He lost track of time as they traveled along a rutted road. The farther he got from danger, the angrier he became. He vowed never to trust his well-being to anyone else ever again. From now on, he was solo, and he would stay that way. And along with the fact that he hated feeling disoriented and lost, it felt like his face was frozen solid by the time the rain stopped and they cut off the main path and down, eventually reaching what looked like a trailer park.

Camo Guy drove the RZR behind a little shed and killed the motor. He turned to Ice. “You can go inside that mobile and get warm and dry. I have to pick up my truck; then we’ll head to the airport.”

Ice nodded, not trusting his frozen mouth to form intelligible speech. He followed Camo Man to the door of a mobile home, waited as the man unlocked the door, opened it, and motioned Ice inside.

“Shower is in the back. Help yourself to anything you need. If anyone knocks on the door, don’t answer. This place ain’t mine, but I got permission to use it.” He stepped back out the door, pulling it closed behind him.

Ice looked around the mobile he found himself in. It was sparse and looked fifteen years out-of-date in terms of furnishings, but it was warm, dry, and his face began to thaw. He sat at the small kitchen table, wincing as pain stabbed when he tried to raise his stiff, cold shoulder. His chest had mellowed to a dull ache. But deep breaths were difficult. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and froze. All his other belongings were in his backpack—burner phone, money, favorite gun—and now the police had them.

He closed his eyes, leaned back, and cursed. Nothing could identify him specifically—he knew that—so it wasn’t a horrible loss, just irritating and so uncalled for. Anger coursed through his veins, first at Gage and then at those stupid women. He vowed to himself that he would return and kill them all, no matter what Cyrus said or did. The two who chased him away he’d kill for free. He opened and closed his fingers several times before he trusted them to text Cyrus.

Gage dead, court order rejected.

An answer came immediately. Where are you?

Safe for now, trying to get to the airport.

Hang tight. I may have some news soon.

It’s hot for me here. You have a plane at the airport?

If you need a place to lay low, yes, private jet is hangared at the Rogue Valley airport. Digger will get you anything you need. But keep phone close.