“Five a.m. Sorry to wake you.” She’d driven the night through, stopping only once to relieve herself and fill the tank with the gas Jacob so graciously gave them. The road hugged the river and Emma slowed as a crane took flight, launching itself low and straight across the river. The human world might be crumbling around them, but the wildlife didn’t seem to mind.

  She glanced at John. “Want to try a station?”

  “It’s our only option. Maybe this early, we’ll be lucky.”

  She didn’t hold his same optimism. At the second intersection of town, a burned-out husk of a gas station remained, charred stumps where the gas pumps used to be.

  Past the torched station, a cluster of short, round silos nestled together, secure behind a barbed wire-topped fence. “Looks like they left the storage facility alone.”

  John nodded. “There’s probably a good reason for that.”

  “You think it’s guarded?”

  “It was, that’s for sure.”

  “Got a better idea?”

  “Nope. Drive past it, we’ll come at it from the rear.”

  Emma did as he instructed, driving on past the ruined station and down the street parallel to the gas repository. An abandoned RV occupied the side of the road near the rear entrance. “Park in front of the RV and keep your head down. With any luck, I’ll be back before anyone comes by.”

  “And if you’re not?”

  “Hope like hell who it is isn’t interested in the vehicle.”

  Emma pulled in and turned off the engine. “Be careful.”

  “Always.” John exited and grabbed the now empty gas can from the back before disappearing behind the RV.

  Emma waited, eyes flicking left and right to watch the side mirrors as she worked to keep her breathing even. Ten minutes. Twenty. At the half-hour mark, she began to worry. Just as she contemplated leaving the vehicle to search for him, the tailgate opened, and John heaved the gas can inside. “Let’s get somewhere more secluded and fill this up.”

  He slipped into the passenger seat and Emma shifted into drive. “Any trouble? You were gone an awfully long time.”

  “I tried the pumps first. No dice. Totally empty. Then I had to get creative. Sorry if I smell like a gas station reject.”

  She smiled. “Do I want to know?”

  “Let’s just say there’s a bit less gas in one of those silos than there was before. Good thing the EPA’s not here to get on anyone’s case.”

  Emma turned down a quiet side street and parked on the side of the road. John filled the gas tank and they traded seats, him opting to drive the rest of the way. They sat in companionable silence, each thinking about the day ahead as they left the little town behind and continued on.

  A sign proclaiming Twentynine Palms, three miles, spiked Emma’s heart rate. “Jacob told you Dane’s location?”

  Outside of town. Remote and easy to defend. We’ll never be able to approach during the day.

  “Should we wait in town?”

  “No. Let’s drive past it first, scope it out. Then we’ll circle back, see what we can do.”

  John avoided the town, opting instead for a small, mostly dirt road far away from prying eyes. It took another two hours to get near the area Jacob had explained. Desert stretched on either side of the Jeep, with nothing to see except acres of dust and rock and the mountains in the distance.

  “There.” John pointed. A low, long building painted in colors of the desert clung to the earth, barely distinguishable from the surroundings.

  “I don’t see anything near it.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “What should we do?”

  “Keep going.” John kept driving, one eye on the compound as it neared and one on the barren stretch of road.

  “If he’s in there, he’ll see us. There can’t be that much traffic these days.”

  “He doesn’t have any reason to suspect it’s us. We’ll be fine.”

  John drove on, nearing the home. Emma couldn’t make out much other than what appeared to be a stucco wall ringing what appeared to be a traditional adobe home with a tiled roof and a long drive heading straight to the front door. “I don’t see any kind of security. Are you sure this is it?”

  “This is it.” John accelerated as they passed directly by. “It’s strategically positioned to see anyone who approaches. It’s flanked in the back by those mountains. The front by the vast desert. See that wall near the house?”

  Emma nodded.

  “It’s going to have cameras all over it. Guards on the other side if he hasn’t sent them all after us already. It might look like an ordinary house, but it’s a fortress.”

  Emma’s stomach soured. “Then it’s hopeless.”

  “No. It’s what I expected.”

  “How are we going to get in? If it’s as secure as you say, we’ll be dead before we ever reach the door.”

  “We’re going to do what he least expects.”

  “Which is?”

  “Walk right on up.”

  Emma opened her mouth but didn’t say any more. John knew Dane better than anyone. If he thought the plan would work, she would trust him. Even if it curdled her insides.

  She lapsed into silence as John drove on into Twentynine Palms. He turned down a residential street, eyes scanning the homes. He pulled into a driveway and parked.

  “What are we doing?”

  “Getting supplies. Stay here until I clear it.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, but John was gone before she formulated an objection, walking up to the front door like he owned the place. Thirty seconds at the door and he popped the lock and disappeared inside.

  Emma chewed on her lip, waiting as John searched the interior. It didn’t take long. He motioned her inside from the open door. She exited the Jeep and hurried into the house. “How did you know it would be vacant?”

  He shrugged. “Trash in the yard. Weeds in the walkway. Seemed like a good bet.” He turned toward the hallway. “We need clothes, hats, sunglasses. Things you wouldn’t normally wear.”

  “A disguise?”

  “Exactly.”

  Emma followed John into the tiny bedrooms, stopping briefly in what must have been a guest room before landing in the master bedroom. Clothes littered the bed, a half-empty suitcase sprawled across the floor, and empty hangers hung in clumps in the open closet. “I wonder where they went.”

  “Somewhere in a hurry.” John picked up a Hawaiian shirt covered in palm leaves and hibiscus flowers. He held it up and Emma laughed.

  “Would Dane ever expect to see you in something like that?”

  “Not a chance.”

  Working quickly, they fished out too-big pants for John and an oversized tropical dress for Emma. Combined with ball caps advertising a local golf course and dark-tinted sunglasses, they were as anonymous as possible. John took a few moments to search the home for weapons, ammo, or anything else of use, but came up empty.

  Emma opened the kitchen cabinets, but no food remained. She leaned against the counter as John emerged from the hall. “When should we go?”

  “Sunset. Harder for anyone watching the cameras to discern our identity in black and white.”

  “I’m nervous.” Emma smiled tightly, trying in vain to relieve the knot of tension coiling in her stomach. “What if he’s got a ton of guards or he knows it’s us straight away or—”

  John strode across the tile floor and stopped in front of Emma. “If I could think of another way, I’d do it. But Dane won’t leave that compound. He’s hunkered down, riding out the collapse, hunting us in his spare time.”

  Emma swallowed. “If something happens to you—”

  “Run.” He reached out and took both her hands. “If I go down, or you find out I’ve been captured, run. Do whatever it takes to get out of there and get away.”

  “I’m not—”

  He squeezed. “Promise me. You’ll save yourself.”

  Emma pressed her lips together. How could she make a promise like that? “I’ll try. It’s the best I can do.”

  John leaned in and kissed her. “I guess I’ll have to take what I can get.”

  As he pulled away, she managed to smile like she meant it. “Ready for a tropical vacation?”

  John grabbed the clothes off the counter with a grin. “Thought you’d never ask.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  JOHN

  The house sat quiet and dark apart from a faint glow seeping through a single shuttered window. John slowed the Jeep like it ran out of gas, coasting to a stop a hundred years past the driveway. He turned to Emma, and she smiled at him—not in fear or reflex, but with genuine warmth and love—and something inside his chest broke apart. He’d die to protect her, of that he was certain.

  “Ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be.” She plopped an oversized straw hat on her head and donned the sunglasses. “You don’t think he’ll question the shades at night?”

  “Who cares if he does. All that matters is we get close enough before the shooting starts to have a chance.”

  John leaned in, nuzzling Emma’s neck like they were young and in love. “Follow my lead. OK?”

  Emma wrapped her arm around the Hawaiian shirt tenting across John’s back and smiled. “That’s the plan.”

  He struggled to keep his face slack and tension-free. They ambled down the drive, John holding Emma’s hand and the empty gas can in the other. He slurred his words and spoke loud enough for anyone listening at the house to hear. “Nowwww don’t you go worrying that pretty little head of yoursss. I’m ssssure these nice folks will be able to help usss.”

  “I hope so, baby.” Emma leaned over and swayed like she’d had one too many. “I don’t want to walk all the way to Vegas.”

  They neared the property and the stucco wall separating the home from the surrounding dirt. John flipped his eyes back-and-forth. No movement. Was that a good sign or bad? He didn’t know anymore. A wooden gate hung in the middle of the pale walls. John stopped in front of it and gave it a good solid knock. The sound reverbed and echoed, spreading out between the wall and the house. He waited and waited some more. No response. He tried again, this time adding a little bit of bravado. “Oh, come on now, we ain’t gonna bite. We just need some gas. Can’t take this lovely lady of mine to the Little Chapel without it.” He snuggled Emma close. “Don’t be so stingy now.”

  Still nothing. He stepped back and motioned toward the side. “Maybe they got a garage,” he offered, again loud enough for anyone to hear. They traipsed through the desert scrub and around the wall toward the side of the compound.

  The clouds parted above their heads and for a moment, the full moon cast the desert in an almost artificial glow. Above the wall, partially concealed by a decorative planter, a small camera watched their every move. John stepped toward the left and a little green light illuminated. They were being watched. It meant Dane didn’t have anyone to protect him or they were waiting to see how this played out. Either way, they would need to take more drastic measures to gain access.

  John called Emma away from the camera and toward the rear of the property. Another gate led out of the back of the home to the wilds of the desert beyond. John jimmied the handle.

  Emma curled her lips, mocking exasperation. “I don’t know what you expect us to do now. I told you we needed to find gas. And now look.” She threw her arm out at the gate “We’re stuck out in the middle of nowhere and we’re never gonna get to Vegas. You know Piper told me if we ever needed any help to go there. And we need help. How are we supposed to get there now?” She crossed her arms and stomped her foot.

  John had to give her credit, even he almost bought the act. He leaned toward her. “Don’t worry, baby. I told you I would figure this out and I will.” He reached for the door handle again just for show before setting the gas can on the ground. “Now you back up. Wouldn’t want you to get any splinters in your hair.”

  “What? What are you—” Before she could finish, John led with his shoulder and made a show of attempting to bust the lock on the gate. As he suspected, the wood was a façade covering something much stronger on the other side. He acted like he hurt himself. “Guess I’m not as strong as I used to be, huh?” He played it off. “Stick out your hands and give me a lift, will you?”

  Emma did what she was told, but pitched a bit of a fit, complaining like an ordinary girl.

  John placed his foot in her interlocked fingers and with Emma’s assistance, hoisted himself up onto the top of the wall. No shots. No movement. He swung over and landed hard in the dirt. Emma hollered from the other side. “What you see, baby?”

  “A whole lotta nothing. I don’t think there’s anybody home. But there’s a shed. Maybe they’ve got some extra gas.”

  John strode toward the structure tucked into the corner of the backyard. Outward appearances made it look like a shed, but it could’ve been anything. Server room, entrance to an underground bunker, weapons cache. He tugged open the door. Moonlight cut across a sea of ordinary tools. Post-hole digger, shovel, and a sledgehammer. John snorted. Guess Dane never needed the shed. Who knew state department guys liked to get their hands dirty?

  He turned and approached the rear glass door of the home. For all intents and purposes, it appeared to be ordinary glass, But John knew better. He could beat on it all day and it would shatter but never fall. The state department man who’d lived here before Dane had gone to great lengths to protect himself and Dane was taking advantage. It was why there were no guards. Why he didn’t care about the pair of drunks traipsing around his backyard. He knew they would never get inside.

  He canvassed the rest of the home, finding a small window much too narrow for him to crawl through, partially opened. It would never work. He kept walking, pausing at what appeared to be a change in the texture of the exterior wall. It wasn’t a sure bet, but it gave him a chance.

  Hurrying back to the shed, he grabbed the sledgehammer before calling out to Emma. “This place is locked up tighter than Fort Knox. I don’t know if we're gonna find anything here.”

  She let out a frustrated groan. “But we’ve got to! We’ve just got to!”

  Gripping the wood handle tight in his right hand, he eased toward the house. “I’ll scramble back over. Maybe there will be another place down the road.”

  Emma continued to complain, growing louder and more insistent. John hoped it would be enough to buy him a moment of surprise. With a deep breath, John hoisted the sledgehammer and turned toward the wall of the home where the stucco changed texture, swinging with all his might.

  The sledgehammer crashed through the repaired joint. Concrete shifted; plaster crumbled. John rocked the hammer back and forth to free it from the wall and swung again. This time, the facia cracked, and a huge sheet of stucco slid before falling to the ground. An alarm sounded from deep inside the building. John swung again. A rush of air conditioning smacked him in the face. He was close.

  On the fourth swing, the wall gave way at the repair, sending new cinder block tumbling into the building. The older, poured concrete wall remained intact. He stabbed into the dust and swirling debris. A red light flashed on the ceiling, some sort of alarm monitor. He wiped sweat off his brow and threw the ball cap to the floor. He was inside and he was going to find what he came for.

  John eased forward, squinting through the dust still hanging in the air, as a low growl sounded from his right. He spun in time to catch a blur of fur and claws. He brought up the sledgehammer on instinct as the animal launched itself in his direction. Teeth and snapping and snarling, the dog flew through the air, slamming into the sledgehammer as claws scraped down John’s arm.

  The dog landed on all fours in a patch of moonlight and dust filtering through the busted wall. All white, with the body of a German Shepherd, bigger than Tank, and four times as mean.

  John reached beneath the Hawaiian shirt and pulled out a flashbang. The dog snarled and lunged before he could pull the pin. John swung the sledgehammer again, stumbling backward to buy himself distance and time. His heels hit a clump of broken concrete and it took all his strength to keep from falling. The dog tore at his bicep, grabbing the Hawaiian shirt between his teeth and ripping while the end of the sledgehammer pressed into his chest. He pushed forward and the animal released his grip on his arm, falling once again to the ground on all fours.

  How many times could he fend off this animal before it bested him? John hated to hurt it. But what choice did he have? He scanned the room. Where am I? Vestibule, office, bedroom? He had no idea. All he could see was the broken wall and the dog.

  He eased to his left around the debris and his hip bumped into something hard and unyielding. A cabinet of some form. He ducked as the dog jumped again, slamming into the cabinet without so much as a whimper. While the dog shook himself, John rushed toward the right, putting distance between himself and the animal as he pulled the pin on the flashbang.

  He pulled the pin on the flash bang and held it in his hand as he reached out blindly with the other. His hand found door trim and he felt along for the door handle as the dog advanced again. As soon as his fingers slipped around it, John threw the weapon. It landed on the ground a foot from the animal and detonated, spilling the room with an ear-piercing boom and clouds of smoke.

  Without waiting another moment, he swung the door open and dove into the hall wrenching it shut behind him before the dog had a chance to regroup. He’d been just fast enough. The animal slammed into the door, claws scrabbling across the wood as John sucked in a breath. The pain of the claw marks on his arm focused and heightened his senses. Blood slicked his hand.

  He dropped the sledgehammer on the floor and reached for his Sig Sauer and a small flashlight he’d shoved in his pocket. Gun in his shooting hand, flashlight in the other, he held them up in a cross, and panned the hall.

  Long and narrow, with a handful of doors leading off on either side before opening into what must have been the front entry. Dane was somewhere in this house, he was sure of it. He eased down the hall and approached the first door.