If they couldn’t obtain a vehicle, they’d have to walk out.
If they had to walk, they’d need supplies and a weapon.
She watched Absalom for a minute, counting the seconds in her head and praying that she wasn’t making a mistake. Time was always precious. She’d learned that the day her parents had been killed in a car accident. She’d been twelve. An only child who’d been given everything she’d needed and most of what she’d wanted.
She wouldn’t call her younger self spoiled, but she’d had it good. Horseback riding lessons, dance, gymnastics, archery. She’d had a puppy, her own bedroom and parents who were devoted to helping her become her best self.
She’d been too young to appreciate it.
And then they were gone. Killed on the way to her mother’s doctor’s appointment.
Just like that.
And, at twelve years old, she’d learned just how valuable time was. She’d have given everything she owned to have more of it with her parents.
When Absalom didn’t move, she walked back to the yurt, approaching him cautiously. He was breathing, his shoulders rising and falling, his body limp.
“Absalom?” she said, staying just out of reach.
When he didn’t respond, she crossed the distance between them, crouching next to him and touching his shoulder. The syringe was gone. He had to have pulled it out as he was running after her.
He was out, too. Not in distress. Just knocked out cold, his breathing heavy and deep, his pulse slow and steady.
She rolled him to his side, lifted the tunic and grabbed the gun, checking to see if it was loaded before backing away.
She walked into the yurt and grabbed the duffel, glanced around the room and spotted her backpack leaning against the wall. She hefted it onto her shoulders, the gauze on her hands unraveling. She removed it, wincing as it pulled away from raw skin.
Absalom had said she’d fallen into a firing pit and burned them.
She didn’t remember, but the skin looked burned, opened blisters dried out and cracked.
She didn’t have time to think about it. Eventually, Absalom’s guards would be back. She and Radley needed to be far away from The Sanctuary before then.
* * *
The camper they’d tossed Radley into was boarded up, the interior pitch-black and filled with the scent of rotting wood and mold. He lay on his back, waiting for his eyes to adjust, his fingers working at the knotted rope that had been used to bind his wrists.
They’d been tied in front. That had been the guards’ first mistake. The second was leaving him alone inside a camper that looked more like a crumbling tin can than a prison. He’d gotten a decent look as he’d approached, noting the position of the door and windows.
Muffled voices drifted through the thin walls, and he imagined the guards felt successful. They’d subdued him, bound him and imprisoned him. The scent of tobacco and nicotine drifted on the still, stale air. One or more guards smoking as Radley slowly worked free of the rope.
It took more time than he wanted it to, but he finally managed to loosen the rope. It slid from his wrists, and he sat. His eyes had adjusted enough to turn pitch-black darkness into dark gray shadows. There was a small table jutting out from one wall. No chairs. A double bed shoved up against the far end of the camper. Moonlight gleamed through holes in the ceiling and walls. He moved silently, reaching for the rope that bound his ankles and untying it quickly. He shoved it and the rope that had been used on his wrists into his jacket pocket and stood.
The rotting floor gave a little, bowing as he walked to the door.
The murmur of voices had ceased, but the scent of cigarette smoke remained strong enough that he was certain at least one guard was outside. He could have gone on the offensive, kicked open the door and disarmed the man, but he’d rather his escape go unnoticed for as long as possible. He needed to get out of the camper and get back to Honor before anyone set off an alarm.
Whatever was happening in The Sanctuary could be determined after she was safe.
He walked to the bed, climbing onto the musty mattress and feeling for the edges of the plywood that covered a window just above it. It moved easily, and he pulled it down, revealing the open hole where glass had once been. Not a large opening, but he could squeeze through.
The guard was on the move, his footsteps audible—boots on packed earth and dry grass, fabric rustling. He seemed to be moving away rather than toward Radley’s position. Bored and restless, maybe. Definitely not worried about his prisoner escaping.
Radley eased his shoulders through the window and lowered himself to the ground. The night had gone quiet again. He did the same, waiting and listening as the guard changed directions and moved toward him.
He ducked beneath the camper, shimmying on his belly, hands pressed into damp earth and decaying leaves. If the guard noticed the missing plywood and uncovered window, he’d have to be taken down. Minutes passed, the scent of cigarette smoke filling the air again. A shadow moved to his right, and he watched booted feet walk in the direction of the camper’s door.
That was what he wanted and had been hoping for.
He shimmied out, ready to make his escape.
But something moved in his periphery—a shadow separating from the trees. There. Gone. There again. He watched as it approached, tried to determine whether it was a guard or Absalom.
It didn’t occur to him until it was almost too late that the shadow could be Honor. That she might have escaped Absalom and be making her way to him.
He knew, of course, that she was tough.
Everyone who worked in the Special Crimes Unit was.
They saw the worst of the worst, the debased and the vile. Men and women who were as close to irredeemable as anyone could be. Dealing with people like that required sharp edges, keen intelligence and good training.
Honor had all those things.
But she worked on computers, spending most of her time in a chair, with her eyes on the screen. She followed electronic footprints and found her way in and out of the cyber world.
She did not fight her way out of danger, throw punches or disarm dangerous criminals. Maybe that was why he’d underestimated her resourcefulness and her willingness to attempt an escape.
Whatever the case, he wasn’t expecting her, and he was ready to rush the shadow, slam it to the ground, subdue it. Start what could only turn into a fight for survival, because two against one weren’t good odds. Especially when the two were armed.
But moonlight glinted off pale skin and light cotton, and he realized he was watching Honor approach. She moved like a sprite, darting here and there, trying to find a way into the clearing that wouldn’t allow her to be seen.
He slipped through long grass, staying low and moving as silently as he could, heading in her direction and trying to stay out of the guard’s line of sight.
He couldn’t call out to her.
He couldn’t warn her that he was approaching.
He couldn’t count on her not crying out when he suddenly appeared.
He slipped into the woods fifty feet away from her position. The fact that she didn’t notice bothered him. If she were going to play cat and mouse, she needed to learn to play it well. She also needed to learn that it wasn’t just the cat she needed to be concerned with. There were always larger, more aggressive predators, and it was smart to be on the lookout for them.