“Grandpa’s old hunting cabin. Twelve miles deep in the forest. No roads, only trails. Your Chevy can make it.”
“What about a doctor?” I asked.
“I have a buddy, Doc Wallace. Combat medic. He’s discreet. I’ll call him from a payphone on the way.”
We packed quickly. As we drove away, leaving the tracker blinking on the stump, I looked back at my home. I didn’t know if I’d ever see it again. But I had my daughter, my brother, and the pistol on my lap.
We were at war.
The cabin smelled of pine resin and old wood. It was cold, but safe. Marcus lit a kerosene lamp while I settled Olivia on the bunk.
Doc Wallace arrived at dawn. He was a man of few words. He examined Olivia, then used a portable ultrasound device he’d brought.
“Heartbeat is strong,” he announced. “Placenta is intact. You’re lucky, kid. Tough.”
Olivia wept with relief.
“The wrist will heal,” Wallace told me. “But she needs rest. No stress. And you…” He looked at Marcus. “You’ve got trouble. I saw an black SUV parked down the road from Ruby’s house in town. Not locals.”
“They’re hunting,” Marcus said grimly.
After the doctor left, Marcus set up a workspace on the rough wooden table. He opened a laptop.
“We have the photos of the fraud,” Marcus said. “But that’s not enough. Lucille Sterling has judges and police captains in her pocket. If we go to the law, the evidence will disappear, and Olivia will have an ‘accident’ in custody.”
“Then what do we do?” I asked.
