THE SCREAM THAT STOPPED MY HEART

I pressed the transmit button on the radio.

"Agent Cole," I said, keeping my voice deadpan, flat, and hollow. "This is David Mercer."

A beat of surprised silence hung over the frequency. "Mr. Mercer. I must say, I am surprised you're still alive. Helena’s lovers rarely possess her survival instincts."

"She’s dead, Cole," I lied smoothly, staring directly at Claire as she watched me in stunned silence. "Your sniper in the timber didn't miss. He hit her twice in the chest. She bled out in the culvert twenty minutes ago."

Silence stretched over the line. I knew Cole was calculating, weighing the probability. He knew Helena was elite, but he also knew a rifle round does not care about reputation.

"And why are you calling me, David?" Cole asked, his tone shifting into something cautious, predatory.

"Because I want to live," I said, pouring every ounce of pathetic, terrified desperation I could muster into the microphone. "I never signed up for this! I thought she was an artist from Boston! I didn't know she was a terrorist wanted by international cartels! You have Emily. That’s fine. Take her. But you call off your hit team and let me clear my name, or I blow the whistle to every media outlet in the state."

Cole laughed—a genuine, amused sound. "A coward to the very end. The classic civilian. But you see, David, Helena’s corpse isn't enough. We need the original biometric master key. The thumbprint drive she took from Pittsfield."

"I have it," I said instantly. "It was in the floorboard safe. I took it when I ran from the house."

"Bring it to me," Cole ordered. "The old Blackwood Lumber Mill at the north ridge. Five miles up Highway 93. Come alone in your truck. If I see a single flashing light, Emily’s heart stops beating before you hit the timber gate."

"I'll be there in twenty minutes," I said, and cut the transmission.

Claire stared at me, her eyes wide with terror and sudden awe. "He will kill you the second you hand him an empty drive, David."

"I'm not bringing him an empty drive," I said, pulling the magazine out of the Sig Sauer and checking the brass rounds. "You taught me how to clear a jam, Claire. You taught me how to aim for center mass."