Chapter 62
The Parisian backroads were slick with early morning rain, the city still cloaked in shadow. Headlights cut through the fog as three French police cruisers flanked a reinforced black box truck—the kind used to transport high-value prisoners. Inside the truck, Ryan sat slumped in chains, blood soaked through the makeshift bandage around what used to be his left hand. Pain made him delirious. Rage kept him awake. A half-mile up the road, Alicia lay in wait, crouched behind the wheel of a stolen utility van parked off an old service route that intersected the convoy’s path. Her expression was calm, surgical, her lips pursed in focus. She’d timed it down to the second. She always did. As the lead cruiser passed the crossing, Alicia slammed the gas. The van roared forward, smashing into the l
- Writer
