Chapter 7 - THE CHASE ON ROUTE 9The Ford groaned and coughed as Lena slammed her foot on the gas, spitting black smoke from the exhaust pipe as we tore out of the diner parking lot and onto the interstate.
"Drive faster!" I yelled, gripping the dashboard so hard my knuckles turned white.
"I'm flooring it! The transmission is shot, if I push it past eighty, the engine will blow!" Lena screamed over the roaring wind rushing through a broken seal on the driver's side window.
My phone buzzed again.
I pulled it out. It wasn't a call. It was a live GPS ping from Owen’s phone—the tracking app I had installed secretly when he turned eight.
The blue dot was moving fast. North, toward the private hangars of the county airfield.
"He's heading for Hangar 4," I said, reading the map coordinates aloud. "Route 9, turn left at the old grain silo."
"I know the shortcut," Lena gritted her teeth, wrenching the steering wheel hard to the left. The tires shrieked in protest, the old sedan fishtailing dangerously across the asphalt before straightening out onto a narrow, unpaved logging road that cut straight through the dense pine forest.
Trees blurred into a solid wall of green outside my window. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.
What would Ethan do if we caught him? A man who had embezzled millions, built a secret family, and abandoned his own flesh and blood to save his skin wouldn't hesitate to eliminate two witnesses—even if one of them was his wife.
"Lena," I said quietly, staring straight ahead at the dusty road. "If we get to that plane... what's your plan?"
"I don't have a plan," Lena replied, her knuckles clamped around the steering wheel like a lifeline. "I just know I'm not letting him take my boy. And I'm not letting him ruin yours."
We burst out of the tree line a minute later.
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Ahead of us, the rusted chain-link perimeter fence of the county airfield lay smashed flat, tire tracks freshly carved into the gravel. Past the gate sat a wide concrete tarmac, and parked near the edge of the runway was a twin-engine white Cessna with its propellers already spinning, kicking up a miniature gale of dust and debris.
And right beside the boarding stairs stood Ethan, holding both Owen and Milo by their jackets, forcing them toward the plane while the hired muscle stood guard with a heavy metal wrench in his hand.
