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Reyes steps closer, her eyes narrowing. "And the laptop files? The manifests from the docks?"

"They're hidden," I reply. "On my phone inside the cabin. Cormac took it from me before I could stash it in my bag. You go in, and you can get it. I'll unlock it once you bring it back to me."

I need to buy Cormac as much time as I can to get back to Chicago, so he and Declan can clean up any evidence. Soon enough, the FBI will realize I'm bluffing and bring the hammer down on me and my family. But I have to buy him time.

Silence hangs between us. The wind howls through the bare branches of the trees overhead, sending a shower of cold raindrops down onto the hood of the feds' car.

Brennan's jaw clenches. "I don't like this. You've been off the grid for four days with a known mob enforcer⁠—"

"Brennan. Back off," Reyes commands smoothly, though her eyes never leave mine. She tilts her head, studying me. "You're very composed, Oksana," she murmurs, her voice deceptively soft. "Remarkably calm for a twenty-year-old girl who just fled a violent criminal in the middle of the night."

"I'm terrified," I say flatly. It's not a lie. "I'm terrified of him, and I'm terrified of you. But I'm also tired."

"Are you?" Reyes takes another step forward, closing the distance until she's standing very close to me. "Because Cormac Murphy isn't the kind of man to let his pregnant wife walk away from him so easily with a phone if he still thinks she's lying to him. And he sure as hell doesn't let anyone walk away from him with the leverage to put him in a cage."

My throat tightens. The air feels suddenly thin, freezing in my lungs. "He was unconscious, Reyes," I insist, my voice rising slightly. "He lost a lot of blood⁠—"

She reaches out with blinding speed, her fingers clamping around my upper arm like a vise, yanking me forward into the glare of the SUV's headlights. "You're stalling," Reyes whispers, her face inches from mine, her dark eyes glittering with furious realization. "He's not in that cabin. You brought us here to buy him time to run."

She jerks my arm hard, her nails digging into my skin through my sweater. "Where is he, Oksana?" she hisses. "Where did you leave him?"

27

CORMAC

Iwake up and realize the bed beside me is cold. I know she's not there before I even fully open my eyes, and it jolts me awake.

"Oksana?" My voice is rough, thick with sleep and exhaustion. I push myself up onto my uninjured elbow, my pulse beating faster.

The bathroom door hangs halfway open with no light on inside. There's no steam coming from it, no sound of running water. The motel room is tiny; there's nowhere else she could be.

She's gone.

I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, the sudden movement sending a jagged spike of white-hot pain tearing through my left shoulder. I bite down a curse, staggering to my feet as my eyes scan the dim room.

My leather jacket is still draped over the back of the wooden chair. But the front pocket is hanging open. The second prepaid burner phone I bought is gone. And on the nightstand, resting squarely on top of my leather wallet next to the lamp, sits a single torn sheet of yellow motel paper.

My feet feel like lead as I cross the floor. My fingers are trembling as I pick up the note.

The words blur together for a second, swimming behind a sudden rush of heat in my eyes.

Run.

The stupid, reckless, brave little idiot walked out into the rain on foot, carrying my child inside her, just to throw herself under the wheels of the federal government so I could get away.

She thinks she's being clever. She thinks Reyes is going to treat her like a lost girl looking for a way out. She doesn't understand that Reyes will squeeze her until she bleeds, threaten her with twenty years in prison, threaten our child, all to get what she needs out of her.

"Goddamn it, Oksana," I growl into the empty room, crushing the paper into my fist until the edges bite into my palm.

A red haze of fury and panic floods my veins. I yank my boots on and grab my gun and my wallet. I don't have a car. The one we took is a pile of twisted scrap metal wrapped around an oak tree. I'm going to have to steal another one.

All in all, a fairly small sin, when added to the list I already have.

I shove through the motel door into the biting morning air. The rain has stopped, leaving a heavy fog behind. Across the lot, on the far side, I see an old late-nineties Toyota.

It'll have to be good enough. I don't hesitate. I cross the lot and use my knife to pop the lock. It takes me seconds to hotwire it, and the engine grumbles to life.

Then I look out at the road and try to figure out what the fuck I'm going to do.