by John Sneeden
Drenna inhaled deeply then dove down once again. Since she had no way to get through the windows, she would try to smash through the front windshield. She maneuvered around to the front of the vehicle. The truck’s headlights were still working, which allowed her to quickly grab a rock from the river bottom.
Staying prone, she kicked her way underneath the inverted hood of the truck. The windshield was just ahead, and through the glass, she could see a large splash of white. The air bag. It had deployed, but as far as she could tell, there was no movement behind it, no signs of Trevor struggling to get out.
Pushing the dark implications aside, she kicked into the space. As she got closer, she realized there was a problem. The river bottom wasn’t level, and the truck had settled into a slight depression between the two boulders. That meant there was less exposed glass than she’d thought. Even if she could smash it open, there was almost zero chance she would be able to remove Trevor’s body.
No, no, no. Think, Drenna. Think.
She looked at the windshield again. Despite the long odds, she would attempt to get him out. She loved Trevor, and she’d never be able to face herself if she didn’t at least attempt to save his life.
Maneuvering as close as she could, she smashed the rock against the windshield. The glass spiderwebbed but remained in place. Leg muscles were stronger than arm muscles, so she twisted around and kicked the spot with the sole of her shoe. The glass gave way, crunching slightly inward.
Progress.
Drawing on what little strength she had left, Drenna kicked the spot again. This time, her leg went all the way through. Immediately, daggers of glass sliced into her thigh. Blood clouded the space.
Realizing she was running out of air, she swam out from underneath the truck and kicked toward the surface again. As she ascended, she knew any further efforts to save Trevor would be hopeless. Even if she went down and punched a larger hole through the glass, there was no way she could get him to the surface alive. In fact, there was almost no chance he was alive right now. She guessed about five minutes had passed since the truck went under, probably more. It would take a miracle to survive that long without oxygen.
It’s over.
She shook her head in defiance at the voice inside her. No, it’s not.
Yes, it’s over.
She briefly considered returning to the truck and wedging herself against the windshield until death overcame her. If she couldn’t save him, she would die with him. But after a moment’s reflection, she knew it wasn’t what he would want her to do.
When Drenna broke the surface of the water, she heard the distinct sound of voices coming from the shore. Had someone heard the crash and come to investigate? Two homes in the area were occupied, but she doubted someone would have heard the impact from inside a house.
After giving it some thought, she realized the only ones who could have responded so quickly were the men who had run them off the road. They had come back to make sure the job was done. They had come back to make sure she was dead.
Dead.
The word echoed in her thoughts.
That’s it. She needed them to think she was dead. If she could pull it off, then whoever was after her would let their guard down from that point forward. It would make hunting them down that much easier.
Flashlight beams appeared along the shore. Fearing they would soon cast out over the water, Drenna flipped onto her back and let the weak current carry her downriver. As she floated along, she felt a sharp burn in her right thigh. The windshield glass. The cold water and rush of adrenaline had temporarily masked the pain of her wounds. She was reasonably certain the glass hadn’t sliced through an artery, but it was obvious she was losing blood.
After drifting for a full minute, Drenna swam toward the shore. To avoid making any noise, she cupped her hands and moved them like a dog under the surface. Once she was about ten yards out, she stopped swimming and extended her feet toward the bottom. To her relief, the water was only about four feet deep.
As she walked toward the shore, she looked to her right. The flashlights were bobbing at the point where the truck had gone into the water. One man pointed toward the river and shouted something.
They see it. They see the truck’s lights.
Drenna came out of the water but stopped before crossing the thin strip of sand. Even though the men had found the submerged truck, they would soon fan out across the area to make sure no one had made it out of the water alive. That meant she couldn’t leave any footprints. With her leg wounds, they would track her down in no time.
She studied the area around her. Fortunately, there were plenty of places to put her feet. Moving slowly, she crossed the beach by stepping on rocks. Each time she set her right foot down, she grimaced in pain. The wounds were even worse than she’d thought.
About halfway across, she slipped and fell onto a large flat rock. She looked around. The fall was painful, but at least she hadn’t disturbed the sand. Moving carefully to avoid leaving any signs she’d been there, she pushed herself up into a standing position.
Her body shivered as she stood in place. She was cold and had already lost a lot of blood. She rubbed her arms and wrists vigorously.
Go.
She turned and made her way across the remaining stretch of beach. As she started to climb up the steep bank, she heard voices a short distance away. To the right, twin flashlight beams moved in her direction. Within the next few seconds, the outer edge of the beams would reach the place where she was standing.
She considered her options. She had originally hoped to make it to the road, but that was no longer an option. She needed to hide. After scanning the area, she climbed a short distance up the slope and hid under the thick branches of a rhododendron bush. It was only about fifteen or twenty yards from the beach, but it would have to do.
She remained perfectly still and listened. The voices were closer now. Leaning forward, she pushed a branch aside and looked to the left. She could see the two men in the back glow of their flashlights. Both were dressed in black, and both carried pistols that looked abnormally long.
Silencers.
The use of suppressed weapons confirmed what Drenna had already suspected: The men were professionals, guns for hire. Their plan had been to run the truck into the river, but they came prepared for cleanup if necessary.
The men stopped on the stretch of sand directly below her. Drenna’s heart thumped loudly in her chest. Why had they stopped? Had they found a sign that she had crossed the beach? She wondered if she had left behind any splatters of blood.
Soon, their voices carried up the slope. Drenna strained to hear what they were saying. They spoke a foreign language, but she couldn’t tell which one. Slavic. Eastern European. Knowing where they were from might be helpful later, although she guessed the men were simply hired guns. Their nationality wasn’t necessarily the same as that of the person or people who sent them.
One of the men directed his beam down the beach, while the other moved his beam up slope. They appeared to be making one last check of the area.
Drenna pulled back as the second beam found the rhododendron bush and held there. She froze. She doubted they could see her, but the light splashing the leaves around her was unnerving.
A few seconds later, the light moved off. Drenna waited for a full minute then leaned forward and looked toward the river. The men were already walking in the other direction.
Leaning back, she exhaled in relief. They probably assumed she had died in the truck.
The truck.
An image of Trevor’s face flashed in her mind. The dark hair. The handsome eyes that made her melt. She had hoped to look into them for the rest of her life, and now he was gone forever.
Drenna pushed her emotions aside. She could grieve later. Right now, she needed to focus on getting away safely. Then she would hunt for the person or people behind the accident. She would make them pay, even if it took years and even if it took every penny she owne
d.
CHAPTER FIVE
Goran Radovic watched as the three men came out of the water. Dressed in black military garb, they looked like wraiths rising from the pit of hell. He hoped they were bearing good news.
“What did you find?” Radovic barked as his fellow Serbs sloshed onto the sandy beach.
“They’re both dead,” Jakov said.
Radovic’s eyes narrowed. “You saw them?”
“The truck is wedged in between two big rocks. There is no way they—”
“That wasn’t my question. I asked if you saw them.”
Jakov shifted uncomfortably. “No, sir. The truck was upside down and wedged into a crevice at the bottom of the river. Both doors are completely blocked. If you want, we can go back down and try to get a better look.”
Radovic cursed under his breath. That wasn’t going to happen. The operation had already taken longer than expected. There weren’t many people living in the area, but it was still possible one of the locals had heard something and called the authorities.
At first, the plan seemed to have worked to perfection. They had knocked the truck off the road at the precise place they had wanted to. What Radovic hadn’t counted on was what happened next. Instead of going straight down the hill and onto the boulders at the bottom, the driver had somehow managed to turn the vehicle to the left, sending it off a ledge and into the water.
Radovic was about to ask another question when he heard voices approaching. He turned and saw two of his men coming toward them. “What did you find?” he asked as they arrived.
“Nothing,” said the taller of the two.
Radovic turned to Jakov. “You’re certain they couldn’t have gotten out of that truck?”
“One hundred percent. Both of them are still trapped inside.”
If that was true, there was no way either one would still be alive. At least fifteen minutes had passed since the truck went into the water. Radovic remembered reading somewhere that people could survive only about five to six minutes without oxygen.
His pocket buzzed. He owned two phones, his personal phone and a burner that he was using for this particular operation. He pulled out both devices. The burner’s screen was lit with an incoming call. Only one person had that number—the man who had hired them.
Before answering, he considered what he should say. The man didn’t like bad news and would only be happy with a firm confirmation that the woman was dead.
Radovic engaged the call and brought the phone to his ear.
A digitized voice spoke on the other end. “Why haven’t you called me?”
“I was just about to.”
“What’s your report?”
Radovic hesitated then said, “It’s finished.”
“She’s dead?” the man asked.
“Yes, they’re both dead.”
“You confirmed it?”
Radovic had hoped to simply relay that the job was finished and get off the phone, but he should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. The man on the other end was like a bulldog. He always wanted details and wouldn’t let go until he got them.
“Well?” the man asked when he didn’t hear an answer.
Radovic was startled out of his thoughts. “Yes, we did.”
A little noise on the other end sounded like a digitized grunt of satisfaction. The man was happy. And why not? They had just killed the world’s most dangerous assassin.
“Excellent,” the man said.
Radovic needed to get off the phone. If they kept talking, the man would only ask more probing questions. “If you don’t mind, I need to go. We’re still here at the site, and I’m not sure if—”
“Of course,” the man said. “You can fill me in on the details later.”
Radovic’s chest tightened. “I’ll call you at my earliest opportunity.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
After disconnecting the call, Radovic turned to the men and barked out orders. They were to eliminate any sign that they had been there. They would start by scraping the sand along the beach to obscure their footprints. They would then splash buckets of water over them to smooth out the soil.
In a half hour, there would be no sign that anyone had been there.
CHAPTER SIX
Drenna watched as the taillights disappeared through the trees. Once the vehicle was gone, she turned her attention to the cabin. A single light glowed on the back porch, but the interior was completely dark. As best she could tell, they hadn’t left anyone behind to watch for her, which meant they must believe she was dead. That was good news.
When she’d arrived fifteen minutes earlier, she had seen the black SUV parked out front and had taken cover behind a tree about fifty yards out. Soon after, she watched as flashlight beams bounced around inside the cabin. She guessed they were looking for something, but she wasn’t quite sure what. She hoped they hadn’t found the PERK, her personal emergency relocation kit. If she was going to have any chance of carrying out her plans, she needed that bag.
As she considered her next move, Drenna felt a burning sensation across her right thigh. It was the first time she had noticed her wounds since arriving at the cabin. She guessed the excitement of the situation had dumped a high dose of adrenaline into her bloodstream, which in turn had temporarily blocked the pain.
She needed to treat the wounds as soon as possible. Before leaving the river, she had tied her belt around her right thigh. The makeshift tourniquet had stopped most of the bleeding, but the pain seemed to be getting worse. Even though the glass hadn’t cut an artery, she needed to clean the cuts with antiseptic. Infection was her biggest enemy now.
She waited another ten minutes but saw no signs of anyone waiting inside. No faces looked out the windows, and no sound came from within. Grimacing, she stood and limped over to the back porch. As she approached, she still saw no signs that anyone was waiting for her. If they were there, they would have already come out.
After going up the steps, she went directly to the light next to the door. She reached under the glass cover, unscrewed the bulb, and tossed it into the yard. She turned and placed her ear against the door. She stood in place for a full minute, but no sound came from within.
They’re gone.
Drenna stepped over to a potted fern that hung over the edge of the porch. When they had first arrived, Trevor had given her a tour of the cabin. He’d said he believed his uncle kept a spare key in the potting soil, although they had never confirmed that. She hoped he was right. She could easily kick in the door, but that would arouse suspicion when the authorities came to investigate. They would already have one missing body, and a broken-down door or shattered window glass might tip them off that she was still alive.
She guessed the assassins had picked the lock at the front door then locked it again on the way out. Like her, they, too, wanted the authorities to assume she and Trevor were dead. If they had just wanted to kill her without making it look like an accident, it would have been easy to do that with a sniper from a nearby mountain.
Drenna pushed her fingers through the fern’s fronds and into the soft soil. A few seconds later, she felt a grooved piece of metal. The key. She pulled it out then used it to unlock the back door. Before going inside, she stepped across the porch and returned the key to its hiding place. Everything needed to be put back as it was before, even things that didn’t seem significant. She guessed that both the CIA and FBI would come to investigate, and she couldn’t give them any reason to think that she had returned.
After going back to the door, Drenna cracked it open and listened. Hearing no sound, she opened it all the way and stepped inside. She stood in the living room, and the open kitchen was on her left. Once her eyes adjusted, she cleared the cabin one room at a time. As she suspected, no one was lying in wait.
Once she’d finished, she returned to the kitchen and retrieved a glass from the cabinet. She went to the sink and filled the glass with water from the refrigerator’s automatic dispenser.
It was going to be a long night, so she needed to hydrate before leaving. As she drained the first glass, she noticed a half-empty bottle of bourbon on the granite island. A whiskey glass sat next to it. She frowned. They had brought a bottle of Woodford Reserve with them, but she didn’t remember Trevor putting it out. She also didn’t remember him drinking any of it.
She shrugged. He must have taken a quick drink before they left. Still, something about it bothered her.
Drenna drained three successive glasses of water then put the glass in the dishwasher. It was time to get her PERK, the emergency bag. She had hidden it in a place that ninety-nine percent of the population wouldn’t think of searching. She also knew that no hiding place was foolproof, particularly not when trying to hide it from professionals like the ones who had tried to kill her.
Drenna entered the hall that ran to the front of the cabin. About midway down, she opened a closet door on the left. She felt around inside until her fingers finally closed on the handle of an upright vacuum cleaner. She pulled it out, crouched down, and popped off the front lid. A small zippered bag was crammed into the narrow space.
She breathed a sigh of relief.
She removed the bag, snapped the lid back into place, then returned the vacuum to the closet. After closing the door, she turned and entered the bedroom across the hall. She took two steps and stopped. Something had caught her attention.
She looked around the room but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Then it hit her. She hadn’t seen anything at all. She had smelled something. This was the room Trevor had slept in the night before, and his scent still lingered in the air. Despite the painful reminder of their time together, she smiled. He always smelled wonderful. She had once told him he must sweat vanilla extract.
