Chapter 4 - The Hunted
Sirens wailed in the distance, cutting through the heavy rain.
I did not have time to pull over and rip apart the trunk to find the cash.
If the police caught us with three million dollars of cartel money, we would both spend the rest of our lives in federal prison.
"We have to ditch the car," I told Emma, swerving into a dark industrial park.
"But it's raining, and I'm freezing," she cried, still acting like a spoiled child.
"You can either be cold, or you can be dead," I snapped.
"Pick one."
That finally silenced her.
I drove the sedan behind an abandoned warehouse and killed the engine.
We wiped down the door handles, grabbed my emergency go-bag from the backseat, and sprinted into the shadows.
Less than two minutes later, three police cruisers swarmed the alley, their spotlights illuminating my abandoned car.
We watched from behind a rusted dumpster as officers popped the trunk and discovered the duffel bags full of cash.
"He really did it," Emma whispered, her voice finally breaking with genuine realization.
"He played me from the very beginning."
"Yes, he did," I agreed quietly.
"All those times he told you I was controlling, that I was holding you back."
"He was just isolating you so he could use you."
Emma buried her face in her hands and began to weep silently.
"I'm so sorry, Dad," she choked out.
"I was so incredibly stupid."
"Save your apologies," I said, checking the street for an escape route.
"Right now, we need a place to hide where neither the cops nor the cartel can find us."
"Where can we go?" she asked.
"There is a safe house I bought years ago, under a shell corporation," I explained.
"We have to walk there."
We moved through the dark alleyways for two hours, soaked to the bone.
When we finally reached the unassuming brick apartment building, I unlocked the heavy metal door.
The apartment was dusty but secure, with steel plates reinforcing the windows.
I turned on a small lamp and handed Emma a dry set of clothes from my bag.
"Change," I ordered.
"We need to sleep in shifts."
She nodded meekly and went into the bathroom.
I sat at the table and booted up my encrypted laptop.
I needed to find exactly where Blake’s flight was landing.
After ten minutes of hacking into the aviation registry, I found his tail number.
The plane wasn't heading across the Atlantic at all.
It was circling back.
Emma walked out of the bathroom, looking exhausted in my oversized sweater.
"Dad," she said nervously.
"What is it?" I asked, looking up from the screen.
"When Blake hugged me at the altar, he pinned this to the back of my dress," she said.
She opened her hand to reveal a small, blinking red device.
My heart stopped.
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"It's an active military-grade tracker," I said, realizing the horrifying truth.
Suddenly, a massive explosion blew the reinforced steel door entirely off its hinges.
