Page 65 of Thunder

I weave through traffic, speeding between cars with inches to spare. The wind whips my face, stinging my eyes, but I don't care. Time is running out.

The roar of the engine drowns out all other thoughts except the overwhelming urge to protect the woman who holds my heart. I can feel her drawing me in like a magnet.

"Almost there," I tell myself, feeling the tension coil in my muscles, ready to spring into action. "Just a few more blocks."

As the hotel comes into view, a sinister sight stops my heart: a van, just like the one from the warehouse ambush, parked right next to Lia’s car.

I leap off my bike, and I race through the lobby, my heart pounding and my gun already in my hand.

I pray that I’m not too late.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Amelia

I sit on the edge of my hotel bed, surrounded by my laptop, my cellphone, and my fears. My cell feels like a ticking time bomb in my hand, and I can't decide whether or not to send a text to Marcus. I've dug up some seriously concerning information about the Eco Resort project—stuff that could put us both in danger. Do I send it? Or maybe I should just call the cops? Or the FBI? Hell, I could hop on the first plane out of here to somewhere nobody would think to look for me, like Tajikistan, Zambia, or New Jersey.

Ugh. New Jersey.

Awful, but maybe necessary. Because this is big. And terrifying. The information glows menacingly on my laptop screen, daring me to act. A hidden link in my boss's files led me to a secure, encrypted server, and what I found there... it chills me to the bone.

Taking a deep breath, I stare at my phone, fingers hovering over the screen. Screw it. I hit send. The message races towards Marcus, and I hope he'll know what to do.

Maybe he’ll come with me to New Jersey. As they say, misery loves company.

Just then, there's a knock on the door. Fear grips me like a vice, and I tiptoe to the door, peering through the peephole. It's Brian Russell, my boss.

"Mr. Russell, what are you doing here?" I choke out, clutching my canister of mace tightly.

"I know what you've been up to, Lia," he replies, his voice tense. "You're in over your head, but honestly, so am I. I'm here to help you."

Help me? Is he serious? I debate letting him in, remembering that he's always seemed like an upright, honest person. But after what I found, can I trust him? Can I trust anyone right now?

"Listen, Brian," I say, my voice barely above a whisper, "I don't know if I can trust you. But I need help, and I'm desperate. If you're serious, then come in."

“Why do you think I’m here, Lia? You’re not the only one who’s desperate. We can help each other.”

I unlock the door. It creaks open, and Brian steps inside, his face flushed and perspiring despite the room's air conditioning.

"So tell me, Brian. What’s really going on? What really is theMar y Tierraproject?"

He begins pacing, his eyes darting around the room like a caged animal.

"May I sit?" he asks, his voice a notch higher than usual.

"Of course," I reply, gesturing to the room's lone armchair.

He takes a seat but is visibly uneasy, his leg bouncing nervously.

The silence stretches between us like taut wire. The intensity of his gaze sends shivers down my spine. I slip my hand back into my purse, clutch my canister of mace for comfort.

"So, Lia," he starts, wringing his hands together, "how are you finding the project? All going smoothly?"

"It's challenging, but that's what makes it interesting," I reply cautiously, keeping my grip on the mace hidden in my coat pocket. His questions feel probing rather than conversational. Panic rises in my throat as I try to piece together what he knows—or suspects—about my discovery. “But you’re really not here to run a survey on my job satisfaction. Talk to me, Brian.”

Brian leans forward, his eyes narrowing, his tone going cold. "You understand your role in all this, right?"

The room's atmosphere becomes oppressive, the tension thickening like quicksand. I need to be ready for anything. Things with Brian are not as they seem.

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