Page 43 of The Plunge

We spend most of the drive in silence. Libby drifts back to sleep after a while, knocked out from the painkillers I gave her before we left. For the entire week, she's taken a lot of naps throughout the day, exhausted from her morning routine and the strain that the healing process is putting on her body.

I'm glad she gets to rest on the drive, too. If it's up to me, we'll spend the entire day and night driving even if I have to do it all myself. I contacted the outpost before we left the house, letting them know we needed a passport made for her as soon as possible. Of course, their first response was that my request was ridiculous, but just like almost everything else in life, my money made all the difference. The price I'm willing to pay for Libby's safety is higher than the barriers that would stop the outpost from fulfilling my request within the time limitations.

They're waiting for us, ready to take Libby's picture and everything else they need from her to print the documents right away on location.

I just hope they'll actually deliver.

My body grows more tense with every mile we get closer to the outpost. I have my gun handy, just in case I need to apply a little extra pressure on Stu, the guy who'll be waiting for us.

It's his face that I expect to see after heading up the driveway that's long enough to be considered a small and dirty country road. There's a small house and a building camouflaged as a stable, but it’s used for the counterfeit document business the Covey has been working with for years.

I'm on high alert as the car slowly approaches the building. Libby sleeps peacefully next to me.

A second later, I'm relieved she's not awake to witness the moment my blood freezes.

There's a man standing in front of the house, both hands buried in his jacket's pockets, casting a dark look at me as I stop the car right in front of him.

But the man greeting me with that sinister gaze is not Stu.

It's Tom.

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