Chapter 4 - The Collision at Mercy Ridge
The next morning, the sun rose over the rolling hills, casting a deceptive golden glow across the safehouse. But the illusion of peace was shattered before breakfast even finished.
Griffin’s lead security guard, a hulking ex-marine named Miller, strode into the kitchen holding a satellite phone.
"Boss, we have a problem," Miller said without preamble. "Vargas’s men didn't just send a text. They hit the primary safehouse in downtown Louisville twenty minutes after we left. They know we're moving."
Griffin set his coffee mug down so hard the liquid sloshed over the rim. "How did they track the vehicle?"
"They didn't track the vehicle," Miller replied grimly. "They tracked your credit card transaction at the gas station off Interstate 64 last night."
Griffin cursed under his breath, running a hand through his dark hair. "Damn it. We left a breadcrumb."
I stood frozen near the kitchen island, a chill creeping down my spine. "If they found us here... how long do we have?"
"Not long," Griffin said, turning to me with absolute urgency in his eyes. "Miller, prep the convoy. We're moving to the secondary location across the state line in Indiana."
"Wait," I said, stepping forward. "What about my shift at the hospital? I’m supposed to be on duty at noon. If I don't show up, Dr. Vance will fire me, and more importantly—if Vargas is watching my normal routines, he’ll know I’m missing."
"You are not going back to Mercy Ridge," Griffin said flatly. "It's too dangerous."
"Griffin, I am a nurse," I shot back, my voice rising. "People rely on me. And my job is the only shred of normal life I have left! I cannot spend the rest of my days hiding in a bunker like a fugitive."
"If you're dead, normal doesn't matter," he snapped back, his voice booming through the kitchen.
Rosie, sitting at the island eating her cereal, dropped her spoon. Her eyes went wide, and she looked back and forth between us with sudden fear.
I instantly softened, walking over to her and kneeling beside her chair. "It's okay, baby. Mommy and Griffin are just having a disagreement. Finish your cereal, okay?"
Griffin closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to reign in his temper. He crouched down beside me, his voice dropping to a low, pleading whisper.
"Ren, please. Trust me on this. Vargas isn't playing games. If he figures out that you and Rosie are my weaknesses, he will use you to force me out into the open."
"Then we end it," I said, looking him dead in the eye. "You have evidence against him, right? You said you took his playbook and his records when you left."
"I do."
"Then take it to the FBI. Take it to the federal prosecutor in Louisville. Let the law handle him."
Griffin let out a bitter, humorless laugh. "Ren, half of the local magistrate judges and police captains in this county were on Vargas’s payroll six years ago. You don't just walk into a precinct with a flash drive and expect justice. It has to be coordinated at a federal level, and my contacts are still setting the pieces in place. We need forty-eight more hours."
Forty-eight hours.
Two days.
"Fine," I said, standing up. "We stay here for forty-eight hours. But if you’re wrong—if they get any closer—we run. As far away as it takes."
That afternoon, while Rosie was napping upstairs, Griffin and I sat in the sunroom overlooking the pine forest. The tension between us was thick, electric with years of unspoken grief and newly unearthed truths.
"She has your eyes, you know," I said softly, breaking the silence as I stared out the glass.
Griffin looked up from his laptop. "Every time I look at her, I see you at twenty-two. But when she tilts her head... yeah. I saw it yesterday."
"Why didn't you ever try to contact me after you got out?" I asked, turning to face him. "Four years ago you broke free. Why didn't you find me then?"
Griffin’s jaw tightened. He looked away, staring out at the trees.
"Because I was a criminal, Ren," he said, his voice raw with self-loathing. "I had blood on my hands, debts to settle, and targets painted on my back. I thought... I thought you were better off believing I was just a coward who walked away. I didn't have the right to show up on your doorstep and drop my wreckage into your life."
"You should have let me decide that," I whispered.
He didn't answer. He just reached across the table, his fingers brushing against mine. For the first time in seven years, I didn't pull away. I turned my hand over and let our fingers interlock, the warmth of his skin anchoring me against the rising tide of fear.
Then the security alarm chimed softly near the front entrance.
Miller burst into the sunroom, his hand resting on the butt of his sidearm.
May you like
"Boss," Miller said sharply. "We’ve got movement on the access road. Three unmarked black sedans. They bypassed the outer perimeter sensors."
Griffin was on his feet in a second, his protective instincts flaring into overdrive. "Vargas."
