Chapter 7 - BREAKING OUTThe rain had slowed to a miserable, freezing drizzle by the time Ava and Daniel formulated their desperate blueprint.
"Lily can't stay here," Ava stated, her tone absolute. "If Vance’s men move on this house, they won't care who is inside."
"She’s going with my neighbor, Mrs. Gable," Daniel said, his jaw tight with suppressed fury. "She’s a retired nurse. She keeps a spare key and a go-bag for Lily in case of emergencies. We slip out through the basement Bilco doors into the alley while they're watching the front porch."
"And our transport?" Ava asked, glancing out the back window toward the overgrown alleyway.
"My truck," Daniel said, pointing a thumb toward a rusted 1998 Ford F-150 parked under a makeshift wooden carport. "It backfires, leaks oil, and smells like polyurethane, but the black Tahoe’s thermal sensors won't pick up a faded blue domestic pickup among twenty others on this street."
Ten minutes later, little Lily—still half-asleep, clutching her stuffed rabbit and wearing a yellow raincoat over her pajamas—was safely smuggled through the damp, subterranean cellar and handed off to Mrs. Gable two houses down.
Ava stood in the dimly lit garage beside Daniel, slipping off her designer Louboutin heels—impossible for running or hiding—and kicking them into a corner. She traded her structured wool blazer for one of Daniel’s thick, paint-splattered flannel work shirts. It hung off her shoulders like a blanket, smelling of cedar and old rain, but it effectively masked her silhouette.
"Ready?" Daniel asked, sliding the driver’s side door open with a metallic squeak that made Ava wince.
"Let's go take our lives back," Ava said, sliding into the worn vinyl passenger seat.
The old Ford sputtered twice, coughed a cloud of gray exhaust into the damp morning air, and rumbled to life. Daniel killed the headlights until they turned the corner past the railyards, weaving through the deserted industrial labyrinth of Eastbridge before hitting the interstate toward downtown Denver.
Behind them, in the rearview mirror, two pinpricks of white headlights suddenly blazed to life under the oak tree.
The Tahoe was on their tail.
"They saw us," Ava said calmly, turning around to watch the distant silhouette tracking their turns through the rain-streaked glass.
"They didn't see us," Daniel corrected, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles as he took a sharp, screeching turn onto the 6th Avenue exit. "They felt us move. Vance’s algorithms flagged our thermal signature or our cell ping. It doesn't matter. We only need a three-minute head start."
"Where is the safety deposit box?" Ava asked, pulling her phone out—still dead, battery manually detached to prevent GPS triangulation—and checking her wristwatch.
"First Federal downtown," Daniel said. "Basement vault number 412. But to get in before the bank opens at nine, we need a physical thumbprint and a biometric bypass key that only Nathan... or someone he authorized... possesses."
Daniel reached up, unclasped the cracked leather cord from around his neck, and handed the compass pendant to Ava.
"What is this?" Ava asked, holding the heavy silver piece in her palm.
"Twist the bezel counter-clockwise," Daniel said, keeping his eyes glued to the road as the black Tahoe closed the gap behind them, its high beams flashing a blinding warning through their rear window.
Ava twisted the silver rim of the compass. With a soft, mechanical click, the back plate popped open, revealing not a magnetic compass needle, but a microscopic titanium flash drive embedded in the metal casing.
May you like
Ava stared at it, a sudden wave of grief and fierce, burning love washing over her. Nathan had carried her heart in his pocket every single day until the very end.
"Hold on," Daniel muttered, slamming his foot down on the gas as the Ford F-150 roared toward the gleaming glass towers of downtown Denver, where the sun was just beginning to break through the gray clouds over the Rockies.
