Chapter 4 - The HuntedThe air in the motel room suddenly felt too thin to breathe.
David stared at the screen, his mind struggling to process the nightmare staring back at him. Evelyn Thorne. The woman he had slept next to for two years. The woman he had trusted with his son.
"Eight years ago, her stepdaughter fell down a flight of stairs," Sarah read from the article, her eyes scanning the text quickly. "The police ruled it a tragic accident. The husband, a wealthy real estate developer, was devastated. Six months later, he died in a single-car crash. His brakes had been cut."
"And Evelyn?" David asked, his voice hollow.
"Inherited everything. Millions. Then she vanished before the police could open a formal investigation into the cut brakes." Sarah looked up, her expression grim. "David, she's a black widow. And a sociopath. She targets wealthy widowers with young children."
"I'm not wealthy," David said. "My startup went bankrupt."
"But your life insurance policy," Sarah countered. "How much is it for?"
David felt the blood drain from his face. "Three million dollars. I updated it when we got married. To make sure Ethan would be taken care of if anything happened to me."
"She was going to kill Ethan to break you," Sarah deduced, piecing the puzzle together. "She wanted to push you to the brink. Suicide. Or a 'mental breakdown' that ends in a fatal accident. Then she collects the three million and disappears again."
Suddenly, the burner phone in David's pocket buzzed.
He jumped. He pulled it out.
It was a text message from an unknown number. Room 114. You really shouldn't have used the pawn shop so close to the highway, David. I'll be there in five minutes.
David’s blood ran cold. He looked at the heavy wooden door. They were in Room 114.
"She found us," David said, grabbing his jacket. "We have to move. Now."
"How could she track a burner?" Sarah asked, packing her laptop.
"She didn't track the phone. She tracked the pawn shop. She probably hired private muscle," David realized. Claire—Evelyn—had limitless resources.
David threw Ethan onto his back, ignoring the protesting ache in his muscles. "Sarah, you need to go out the back window. Take your car, go back to your office. Dig up everything you can on Evelyn Thorne. Get the police files from Oregon."
"What about you?" Sarah asked, pushing the bathroom window open.
"I'm going to lead them away from you. We'll meet at the old boathouse by the river at midnight."
Sarah nodded, slipping out the window into the alley.
David turned to the front door. He could hear the crunch of heavy boots on the gravel outside.
"Hold on tight, monkey," David whispered to Ethan.
The doorknob began to turn.
David didn't wait for them to breach. He grabbed the heavy wooden chair from the desk and hurled it straight through the front window of the motel room. Glass exploded outward.
Before the men outside could react to the shower of glass, David dove through the shattered window, clutching Ethan tightly to his chest. He hit the pavement hard, rolled to absorb the impact, and scrambled to his feet.
Two men in dark suits were standing by a black SUV. One of them reached inside his jacket.
May you like
A gun.
David didn't hesitate. He sprinted toward the treeline behind the motel, plunging into the dense, dark woods just as the first suppressed gunshot hissed through the air, embedding itself in a tree mere inches from his head.
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