A fresh burst of rage, and he inhaled again, sharper, clearing his head, then peeked out. Where were they? Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe they weren’t searching for him. He must have hit Jack at least once. Must have. Maybe he was lying in a pool of blood right now, the girl bent over him, desperately trying to staunch the flow.

The thought cheered Wilkes enough to push to his feet. He staggered forward and tugged back the tarp for a better look.

“Blood here.” Jack’s distant whisper carried through the silence. “Got a trail.”

Didn’t sound like he was bleeding to death.

Wilkes clenched his jaw hard enough to feel a jolt. As he took another step, the pain from his side and shoulder flared. He gritted his teeth and pushed past it. No time for weakness. He had to get out there and—

The pain was so intense he stumbled, hands smacking the tarp as he broke his fall.

“—hear that?” the woman’s voice whispered.

Wilkes pushed up straight, both hands on his gun to steady it, waiting for one of them to appear. But all went silent, even the sound of the flapping tarps from earlier gone as the wind had died. He surveyed the construction yard. It was dotted with piles of lumber, covered drywall, bricks…a dozen places to hide.

Did he expect them to waltz over here, letting him get a clean shot? Did he really think Jack was that stupid? He wanted to. God, how he wanted to. But he knew better.

He checked his watch: 11:48. No more time to waste. As much as he’d love to stick around and see this through, he had a train to catch.

He hadn’t made it to his car. He’d got about a quarter of the way when he’d picked up the sounds of pursuit. Knowing he was in no condition to outrun them, he’d taken the first port of refuge: the security guard’s van. He’d known it was open—he’d left it that way after he’d killed the guard.

The perfect hiding place. He’d positioned the guard so, from a distance, he appeared to be dozing. Jack wouldn’t dare come close enough to see otherwise. He’d spot a sleeping guard and avoid the van, assuming his quarry would do the same. So now, hunkered down in the back, tying makeshift bandages on his wounds, Wilkes only needed to wait Jack out.

He checked his watch. Could he still make the train? He had over an hour’s drive just to reach the station. He fought the first prick of panic. He’d still have time. Jack wouldn’t search for long, not with the girl in tow.

They’d left. They’d finally left. Wilkes checked his watch for the hundredth time in the past hour, his rage so white-hot that sweat streamed down his face.