20

Nathan

I didn’t sleep that night. I told Carrie I was fine, told her I’d keep watch like it was no big deal, but the truth was every muscle in my body was wound tight, every instinct on high alert. There was something in the air—a charge I couldn’t explain, like the world was holding its breath, waiting for something to snap.

Carrie had drifted off eventually, curled up under the covers, her breathing soft and even. I stayed in the chair by the window, my Glock resting on my thigh, eyes scanning the shadows outside.

Hours passed. The quiet stretched thin, the kind of silence that felt wrong, too still to trust.

My phone buzzed softly against my leg, a message from Gary flashing on the screen:

No sign of Daniel yet. But stay sharp. Intel says he might be heading your way.

I stared at the message for a long moment, my gut twisting. Heading our way. That was the confirmation I needed—but it wasn’t the kind of news I could share with Carrie, not now. Not when she was just starting to find her footing again after everything.

I stood and stretched, rolling the tension from my shoulders, and stepped out onto the balcony. The night was cold and biting, but I welcomed it. It cleared my head, gave me focus. Somewhere out there, Daniel was lurking, waiting for his moment. But so was I.

I wasn’t going to let him win.

By the time the first streaks of dawn touched the sky, I made my decision. We couldn’t stay locked up in that apartment forever. We needed to move, stay ahead of the threat. I’d take Carrie somewhere safe, somewhere Daniel wouldn’t expect.

I stepped back inside, watching her sleep for a moment. She looked so peaceful, so heartbreakingly vulnerable, and it hit me then—how deep I’d fallen, how much I cared. More than I should, more than was smart.

But it was too late to turn back now.

I reached down, brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead. “We’re gonna get through this, Princess,” I whispered. “I swear to you.”

I let her sleep a little longer, watching the way the early sunlight played across her face, highlighting every soft curve and delicate freckle I’d come to memorize. There was something achingly beautiful about the way she trusted me now, even if she didn’t say it out loud. That same trust weighed on me—a responsibility I felt in my bones.

I moved through the apartment quietly, making a mental list of everything we’d need. Essentials first—new burner phones, clean credit cards, the usual tricks to stay off the radar. I contacted a buddy of mine from my army days, someone who owed me a favor and could secure a safe house in a nearby town. Somewhere quiet, off the grid.

By midmorning, Carrie stirred. I heard her footsteps before I saw her—barefoot, hair mussed from sleep, eyes still heavy but searching. “Nathan,” she murmured, voice raspy, “why are you up so early? You didn’t even come to bed.”

I crossed the room and cupped her cheek, letting my thumb brush lightly against her skin. “Didn’t want to wake you. You needed the rest.”

She leaned into my touch, but her eyes narrowed, catching that edge in my voice. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”

I hesitated. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t lie to her, not anymore. “Yeah,” I admitted quietly. “We need to leave, Carrie. Today.”

She blinked, and for a moment I saw the fear flash through her gaze, but then she straightened her shoulders. Stronger than anyone gave her credit for. “Okay. Tell me what to do.”

God, I admired her in that moment—her courage, her grit. I kissed her forehead softly. “Pack light. Only what you can carry easily. We’ll be gone before noon.”

Carrie didn’t waste time. I watched her move briskly through the apartment, gathering clothes, stuffing essentials into a small duffel. There was a new sharpness in her, something that told me she was done playing the damsel, ready to fight her own battles even if the fear still lingered beneath.

Meanwhile, I double-checked my Glock, reloaded it, and slipped it into my holster. Old habits. I swept through each room one last time, scanning for anything we might have missed—a hidden camera, a tracking device, any telltale sign that we’d been compromised. Nothing obvious, but that didn’t mean we were in the clear.

“Ready?” I asked as Carrie zipped up her bag, her eyes meeting mine with a quiet determination.

“Let’s get out of here,” she said. Her voice didn’t shake.

We made our way to the garage, the tension thick between us. Every sound seemed amplified—the click of her heels, the hum of the elevator, the mechanical groan of the garage door rolling up. I kept my eyes peeled, my senses on overdrive.

Outside, the morning was deceptively calm. Too calm. I couldn’t shake the feeling we were being watched. I opened the car door for her and gave her a tight nod. “Stay low. Don’t speak unless I tell you to.”

She slid in wordlessly, and I circled to the driver’s side, sliding behind the wheel. The engine purred to life, and I eased the car out, eyes flicking from mirror to mirror, searching for a tail.

We drove in silence for a while, taking backroads, weaving through sleepy neighborhoods to throw off anyone who might have been following. Every twist and turn of the wheel, my grip tightened, the weight of everything settling heavier on my shoulders.

Finally, when we were an hour out of town, I pulled into a quiet gas station and killed the engine. “We’ll switch cars here,” I told her, stepping out and stretching my legs.

Carrie followed, glancing around nervously. “Do you think they’re close?”

I scanned the horizon, every instinct on high alert. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “But I’m not taking any chances.”

I made a quick call to my contact, confirming the rendezvous point. Ten minutes later, an unmarked SUV rolled up beside us. A tall man with a beard and aviators stepped out and nodded at me. “Here’s the ride, Woods. Keep your head down.”

“Thanks, Marcus,” I said, gripping his hand tightly. “I owe you one.”

“Stay safe,” he replied before climbing into our old car and driving off, taking our trail with him.

I loaded Carrie’s bag into the new vehicle and helped her climb in. As I slid behind the wheel again, I caught her watching me—eyes bright, filled with something between fear and trust.

“We’re not going back, are we?” she asked quietly.

I shook my head. “No, Carrie. This is just the beginning.”

And with that, I hit the gas, the city shrinking behind us as we sped toward whatever waited up ahead—both of us knowing there was no turning back.