Chapter 3 - The Face of the Enemy
I stood frozen in front of the convenience store refrigerator, a gallon of distilled water trembling in my grip. The cashier didn't look up from his tabloid, but my eyes remained glued to the television screen mounted in the corner.
Jade Foresight. Special Agent, Organized Crime Division.
The news anchor continued in a flat, clinical voice: "Authorities confirm that an explosion rocked the Beckett Logistics terminal along the Savannah corridor late yesterday evening. Federal sources indicate Agent Foresight was embedded within regional maritime shipping networks before communications went dark early Tuesday morning. Local authorities urge anyone with information regarding the whereabouts of Colton Beckett or his senior associates to contact the federal task force immediately."
My head spun so violently I had to lean against the shelf to keep from falling.
An undercover agent. Jade wasn't his mistress. She was an operative who had infiltrated his inner circle. But why would Colton have two one-way tickets to Portugal with an FBI agent who was investigating him? Were they fleeing together? Or was he using her as a hostage?
The front chime of the convenience store rang.
A man walked in, wearing a drenched canvas work jacket and a baseball cap pulled low. He glanced casually around the aisles, his hands tucked deep into his pockets. But when he turned slightly, I saw the distinctive black-and-silver tactical radio clipped to his inner belt—the exact model Colton’s security teams used.
He was scanning the aisles.
I dropped to a crouch instantly, maneuvering behind the rows of cereal boxes toward the emergency exit in the rear. Ren was asleep in her carrier inside the car outside, parked between two towering 18-wheelers. If he saw me, if he radioed Tom, we were finished.
I slipped through the back delivery door, the alarm buzzing faintly before I pulled the heavy metal latch shut. The rain had turned into a freezing drizzle, soaking through my thin cardigan. I ran across the cracked gravel, threw the supplies into the passenger seat, and climbed behind the wheel.
My phone, which I had switched to airplane mode, buzzed with an incoming emergency alert override from the local county sheriff: SEVERE THREAT ADVISORY: ARMED ENCOUNTER REPORTED IN DEKALB COUNTY. RESIDENTS ADVISED TO REMAIN INDOORS.
Colton wasn't just searching for me. The city was turning into an active war zone.
I started the car and took the winding mountain routes toward Blue Ridge, keeping my speed precisely two miles below the limit to avoid attracting county troopers. With every mile that passed, the realization settled deeper into my chest: I didn't know the man I had slept beside for five years. I had thought he was a businessman who crossed ethical lines to build a shipping empire. I had known there was blood on his family name, but I had believed his promise that the violence would never touch our front porch.
Now, seventeen days after bringing our daughter into the world, the foundation of my reality was crumbling into dust.
Four hours later, just as the first gray light of dawn broke over the Appalachian foothills, the old gravel lane of my grandmother’s property appeared through the mist. The cabin sat tucked into a dense hollow of hemlock and pine trees, weathered wood blending seamlessly into the mountainside.
I killed the engine and carried Ren inside. The air inside the cabin was damp and smelled of cedar and old paper. I laid her carefully in the center of the dusty double bed, wrapping her in fresh blankets, and checked her temperature. Normal. Her breathing was steady.
May you like
I collapsed onto the wooden floor beside the bed, burying my face in my hands, finally letting the tears fall. The physical exhaustion hit me like a sledgehammer. My body was broken, my mind was fractured, and my heart was shattered.
Then, from the gravel driveway outside, came the crunch of heavy tires rolling slowly to a stop.
