Chapter 53

fifty-three

ALEX

I slowed the snowmobile to a crawl and peered around the clearing. The ranger’s house looked just as forlorn as the day I first saw it with Dylan. Even though it seemed like it wouldn’t last another winter, I was profoundly grateful it was here. Without its shelter and the supplies Dylan left inside, I would have died. I only hoped I didn’t have to use them again.

I swung my leg over the seat of the snowmobile and stood perfectly still. If the people I was meeting were here, I couldn’t see or hear them. Silence echoed through the forest as loudly as the battle cry of a Highland clan.

Taking a deep breath, I unzipped my jacket and braced my arms on either side of my thighs. One of my guns dug into my back. The other was strapped to my hip. Both were loaded and ready to fire.

The sound of engines cut through the heavy silence. I couldn’t tell which direction the noise was coming from. The snow-covered pine trees bounced sound around the clearing like an ancient Greek theater.

Three snowmobiles emerged from behind some trees. They stopped about thirty feet in front of the ranger’s house.

My eyes widened. Slouched behind one of the drivers was a person with a brown sack covering their head. I’d seen TV images of hostages, gagged and blindfolded, but I’d never seen anything like it in real life.

When the driver dismounted, the person fell forward. I didn’t know whether it was from sheer exhaustion or because their hands were tied. But either way, they didn’t move.

Even in the bitter cold, sweat ran down my back. I wanted to rush across the clearing and help them, but I had to wait. One wrong move and everything could end in disaster.

When all three drivers took off their helmets, I clenched my fists. The fresh-faced, boy-next-door men were nothing like the people I was expecting to see. They looked like college graduates instead of the violent criminals they’d become.

A blond-haired man stepped forward. He couldn’t be more than twenty-five years old. “Do you have the program?”

Was that a Canadian accent? If they’d crossed the border, the FBI would have access to their personal information. All I needed was a license plate number, and the FBI could identify them.

I held the hard drive above my head. “It’s here.” If I was terrified of this meeting, the men opposite me didn’t seem worried at all. The smug look they exchanged told me they hadn’t imagined getting anything other than what they wanted.

They were too confident, too used to getting their own way. With any luck, by the end of the day, they’d regret ever meeting me.

I nodded toward the snowmobile. “Who did you bring with you?”

The driver with dark brown hair looked over his shoulder, dismissing the person with a careless shrug. “Consider him our parting gift to you.”

The blond guy yanked the person off the snowmobile. “Bring the program over here or your friend dies.”

My heart pounded. For a moment, I thought the terrorist was holding Dylan. But the shape of the person’s body was all wrong.

The last thing I wanted was to get closer to the terrorists. If I stepped away from my snowmobile, I’d be vulnerable. But, without backup, I had no choice but to do what they wanted.

“What guarantee do I have that you’re not going to shoot me before you leave?”

“You don’t get any guarantees.” The blond guy pushed his prisoner face down into the snow.

The muffled groan coming from the person’s throat made my stomach twist. Whoever was under the sack was hurt. It would slow him down, slow us both down when we needed to run. Everything had just gone from bad to worse.

With no other option, I took a step forward, then another. To my relief, one of the terrorists pulled the prisoner to his feet and marched him across the clearing. Finally, the odds of leaving here alive were getting better.

When we were no more than ten feet apart, the man held out his hand. “If the program doesn’t work, we know where to find you.”

I gave him the hard drive. “It works. Once this is over, I don’t want to hear from you again. ”

The terrorist pushed the hostage onto the ground. “If I were you, I’d be careful what you wished for. If this isn’t the program, the email I sent this morning is only the beginning. Next time, we won’t be so gentle with your colleagues.”

I had no idea what he was talking about. I’d come here to give the terrorists the program. If I could help someone else, it was an unexpected bonus.

I studied the men standing beside their snowmobiles. Their guns were pointed straight at me. I kept my hand away from my holster.

“Smart move.”

I was outnumbered. Doing anything to annoy the man in front of me wasn’t my intention. The terrorists had the program; now it was time to leave.

One of the men fired a shot into the air.

I flinched as the sound of the bullet echoed around the clearing.

I was in trouble now.