortured too, knowing I'm the one who pulled that trigger and killed his father.
It's not like he doesn't remember who I am. I held his fucking bike seat when he pedaled off the first time, letting his dad have a seat for a moment. Domingo and I did things together like normal men, drank beer, threw darts, and his kid—fuck. I shake my head. Cal just wants me to suffer the way he suffered. And to the part of my heart that’s not shriveled and dead yet, it's working.
Inside the box is a glass Christmas ornament, the kind you'd hang on a tree. But instead of being hollow or filled with glitter, this one contains ash. Gray and black fragments, bone mixed with soot, compressed into the small space, and there's a tooth in the mix.
I don't need a note this time. I know exactly what this is.
I suck in a deep breath and blow it out cautiously.
The mid-level banker who crossed Don Ferraro was supposed to be home alone.
I didn't know he had a kid in the apartment with him.
When I found out, it nearly took me out.
I almost drank myself to death and Domingo was the one who pulled me back.
Cal's sending a message that I did his father wrong, because when I needed him, he was there.
But when he needed me, I had him in my crosshairs.
I set the ornament down carefully, afraid it might shatter and scatter ash across the workbench.
My hands are shaking from the grief and the crushing weight of guilt I thought I'd buried five years ago.
That kid didn't deserve what I did, and though Domingo did deserve every bit of it, it shouldn’t have been me.
This has to stop. I can't keep opening these packages, reliving every terrible thing I've done. But I can't go to the police either. These aren't just reminders—they're evidence. Any one of them could send me to prison for life. All of them together would ensure I never see daylight again.
Cal knows that. He's been carefully choosing items that could incriminate me as much as they torment me. If I turn them in, I'm admitting to murders the authorities don't even know about.
I'm trapped. Exactly where he wants me.
But I can't let him win. I'm a master at this mental game. It's how I've survived out here on my own for so long, and I don’t know what it is that's making me lose it this time. Maybe it's because I'm out of practice? Or maybe it's that I thought I was free.
Or maybe it's Sloane.
He didn't just send her here as a message. He sent her knowing she'd get under my skin and eat away at my conscience, and now I'm not just preparing for war. I'm also preparing to do it knowing there's something in this whole thing I might lose.
Just like my friendship with Domingo.
Just like my conscience in business.
Just like that little kid, burned alive because I didn't do my job as thoroughly as I should have.
Sloane is a liability. But she's one I won't give up.
That's where Cal Maddox read me wrong.