Behind Closed Doors (Rochester Trilogy 3.50)

It’s not Sam.

My stomach drops. That man is definitely not him, and he’s definitely after me. There’s no one out here tonight.

Oh, God. Sam was right. They sent someone else. Someone worse.

I could scream with frustration. I didn’t do anything to these people. I didn’t do anything wrong at all. I was a child, and someone murdered my father. My mother hid me in the attic. I stayed alive. Is that such a crime that I should be hunted down? Over what? I don’t have any evidence. I don’t have what they’re looking for.

I have nothing. I’m back to nothing. I’m back in that attic again, holding my breath to stop myself from crying and waiting for my mom to come back.

She’s never coming back. I’ve lost everything. No matter what I do, I keep losing everything. Heat spreads across my face. Why did I even bother?

Sam’s never coming back. I’m never going to return to my life. It’s over. I might as well be dead. Grief surges up in a cold splash. I worked for this, damn it. I worked and worked and worked, and it was all pointless.

Black water ripples below my boat. Should I do it? Should I dive in and disappear under the surface? It might get this over with. If I jumped in now, there’s a chance I could get to shore and run. Or the man driving the boat could catch up with me and steal me out of the water. Getting wet and cold is a guarantee I won’t make it far. I’m not in that kind of shape.

No. I’m not going to abandon the boat. I’m going to get away from whoever is chasing me. My mother would never want me to give up. I won’t throw away everything she did for me. I’ll fight to the bitter end for her.

For me, too. I might be the only one who knows, but I’m not going to give up on myself.

I veer away, cutting too close to the shore. The motor skims across the shallows, and I cut out again, just far enough to keep from losing the blades. My heartbeat skyrockets. The last thing I need is to run the boat aground in the middle of a grand escape.

I’m going back to the cove.

We had a picnic there, and it’s not going to feel good to relive those memories. It’s not going to feel good to know that Sam was lying to me the whole time. That the peace we shared together was a lie.

But it’s my best chance at staying alive. It makes sense. If you’re alive, you can feel pain. You can feel heartbreak. I certainly do.

The rocks from the cove extend out into the water. The locals in Eben Cape know about it, but at least once a summer, a tourist who doesn’t know better has an accident and ruins a boat. The cove itself is secluded, and the rocks are even sharper. The cave there isn’t deep, but it doesn’t look shallow from the water.

I could hide until he’s gone.

I ignore the instinct that says this man won’t give up just because I hide in a cave. That the CIA might never leave me alone, no matter how angry or innocent I am. This is only about staying alive for the next fifteen minutes.

After that, I’ll focus on the next fifteen.

And no matter what, I won’t think of Sam again.

Chapter Sixteen

Sam

The motor starts up a second after the call disconnects.

A boat motor.

Fuck.

I sprint around the inn and down to the beach. The boat’s already pulling out from a dock a short distance down the shore. Marjorie’s driving it. Her dark hair whips in the wind. She aims it out into the ocean, but as soon as she’s got some breathing room, she cuts left.

A shout almost gets away from me. I want to yell her name. Bring her back. But I don’t want to give her away. If someone’s watching from the road, yelling for her would be the biggest mistake I could make.

I keep my damn mouth shut.

It doesn’t matter. Another motor fires from farther down the shore. The sound makes my heart race. I try to think of it as data. It’s just a fucking sound. A boat motor. Could mean anything in a seaside town like Eben Cape. I can’t see anything yet. I need confirmation before I lose my shit.

The hum gets louder and louder, and it pops into view around a curve on the shore.

This is no tourist. This is no lobsterman from Eben Cape. This is an agent. He’s all in black, and he doesn’t so much as glance in my direction as he speeds by. Marjorie doesn’t have much of a head start.

My first instinct is to swim after her, but it’s the wrong one. I can’t swim faster than a fucking speedboat. The water will only slow me down.