Just do it, Cate. You’ve already accomplished far more than you expected to. Getting out of that cistern is huge. If you can survive hours being locked into a ten-by-ten underground room, you can survive this cold. You didn’t go through all that trauma to freeze to death.

That was all true.

Yet as she trudged through the snow amid the swirling flakes, it was impossible to ignore the reality of her situation. She could freeze to death unless someone else was out and about on this awful night or happened to live nearby.

But she couldn’t fail Kayla—or let Wilson escape to parts unknown. He had to pay the price for his role in the attack on her, the demise of Stephanie and her boyfriend, and all the lives he’d ruined through the drug ring.

And he would.

All she had to do was push on through the snow and find help.

Soon.

Before the frigid weather finished the job Wilson had begun on this dangerously cold winter night.

28

RAZOR HADN’T CALLED to verify the pickup—and that spelled trouble.

Wilson squinted at his watch. Twelve-thirty. His right-hand man should have been in touch an hour ago.

And he should be in bed, trying to catch a few hours of sleep before his alarm went off at three-thirty so he could get to the airport well in advance of his six-thirty flight—the first leg of his escape to freedom.

But thanks to the unexpected blizzard, the airport had closed and all flights had been canceled through six o’clock. His own flight was iffy at this stage, pending developments in the weather and the speed with which runways could be cleared. It was possible it too would be canceled and he’d have to take a later one.

Meaning Kayla and her roommate were going to be stuck in that cistern far longer than planned.

Perhaps too long.

What to do?

He began to pace in his kitchen.

If Razor had been arrested, he could be pressured to reveal the name of his boss, despite his promise to keep it secret. Everyone had their breaking point.

That meant he had two choices—find somewhere in town to hole up under his new identity until the storm passed and he could reschedule his flight, or go to the airport now and join the throng waiting to board a plane the minute the runways were cleared.

With the snow beginning to diminish, it took him no more than a few seconds to come to a decision.

Airport.

Here in St. Louis, he was Reverend Tyrone Wilson—celebrated do-gooder and secret drug lord.

But the instant he boarded that plane and left his old life behind, he became wealthy and reclusive Marcus Alexander. The new credentials in his pocket, courtesy of his less-than-savory contacts, would mask his true identity for the rest of his life.

The question was how to get to the airport.