No Fault of Mine

Chapter Forty-Three

I slammed the door behind me and took off on the run down the driveway. With cameras monitoring the grounds and night vision aiding an assassin pursuer, I doubted that stealth alone would prove effective in the woods. I'd hoped my life was off Ducain's agenda, but I couldn't take that chance. Ducain wasn't trustworthy; he seemed to change the ground rules on a whim.

I saw car lights on the county road, but it didn't offer much consolation. I doubted the assassin would be concerned with property boundaries. I knew I had to come up with a plan, but what options did I have? Run for my life? Hope for a miracle? Stan or a member of my team might show up. I thought of calling Stan, but I was too occupied running for my life.

I heard a door close behind me and knew Micky or TJ were on my trail. Now was the time to hit the woods. It wasn't my first choice, but I didn't want to be a target on the road. I estimated I was about halfway to the county road, perhaps two hundred yards from the house, not an impossible shot for a practiced assassin with a scope. I left the road and ran inside the timberline, hoping I could flag a car that might turn into the driveway.

My lungs hurt, and my heart pounded. I hadn't exercised in some time, and now I realized, too late, I could've made better choices. A car door slammed, and the engine roared, telling me the assassin was barreling down the driveway.

I dove through the brush, making my way deeper into the woods. The car began to slow down, but I continued running until I heard the door open. A fallen tree offered some cover. I squeezed under it and nested among the thick branches. I pulled some of the material from the ground toward me and tried to cover my bear arms. I realized it wasn't a perfect cover, but I was desperate.

I heard Micky tell TJ to walk to the county road and watch for me. TJ grunted, and I could hear his shoes on the gravel driveway. Micky hadn't moved. I suspected he was listening for any sound I might produce. I also imagined he was scoping the forest with his night vision scope. I had no experience with that technology except what I'd seen in the movies. From a spectator's point of view, the images looked like magic.

When I could no longer hear TJ's footfalls, Micky began to move. I first heard the sound of fabric rubbing against itself. The sound of cloth rubbing against brush confirmed that he was in the forest. The sounds were so close and clear that I realized I had not gone far in my short run into the forest. He walked a few steps and paused. He was in hunter mode, and I was the hunted. The closer he came, the stronger my fear until I felt the overwhelming desire to flee. Yet, that's the very behavior the hunter is looking for. Any movement, any sound would give me away.

Breathe slowly. No sound. Don't move. Don't cry.

I buried my face in the debris on the forest floor to shield my skin from the awful night scope and the dreaded rifle. And he was approaching. I was sure the fallen tree with me under it was directly in his path.

Don't breathe. I must breathe. Don't make a sound.

His feet stopped inches from my skin. I could smell him—the smell of the hunter on the trail of his prey. I could hear his slow and steady breathing. I couldn't feel his heart, but I imagined it slowed like a snake's just before it struck.

He chambered a round. The harsh sound of metal against metal grated against my spine and raised the hair on the back of my neck.

Had he seen me, and was he preparing to strike—to fire a bullet in the back of my head?

He moved, followed by the sound of his boot scrapping the bark of the tree. I felt the trunk shudder above my head, and dead needles fell onto my body. He jumped off the tree and again stopped to listen. It seemed an eternity before he took his next step, then another and another. I couldn't breathe normally until I could no longer hear him.

So, Ducain is not a tech god; he doesn't know everything.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

As I lay there, my son came to mind. Ducain said he wasn't in the house. My first thought was he was back home safe in bed, but that's crazy thinking. I knew that. Criminals leave their messes to be cleaned up by those who remain.

I hadn't searched the upper floor of Ducain's house, but hadn't I seen RJ take the stairs to the basement after Ducain's order to check on the others? I didn't make that choice on a hunch fired by emotion. I had a logical reason to think I'd find my son and the others there. The bloody T-shirt flooded me with emotion, and I went to Ducain for answers. Maybe that was my mistake. 

Perhaps the answer was still in the basement.

With my face buried in the forest floor debris under a fallen tree with branches wrapped around me, I reviewed what I knew. I was helpless, lonely, isolated, and vulnerable. I was also immobilized by circumstances. I was afraid to use my phone, my only source of communication outside of this property. Construction was my specialty. I could keep a conversation going all night with the guys at a party, but I'm a wallflower if the subject of tech comes up.

I risked making noise as I pulled my phone out of my pocket and held it in my hands. The tech I depended on for business, information, and pleasure was now a threat in my hands. Ducain used it to track me. I turned it off.

A wave of fear swept through my body. Now, I was truly alone. My hands were shaking as I put the phone back into my pocket.

Moving agonizingly slow, I inched my way out from under the log. I expected to hear someone yell my name, but I didn't expect to hear the discharge of the assassin's rifle—a bullet would pierce my skull before the sound would alert me of its coming. Chilling thoughts, but my mind was filled with them. Why doesn't RJ speak? Did Ducain rip out his tongue?

The smell of blood on my son's grisly T-shirt nauseated me when it popped into my mind. I couldn't help but think the worst. Even though my fear said it was my son's blood, my heart said no.

I had heard three gunshots after Liam and I parted. I thought it had to do with Liam. What if it was my son who was shot?

I pulled myself off the ground. I hadn't realized I'd been crying; it left me weak. I leaned against a tree for support. I needed adrenaline, but it felt as if I'd used up my reserves.

Then, I heard the faint sound of sirens in the distance.