Chapter 29

TWENTY-NINE

The forest ahead was lined with a dark wall of pine and oak. Maggie's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror of her battered Honda Civic, heart hammering against her ribs. This wasn't paranoia. They were watching her now, had been ever since Sawyer's death. The scarred man's face—cold, detached—had seared into her mind that day at Mountain View Diner. His calculating eyes had watched her. Now he was back, waiting for her to make a mistake.

The Civic's engine hummed softly as she navigated the back roads toward Pinewood Falls. She passed the rusted "Welcome to Pinewood Falls - Population 2,187" sign, its faded paint a testament to the town's slow decline. The familiar countryside, once comforting, now felt like a closing trap.

The acrid smell of old coffee and stale fast food wrappers filled the car—evidence of days spent hiding in the woods, sleeping in the car, plagued by fear. But now, there was no avoiding it. She needed her laptop. The small SanDisk Extreme PRO thumb drive Sawyer had given her, tucked safely in her bra, held answers. But without her laptop, those answers were locked away.

"I'm sorry, Dad," she whispered, her voice cracking. The memory of her father, Malcolm Trent, stabbed at her like a knife. His weathered hands, the smell of his Old Spice aftershave, the sound of his laughter—all gone now. His death, framed as an accident, had been anything but. Crystal Springs had killed him. They'd come after her next.

As Main Street came into view, its handful of shops looking eerily quiet in the early morning light, her anxiety spiked. This had to be quick. Keep her head down, grab what she needed, and disappear. Mountain View Diner appeared on her left, its neon 'OPEN' sign flickering, the 'E' permanently dark. Her stomach clenched. The last time she’d met Sawyer here, his voice had been filled with fear and urgency as he warned her about Crystal Springs. Now, he was dead too, and the diner was just a painful memory.

Swallowing her grief, she parked behind the building, killing the engine. The familiar clatter of dishes and smell of coffee drifted from the back door, along with snippets of conversation.

"Did you hear about old man Trent's girl?" a gravelly voice asked. "Heard she's mixed up in some trouble."

Maggie froze, straining to hear more, but the voices faded as the back door swung shut. There was no time for eavesdropping, only survival. She pulled her hood low, stepped out of the car, and made her way toward the apartment.

Her father's teasing echoed in her head. "You're prettier than you know, Mags. Don't hide it." His words had always carried a warmth she hadn't appreciated enough. But now, the baggy clothes and baseball cap had a purpose—keeping her invisible.

The apartment, just two blocks away above Pinewood Suds & Duds, was her first stop. The place where the smell of fabric softener had once been comforting now felt like a trap. As she turned the corner onto Elm Street, her blood ran cold.

The scarred man.

He leaned against a sleek black Dodge Charger parked across the street, a newspaper in hand, pretending to blend in. But Maggie knew better. His eyes scanned the area, lingering on the entrance to her building. The scar running from his eye to his jaw twitched as he assessed the street.

Panic shot through her. She ducked into the shadow of the old oak tree in front of the Pinewood Public Library, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Why hadn't she noticed him sooner? He was watching, waiting for her to walk through the front door. If he saw her, it was over.

She needed another way in.

She put together an escape plan. The door at the back of the laundromat connected to the stairwell to her apartment. Hopefully, she could sneak in without him seeing.

Heart pounding, she circled the block, sticking to the shadows as she reached the alley behind Pinewood Suds & Duds. The hum of washing machines greeted her as she pushed open the back door. Every creak of the stairs sent chills down her spine. One wrong move, and he'd know she was there.

At the landing, she paused, seeing the broken dresser outside her apartment—a reminder of her last hurried escape. Another lifetime ago.

As she stepped inside, her heart sank. The apartment had been torn apart. Drawers yanked open, clothes strewn everywhere. They had been here, searching. For the thumb drive? She rifled under a pile of unfolded laundry on her bed to where her laptop should have been.

Gone.

"Damn it," she muttered, her chest tightening with frustration. They had beaten her to it. Desperation surged. She grabbed a duffel bag from under the bed, stuffing it with clothes. The laptop was gone, but she still had the thumb drive. That had to count for something.

She left her apartment and was about to head back down the stairwell when the door leading to the street creaked open.

Him.

Her heart leaped into her throat. He was here, and she had seconds—maybe less—before he found her. Her eyes darted to the broken dresser. Without hesitation, she shoved it toward the top of the stairs. The heavy wood caught the edge of the wall and careened down just as the scarred man rounded the corner.

The crash was deafening, the loud noise reverberating through the stairwell.

The dresser slammed into him, pinning him against the banister. He cursed, a string of expletives echoing through the stairwell. "You can't run forever, Maggie!" he snarled, his voice a mix of pain and fury.

But Maggie didn't wait. She bolted down the back stairs, heart racing, breath rapid. She burst through the laundromat, startling an elderly woman folding her sheets.

"Sorry, Mrs. Grayson!" Maggie called out, not breaking stride as she dashed for the back door and sprinted to her car.

Her hands shook as she fumbled with her keys, trying once, then twice to get her car door open. The engine roared to life just as the scarred man reappeared, sprinting toward her.

"Stop right there!" he shouted, his hand reaching inside his jacket as he closed the distance between them.

Maggie floored it. The Civic's tires squealed as she peeled out on the wet pavement. The scarred man slapped the side of the car, the impact jolting through her as she swerved onto Main Street.

In the rearview mirror, she watched him shrink into the distance, standing in the middle of the street, frustration painted across his scarred face. He pulled out a phone, no doubt calling for backup.

Maggie gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles white. They'll find me again. But not before I expose them. Not before I bring them down.

The memory of her father flooded her mind, his scent lingering as if he were there. She had to finish what he'd started. The "Now Leaving Pinewood Falls" sign flashing by, and she knew she was running out of time—and options.

I'll be back to finish this, Dad. I promise.