Chapter 5
912 Words
Twenty minutes of driving. Tense silence. Then the cabin appeared through the trees.
She dies tonight.
The voice still echoed. Wouldn't stop echoing.
The structure was smaller than she'd expected. Weathered gray wood. Corrugated metal roof. Solar panels jutting out at angles that looked wrong, too exposed. No lights anywhere. No other vehicles.
Abandoned. Or maybe just forgotten.
The kind of place you'd choose if you wanted to disappear.
Marcus killed the engine. Sat there. Listening.
The silence was absolute. No traffic hum. No signs that civilization existed anywhere within a hundred miles.
Just trees. Darkness. Stretching on forever.
"Stay here," Marcus ordered. Already pulling a gun from under his seat. "Don't move until I clear the perimeter."
"Marcus…"
Gone. He was already out, moving toward the cabin with that practiced silence that made her wonder exactly what kind of FBI training he'd had.
Beth watched him disappear around the side of the building.
Her heart was hammering. Loud enough she was sure someone could hear it.
Every shadow looked wrong. Every rustle of leaves made her flinch.
Three minutes.
Felt like three hours.
When Marcus finally reappeared and gestured for her to come, Beth's legs wouldn't work right. She had to grab the door frame just to stay upright.
"Inside." His hand found her back, guiding. Almost pushing. "Quickly."
The interior hit her senses all at once; darkness, dust, pine smell so strong it made her nose itch. Marcus flipped a switch. The beam swept across sparse furniture. Kitchenette. Wood stove. Worn couch that had seen better decades. Two doors leading to maybe a bedroom and bathroom?
"Don't touch anything." Marcus dropped his duffel. Pulled out some kind of electronic device. Started moving around the room with it, waving it over walls, furniture, fixtures.
"What are you.."
"Sweeping for bugs." Matter-of-fact. Like this was normal. "Listening devices. Cameras. Trackers." He didn't look at her. "If they found this place, they might've gotten here first."
Her skin crawled. She wrapped her arms around herself.
Cold. Why was she so cold?
Marcus worked in silence. Checking every surface. Every corner. Every shadow.
Finally: "We're clear."
"For now," Beth muttered.
"For now." He moved to the windows. Checked locks. Drew heavy curtains across them with sharp, efficient movements.
"Sit down. I need to do a final sweep outside."
"I'm not a dog…"
"Sit. Down." His voice went hard. Iron-hard. "Stay away from the windows. You see anything, hear anything unusual, you hit the floor. Understood?"
Her temper flared. Hot and sudden. "No, I don't understand any of this! You drag me to the middle of nowhere, won't explain anything, just keep barking orders like I'm some…"
"This isn't a negotiation."
Marcus stepped closer. In the dim light, his eyes were almost black. Empty of anything soft.
"You want to survive tonight?" His voice dropped lower. Dangerous. "Then you follow my rules. Don't leave this cabin. Don't call anyone. Don't go near the windows." A pause. "And you definitely don't question me when I'm trying to keep you alive."
"I have a right…"
"To stay alive." He grabbed his flashlight. Headed for the door. "Everything else is secondary."
The door closed.
Solid thunk.
Beth stood there. Frozen.
Fury and fear, both at once, tangled up so tight she couldn't tell which was which.
Who did he think he was? She wasn't some helpless…
No. Stop. She'd survived three years on her own. Three years of hiding. Building a new life.
And Marcus Kane had torn it all down in two hours.
Then she sank onto the couch.
Exhausted. The word didn't even cover it. Her legs ached; deep, bone-tired aching. Her shoulder throbbed where she'd hit the pavement. Her whole body felt like someone had beaten it with a hammer.
She dies tonight.
The words wouldn't stop. Playing on repeat in her skull.
Beth pressed her palms against her eyes. Paranoia wouldn't help. Wouldn't keep her alive.
David had mentioned Marcus. That had to mean something.
Didn't it?
She opened her eyes. Looked around properly for the first time.
Austere. Clean. Almost military in its precision.
Supplies lined the kitchen shelves; canned goods, water bottles, first aid kits all arranged in neat rows. A radio on the counter. Through the half-open bedroom door, she could see a bed. Made with hospital corners.
This wasn't just a safe house.
Someone had planned to live here. Or was living here.
Marcus said he'd bought it two years ago. Under some shell company.
Two years of preparation. Two years of planning.
For what?
Beth stood. Moved quietly toward the bedroom.
She should stay put. Marcus had been clear; don't touch anything, don't move.
But she needed to know. Needed to understand who this man was. Who she was trusting with her life.
The bedroom matched the main room. Sparse. Functional. Bed. Dresser. Small closet.
But then her eyes caught on something. Partially hidden behind a flannel shirt hanging on a hook.
A file cabinet.
Small. Metal. Painted the same gray as the walls.
Beth glanced back toward the front door. Still closed. No sound of Marcus returning.
Her hand reached for the top drawer.
Locked.
Of course. She should go back to the couch. Wait like she'd been told. Be a good little witness and follow orders.
But her hand was already moving to the second drawer.
It slid open.
Inside were manila folders, neatly labeled and organized. Beth's hands trembled as she pulled out the first one.
- Writer
