CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
The forest was dark and thick with undergrowth.

We crashed through it without caring about noise. Branches whipped my face. Roots tried to trip me. My lungs felt like they were on fire.

Behind us, flashlights swept through the trees. Dogs barking. They'd brought dogs.

"How far is it to the road?" I gasped.

"Two miles. Maybe more." Hank grabbed my arm. Pulled me left. "This way. There's a stream. We can use it to throw off the dogs."

We found the stream after another minute of running. The water was freezing. Knee-deep and running fast over rocks.

"Wade upstream," Hank said. "Stay in the water. Don't touch the banks."

We sloshed through the stream. My feet went numb almost immediately. The current kept trying to knock me over.

The dogs sounded closer. Their barking echoed through the trees.

"Faster," Hank urged.

The stream led us deeper into the forest. Away from Vincent's property. Away from the road but also away from the search.

After maybe half a mile, Hank pulled me out of the water. We collapsed on the bank, both of us soaking wet and shivering.

"We need to keep moving," he said between breaths. "The water will slow them down but not stop them."

"Where are we going?"

"There's a fishing shack about three miles from here. The old place I used sometimes when I needed to be alone. It's off the grid. No electricity. No phone. But it has walls and a roof."

"Three miles." My legs felt like jelly. "I don't know if I can make it."

"You have to. We both do." He stood. Offered his hand. "Come on. We rest when we're safe."

I took his hand. Let him pull me up. My whole body ached. The cut on my palm throbbed. But he was right. We couldn't stop now.

We started walking again. Slower this time. Trying to conserve energy.

The forest thinned out as we got farther from the coast. More pine trees. Less undergrowth. Easier to move through.

Dawn was starting to break. Gray light filtering through the canopy. Birds beginning their morning songs.

"The festival starts at noon," I said. "Vincent will be looking for us."

"Let him look. Without me to make his statement, his whole plan falls apart."

"What about my mother? The girls?"

Hank's jaw tightened. "We get help. Call the state police. The FBI. Anyone who'll listen."

"You think they'll believe us? Vincent owns half the local police force."

"They'll believe evidence. We still have a copy of Sarah's container. And we have our testimony."

"That might not be enough."

"It has to be."

We walked in silence after that. The sun rose higher. The forest got warmer. My wet clothes started to dry but I was still cold down to my bones.

"Hank?" I said after a while.

"Yeah?"

"Back there in the office. When Vincent showed me that video of my mother. Was she really hurt or was it fake?"

He didn't answer right away. Just kept walking.

"Hank."

"I don't know," he said finally. "Vincent is good at manipulating people. That video could have been real or staged. There's no way to tell."

"So she might be okay."

"She might be. Or Vincent might be hurting her right now to punish us for escaping."

The thought made me sick. My mother had spent fifteen years hiding from these people. Now she was in their hands because of me. Because I'd dragged her into this.

"It's not your fault," Hank said. Like he could read my mind.

"How is it not my fault? I'm the one who found Sadie. Who started investigating. Who wouldn't let it go."

"If you hadn't investigated, more girls would have died. More families would have lost daughters. You did the right thing."

"Is the right thing to get people I love hurt?"

He stopped walking. Turned to face me. Put his hands on my shoulders.

"Elise. Listen to me. What Vincent does is not your fault. He chose this life. He chose to hurt people. That's on him. Not you."

"But my mother—"

"Your mother chose to help you. Chose to finally fight back against the people who killed her sister. She knew the risks. She did it anyway."

I wanted to believe him. I wanted to think that my mother's capture wasn't my fault. But guilt sat heavy in my chest anyway.

"Come on," Hank said gently. "We're almost there."

We walked another twenty minutes. Then I saw it. A small structure through the trees. More of a shed than a shack. Weathered wood. Rusted metal roof. It looked like a strong wind would knock it over.

"This is it?" I asked.

"I said it had walls and a roof. I didn't say it was nice."

We approached carefully. Hank went first. Checked the door. It was unlocked. He pushed it open slowly.

The inside was tiny. Maybe ten feet by ten feet. A camp cot in one corner. A small table and chair. Some fishing gear hanging on the walls. That was it.

But it was dry. And hidden. And hopefully far enough from Vincent's search.

"We should be safe here for a few hours," Hank said. "Rest. Figure out our next move."

I sat on the cot. It creaked under my weight but held. My whole body was shaking now. Adrenaline wearing off. Exhaustion setting in.

Hank sat beside me. Not touching but close enough that I could feel his warmth.

"Thank you," I said.

"For what?"

"For getting us out. For not leaving me behind."

"I would never leave you behind."

The way he said it made something flutter in my chest. Despite everything. Despite the fear and the pain and the danger. That flutter was still there.

"Hank?"

"Yeah?"

"When this is over. When we stop Vincent and save my mother and those girls. What happens to us?"

He was quiet for a long moment. Then he took my good hand in his. Gently. Like I might break.

"I don't know," he said honestly. "I'm still a wanted man. The Torrino family won't stop looking for me. And you deserve a life without constantly running."

"Maybe I don't want a life without you."

He looked at me then. Really looked at me. His dark eyes were tired but there was something else there too. Something warm.

"Elise—"

A gunshot shattered the morning quiet.

Then voices outside. Getting closer.

They'd found us.