Page 12 of Final Reckoning

I keep backing away. The cameraman’s phone rings. From the corner of my eye, I see him pull it out, shake his head, and start for the door.

Only one man left. He lunges at me. I dodge aside, adrenaline quickening my reflexes. He comes at me again and I run, straight for the door, like the track star I never was.

His feet pound on the floor behind me. I’m going as fast as I can, but he’s getting closer. With a final, desperate burst of speed, I crash into the door, which isn’t fully closed since the last guy went out. It flies open and I race outside.

The faintest hint of dawn lightens the sky. Behind me, there’s a sickening thud. Whirling, I see the man who was chasing me laid out flat on the ground.

I can make out my surroundings just enough, now, to see that we’re outside a house and the yard is littered with bodies. But I don’t have time to process it before a dark form looms over me. I shrink away in terror – and then his scent hits me.

Without a word, Matteo hauls me up and over his shoulder and strides away, his long legs carrying us far faster than I could walk on my own. I’m too stunned to speak.

We round the corner of the house. There’s a Harley parked on the street there. He sets me down and hands me a helmet.

“Climb on,” he orders. “Hold on tight.”

I obey, still running on autopilot. “How …” I whisper.

“Later.”

I cling to him as he accelerates away. Seconds later, three things happen at once: he curses, his body jerks, and the sound of a gunshot cracks through the air.

“Hang on!” he yells. The bike leaps forward and we pass the vehicle coming toward us, a dark SUV, in a blur. I hear brakes squealing behind us, but Matteo’s racing through this quiet residential neighborhood like he’s in the Indy 500.

I keep expecting to hear more shots, to feel them, even. But it doesn’t happen. Matteo slows down enough that we’re not so obvious, winding through one street after another, ignoring all the stop signs.

We leave the residential area and go into the business district, sticking mostly to side streets but driving very carefully now. Eventually he pulls into one of those storage places and stops outside one of the units.

When he climbs off the bike, I see he’s sweating and his right arm isn’t moving right. Grimacing, he hands me a key and motions to the padlock. I get it up and raise the door.

Inside is a black SUV. I help him move the Harley in next to it. “You’ll have to drive,” he says, and hands me the keys.

We climb into the SUV and I back it out, then lock up the storage unit again. “You need a hospital,” I say when I’m back in the driver’s seat.

“Not an option. There’s a first aid kit in the back; we’ll have to make do with that.”

“Where are we going, then?” I pull out onto the street. My heart is pounding.

“Get on the freeway going east.” I do, and he takes out a phone and dials a number. Someone answers, and all he says is, “I’m blown. Going under. You too.”

He ends the call and dials again. “I’ve got her. She’s okay. Yeah. I’ll tell her.”

Clicking off, he says, “Lando sends love from your sisters.” Lando. That must be how he knew I’d been taken, though I still can’t figure out how he found me.

For the next two hours, he doesn’t speak except to tell me where to turn next. I don’t bother pointing out that phones have GPS these days; I’m sure he’s trying to keep himself conscious.

Finally, we end up in a campground deep in the forest. It’s closed for the winter, but he knows a back way in, an access road that only the staff use. Surrounded by trees, I feel chilled, but also safe. I can’t imagine Santiago looking for us here.

Matteo staggers when he climbs down from the SUV. “Let me see,” I demand. Folding back his leather jacket, I suck in a breath.

The right side of his shirt is soaked in blood.

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