Part 4
The woods swallowed us.
Branches scraped my face.
Wet leaves clung to my shoes.
Behind us, gunfire echoed through the trees, followed by the low thump of another explosion.
Agent Ellis never slowed.
“Keep moving.”
“My wife—”
“We’ll get to her.”
“My children—”
“We’ll get to them.”
Her answer was firm, but I could hear the strain beneath it.
She wasn’t certain.
Neither was I.
After nearly twenty minutes, we reached an abandoned service road hidden behind a row of pines.
An old pickup truck waited there.
No license plates.
The driver’s window rolled down.
A gray-haired man wearing a baseball cap glanced at Ellis.
“You’re late.”
“We had company.”
He looked at me.
“So this is Raymond’s boy.”
I frowned.
“You know my father?”
The man smiled faintly.
“I’ve known him since before you were born.”
Ellis opened the passenger door.
“Get in.”
As the truck pulled away, I looked back through the rain.
Smoke rose above the trees where Route 9 Storage had stood.
Everything felt unreal.
Less than three hours earlier, I had buried my father.
Now I was running through the New Jersey countryside with the FBI, carrying evidence that people were willing to kill for.
No one spoke for nearly fifteen minutes.
Finally, the driver broke the silence.
“My name is Frank Donnelly.”
“Retired U.S. Marshal.”
“I owed your father my life.”
I leaned forward.
“Is he alive?”
Frank looked at Ellis.
She nodded once.
