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That being the most logical decision didn’t mean it was the easiest to live with.

“I love you, Jules,” I said, my voice raspy with unshed tears.

Julia nodded once, pressing her lips together. We were officially out of time.

I grabbed my bag and gave her one last look before I walked out of my office for good.

*

“Uber for Ava Barden?”

I probably should’ve checked the driver’s name first, but I was drenched and desperate to catch my flight, and honestly, too damn scared for greater caution. I nodded, shivering and clutching my bag closer under my arm. “Yeah.”

“Alright, hop on in,” the driver said, unlocking the back door.

I climbed inside, quickly scanning his appearance before I strapped in. He was a tired-looking man, maybe in his late 40s, wearing a faded baseball cap, gray fleece jacket, and a white gold wedding band on his left hand.

He matched the picture on the app down to the bloodshot eyes that seemed tired but not unkind.

“Heading to Dulles, Terminal 1, correct?”

“Yes, that’s right. Thank you.”

“You got it. Sit back, it’s about a thirty-minute drive in this rain,” he said, pulling away from the curb.

I pressed my forehead against the cold window, feeling the laptop burn a hole where the bag rested against my thigh.

Thirty whole minutes to say goodbye to the old life I knew and prepare myself to embark on an entirely new one.

Only now, with the blurring street lights and lazy traffic streaking past, did I reach into the bag and pull out the folded piece of paper Julia had given me. There was a number scrawled on it in her neat, flowery handwriting. And beneath it, the name and number I didn’t recognize but knew I’d soon become well acquainted with:

Nate (Cornerstone)

360-555-0143

2

Ava

The moment the rental’s wheels first lost traction on the wet, loose shale and the engine cut out, I knew I was screwed.

Granted, I’d been aware that this was misty mountain terrain, and the roads were probably not the most welcoming to a luxury crossover SUV. But I didn’t know just how much of a problem it would be. Trying to climb the unpaved logging road was like trying to swim through syrup, only less fun. I pinched my eyes shut for a second, gathering all of my patience and resolve before restarting the car and trying again.

Out of desperation, I glanced at the GPS interface glowing on the dashboard screen, hoping that I’d somehow overlooked an alternative road to reach Blackwood Lake. But alas, this was it. Wet, murky, miserable and unforgiving to a sleek, shiny car like the one shuddering around me as I tried to force it uphill.

The steering wheel jerked aggressively in my grip as the front tires caught the deep, muddy ruts. I had to slam on the brakes to prevent slipping back downhill and having to start all over again.

It was now an undeniable fact that this BMW was not made for life outside of city bounds. I hoped this wasn’t ominous foreshadowing of things to come, but given my luck, I wasn’t holding my breath.

“Come on,” I grit through clicking teeth, my forearms tense and knuckles white on the wheel as it whipped back and forth, fighting the ruts. “Come on, you metallic piece of shit!”

As though in protest to my name-calling, the engine cut out yet again. I groaned, slapping the wheel. My head flopped back against the headrest, turning to the side to look out of the window and take in my surroundings.

I was fighting for my life on a road enclosed by a suffocating canopy of damp Eastern hemlocks and ancient oaks. Dark, decaying leaf mold lined the narrow shoulders, and the smell of damp hung heavy. Out of city bounds, indeed.

Just then, an unfamiliar ringing noise blared from my bag on the passenger seat. I dove for it, fishing out the burner phone and accepting the call in less than a heartbeat.

“Jules?” I breathed, relief nudging out the misery of my situation.