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She pushed him towards where she'd parked her waiting, idling vehicle. This was only the first step... And the road was a dangerous one.
CHAPTER THREE
The engine hummed a low, steady growl as Rachel navigated the darkened streets, her grip on the wheel firm and unyielding. Beside her, the lieutenant sat rigid, his breaths sharp cuts in the heavy silence of the car. The glow from the dashboard painted them both in an eerie light.
"Where are you taking me?" The lieutenant's voice was a thread, almost lost to the thrum of the tires on asphalt.
"Somewhere safe," Rachel replied, her eyes never leaving the road. "For me, not for you."
A shiver ran through him, his handcuffed hands clenching and unclenching. She could feel the tension radiating off him, a tangible thing that seemed to seep into every corner of the vehicle.
Outside, the world was a blur of shadows and shapes, the night cloaking their movements in secrecy. Rachel's mind spun with possibilities, with what-ifs and maybes, each thought sharpened to a point by the urgency of their mission.
"What... what is this?"
She pulled onto a desolate road leading down old, arid streets.
And ahead, she spotted a small, hunched log cabin.
They arrived in silence, the car easing to a stop beneath the overhang of ancient trees that guarded the entrance like sentinels. Rachel killed the engine, the sudden quiet unsettling. The lieutenant's eyes were wide, darting between Rachel and the imposing structure before them.
"Out," she commanded tersely, her own pulse hammering a staccato rhythm against her temples.
She ushered him forward, one hand on the small of his back, the other ready with the weapon at her side. The ground crunched beneath their feet, dead leaves and gravel betraying their passage.
The basement door creaked open, a gaping maw awaiting its next meal. Rachel shoved the lieutenant down the steps, his body complying with a mix of fear and resignation. Inside, the air was cool and damp, the scent of earth and mildew mingling to form a musty perfume.
"Please," he started again, but Rachel cut him off with a look that could freeze blood.
"Enough." Her voice was a whip, cracking the stillness. She pushed him against the wall, the metal cuffs clinking as she secured him in place. His breath hitched, eyes locked onto hers with a desperate plea.
Rachel stepped back, surveying her work. The lieutenant was going nowhere, his fate now bound to these chill stone walls. She felt a twinge of something—pity? No, focus. That's what she needed.
"Stay quiet," she instructed, her tone brooking no argument. "You'll talk soon, but only what I want to hear."
With the lieutenant secured, she ascended the stairs, each step pulling her further from doubt.
She hadn't expected to come back so soon.
The last time she'd been on her aunt's property, she'd gotten into an argument. Her friend and partner, Ethan Morgan, had been stuck skinning a dear while Rachel and Sarah Blackwood had gone hammer and tongs.
Rachel emerged from the shadows of the staircase into the dimly lit kitchen. Aunt Sarah was already there, perched on a wooden stool, her fingers drumming an irregular beat on the countertop. The room was thick with the smell of brewed coffee and old newspaper ink—a stark contrast to the basement tang.
"Secured?" Her aunt's voice was gravelly, not a question so much as a confirmation.
"Like Fort Knox," Rachel responded. She poured herself a cup of coffee, her hands steady, betraying none of the adrenaline that had fueled her moments ago.
"Good." Sarah nodded, her eyes glinting like flint in the low light. "And you're sure? He knows about my sister?"
"Yes," Rachel said softly.
She took a sip of the drink, if only to have something to do with her hands. "Thanks for letting me... use this place."
Her aunt just nodded. "He will talk."
"He won't talk easily."
"Doesn't need to be easy."
