Chapter 17
Everett froze, his finger hovering over the trigger of his handgun. He slowly lowered the weapon, dropping it onto the frozen pine needles, and raised his hands in the air. Richard Vance stepped closer, a dark, ugly bruise blossoming across his collarbone where Everett had struck him earlier. The traitor’s breathing was labored, but his eyes were completely dead, devoid of any humanity or hesitation.
"You always were remarkably resourceful, Everett," Vance sneered, kicking Everett’s discarded handgun over the edge of the ravine. He signaled for the remaining mercenary on the ground to get up. "But resourcefulness cannot beat an organization that operates above the law. Where is the woman? Where is the hard drive?"
"They are miles away by now," Everett lied smoothly, keeping his voice steady despite the adrenaline crashing through his system. "They hitched a ride on the highway. You are hunting a ghost, Richard. It’s over."
Vance laughed, a dry, humorless sound that chilled the air. "Do you truly think I am a fool? A woman and a small child didn't run three miles through a frozen forest in the pitch black. They are hiding nearby. And you are going to take me directly to them."
"I would rather die," Everett stated flatly.
"Oh, you will die, Everett," Vance promised, stepping forward and pressing the cold, steel barrel of the revolver directly against the back of Everett’s skull. "But if you don't walk me to that cabin I saw marked on the topographical maps, I will simply shoot you in the knee and leave you here to freeze to death while I find them myself. Walk."
With absolutely no other option, Everett began to walk slowly back toward the dense grove of trees where the ranger station was hidden. His mind raced frantically, trying to formulate a plan, a distraction, anything to give Maren and Sloane an advantage.
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As they approached the clearing, the dark silhouette of the cabin loomed against the snowy backdrop. Vance smiled triumphantly, pushing Everett forward with the barrel of the gun.
What Vance didn't know was that Maren was not cowering in the corner. She had found an old, rusted hunting rifle mounted above the cabin's fireplace. It was heavily neglected, but she had managed to load a single, dusty cartridge she found in a desk drawer. She was standing perfectly still by the cracked window, her hands shaking violently, tracking Vance’s movement through the darkness, waiting for the absolute perfect moment to pull the trigger.
