Chapter 18
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We arrived at the state park just as the afternoon sky began to darken with heavy, gray clouds. The air was biting cold, threatening snow. The trailhead was completely deserted, the silence of the dense pine forest feeling both beautiful and deeply eerie.
"Stay close behind me," Liam ordered, pulling a compact, suppressed handgun from his shoulder holster and holding it at his side.
I nodded, wrapping my coat tighter around myself as we hiked up the familiar dirt path. Memories of Evan flooded my mind—his laughter, the way he would hold my hand as we walked this exact trail, the plans we had made for our future. It broke my heart all over again to know he had walked this path alone, terrified, carrying the weight of hundreds of lives on his shoulders.
After twenty minutes of climbing, we reached the clearing. The massive, ancient oak tree stood exactly where I remembered it.
I rushed forward, dropping to my knees at the base of the trunk. I ran my fingers over the rough bark until I found the small, weathered carving: E + C.
Just below the carving, the wood was soft and rotting, creating a natural hollow. I reached my hand deep inside the damp wood, feeling around blindly through the dirt and dead leaves.
My fingers brushed against something hard and metallic.
I pulled it out, brushing the dirt away. It was a small, silver USB flash drive, sealed inside a waterproof plastic bag.
"I found it," I gasped, holding it up like a beacon of hope.
Liam stepped forward, taking the bag from my shaking hands and inspecting it.
"This is it, Claire. This is the bullet that takes down Julian Cross," Liam said, a rare smile crossing his face.
Before we could celebrate, the sharp crunch of heavy boots on dry leaves echoed through the clearing.
"Drop the bag, Mr. Hayes," a cold, unfamiliar voice demanded.
May you like
We turned around to see three men stepping out from the tree line. They were dressed in dark tactical gear, holding drawn weapons aimed directly at us. The man in the center, a broad-shouldered enforcer with a scar across his jaw, held out his hand.
"Mr. Cross sends his regards," the scarred man sneered. "Now, hand over the drive, and we might make this quick. Refuse, and we will make it very, very slow."
