Page 105 of Shadow

Maybe this would work.

Daphne had reached out to her contact at the FBI, and she’d lined up the matching SUVs—identical black Tahoes that could pass for each other from a distance. She’d also secured Daphne a white Honda Pilot.

He didn’t know the connection Daphne had with the county coroner, but she assured Asher that the man would help with the “victim” identification. Would file the right paperwork.

But even the best planning couldn’t control the human element.

Dmitri showing up to witness. Daphne driving the intercepting vehicle. Roger and Destiny hidden in her white Pilot a mile away.

Him, bailing out of the car at the last moment.

Maybe he should pray again.

Asher’s hands tightened on the wheel as he drove through Renegade toward Blackwater Pass. The dummies positioned in the back seat shifted with each turn—heads tilted, bodies weighted to move naturally. Outside, the afternoon sun slanted across brick storefronts and empty sidewalks. The town was quiet on Saturdays. Fewer eyes to see them leave.

One mistake would get everyone killed.

The plan had started an hour ago. Roger and Destiny leaving the Timberline Motel, walking to the black Tahoe in full view. Destiny’s hand on Roger’s arm, her sudden frailty not an act. They’d driven through town past the police station, past the Beanery, where people sat at tables behind picture windows, past businesses where the syndicate might be watching.

Then downtown, where they’d parked in an underground garage.

Twenty minutes later, he’d pulled out. Roger and Destiny had climbed into Daphne’s white Pilot while Asher positioned the dummies in the black Tahoe. He’d adjusted clothing, made sure everything looked right from the outside. Forty-five seconds total. Then Daphne had driven out the back exit while Asher waited two minutes before leaving through the front.

Now Highway 40 climbed east toward the mountains. Two lanes of asphalt cut through scrub grass and scattered pines. Light traffic. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the road. Pine scent drifted through the vents. The temperature gauge showed the air cooling as they gained elevation.

He checked the rearview mirror. A blue sedan three cars back had been pacing him since he’d left the parking garage. The distance stayed constant—professional surveillance spacing.

Asher’s phone buzzed. Text from Daphne.

Daphne

In position. Mile marker 47. Ready when you are.

He voice-texted back.

Asher

5 minutes.

The road climbed steeper. Pine trees grew taller on both sides, their trunks dark against the thickening forest. Rocky outcroppings jutted from the hillside. The mountains rose ahead, their peaks white against blue sky. The air smelled different up here—thinner, colder, carrying the scent of pine and loam.

He passed mile marker 45. The blue sedan moved closer.

His ribs ached with every breath. The stitches pulled when he shifted. His forearm throbbed under the bandage, where Dmitri’s knife had opened his skin almost twenty-four hours ago.

So, this would be a fun adventure.

Mile marker 46 appeared. Asher flexed his hands on the wheel. Rolled his shoulders. Felt the remote detonator in his jacket pocket—heavy, solid.

The blue sedan pulled into the left lane. Started to pass.

Dmitri behind the wheel. Eyes forward.

Their eyes met for half a second in the mirror.

Dmitri accelerated past. Disappeared around the next curve, where the road bent left and pine trees blocked the view.

Heading to the viewing point where Blackwater Pass offered a clear sight line down the cliff. Where he could photograph the burning wreckage and report back to Draven.