They left at dusk.
Victoria packed the laptop, the external drive, and the printed copies of the list into a worn leather backpack her father had used for fishing trips. Nathaniel checked the doors and windows, making sure the house looked exactly as it had when they arrived. No signs of forced entry. No lights left on. Nothing to suggest anyone had been there.
The sedan was parked in the garage—a separate structure behind the house, hidden from the street. Nathaniel backed it out slowly, headlights off, until they were on the cracked asphalt of Maple Street.
"Keep your head down," he said.
"I know how to not be seen."
"Do you?"
Victoria didn't answer. She'd spent ten years being invisible. It wasn't a skill she was proud of, but it was a skill she had.
They drove through the empty streets of her hometown. Past the shuttered hardware store. Past the high school where she'd been valedictorian. Past the church where her mother's funeral had been held.
She didn't look back.
---
The motel was called the Bluebird.
It sat on a two-lane highway fifty miles south of Columbus, surrounded by fields and not much else. The sign flickered, missing half its letters. The parking lot was empty except for a pickup truck with a flat tire.
Victoria had stayed here once before, years ago, when she'd been too broke to afford anything better. The owner was a woman named Mabel who didn't ask questions and accepted cash without counting it.
Nathaniel pulled into the lot and killed the engine.
"You stay here," Victoria said. "I'll get the room."
"Mabel knows you?"
"Mabel knows not to know anyone."
She got out of the car and walked to the office. A bell jingled above the door. The room smelled like cigarette smoke and old coffee. Mabel sat behind the counter, watching a small television mounted to the wall.
"Mabel."
The woman looked up. She was in her seventies, with gray hair and eyes that had seen everything and judged nothing.
"Victoria Hart," she said. "Been a while."
"Been a while."
"Who's the man in the sedan?"
"No one."
Mabel nodded slowly. "Then he pays double."
Victoria slid a stack of bills across the counter. Mabel counted it once, twice, then handed her a key.
"Room seven. End of the hall. Back door faces the field."
"Thank you, Mabel."
"Didn't do nothing."
Victoria walked back to the car. She got in, and Nathaniel drove to the end of the motel, parking directly in front of room seven.
They carried everything inside in one trip.
---
The room was small. Two double beds with faded floral comforters. A bathroom with a shower that dripped. A television from the 1990s. A window that faced the field, just as Mabel had promised.
Victoria set up the laptop on the small desk by the window. Nathaniel checked the locks on the door and the window, then sat on the edge of one of the beds.
"We're eighty miles from D.C.," he said. "We can be there by noon tomorrow."
"Fiona said noon. We'll leave at eight."
"And until then?"
"We sleep. In shifts."
Nathaniel looked at the two beds. "I'll take first watch."
"You need sleep."
"So do you."
Victoria didn't argue. She lay down on the bed closest to the door, still wearing her jacket, the backpack within arm's reach. She closed her eyes but didn't sleep.
She listened to Nathaniel's breathing. Steady. Calm. He was sitting in the chair by the window, watching the field, his profile silhouetted against the fading light.
"Tell me about Diana Reyes," he said quietly.
"Fiona's contact. Ex-FBI. She worked white-collar crime for fifteen years. Cybercrime after that. She retired two years ago. Now she does private consulting."
"Why'd she leave the Bureau?"
"Fiona didn't say. But people like Diana don't leave unless they have to."
"You think she's clean?"
"I think no one in the FBI is completely clean. But Fiona vouches for her. That's the best we're going to get."
Nathaniel was quiet for a moment. "And if she's not?"
"Then we run again."
"You make it sound easy."
"It's not easy. But it's not complicated either." Victoria opened her eyes and looked at him. "Someone is trying to destroy you. Someone killed Richard. Someone has been watching us since we left New York. We don't have the luxury of trust. We have the luxury of options. Diana is one option."
"And if she says no?"
"Then we find another."
Nathaniel turned from the window to look at her. His face was half in shadow, half illuminated by the flickering light from the parking lot.
"You're different," he said again.
"You said that already."
"I meant it."
Victoria sat up. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and faced him.
"I'm not different," she said. "I'm just tired. Tired of running. Tired of being angry. Tired of letting what you did ten years ago define every decision I make."
"And now?"
"Now I'm choosing something else."
"What?"
She didn't answer. She didn't have an answer. Or she had too many.
Instead, she stood up and walked to the window. She stood beside Nathaniel, close enough that their shoulders almost touched.
"There's a car," she said.
Nathaniel followed her gaze. In the field beyond the motel, a pair of headlights sat motionless. No engine noise. No movement. Just lights, watching.
"How long?" he asked.
"Ten minutes. Maybe longer."
"Why didn't you say something?"
"Because I wanted to see if they'd leave." She turned to him. "They haven't."
Nathaniel's jaw tightened. "We need to go."
"Not yet. If we run, they follow. If we stay, we find out who they are."
"That's a risk."
"Everything is a risk."
They stood in silence, watching the headlights. The car didn't move. Neither did they.
Then Victoria's phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.
"Room seven. Don't do anything stupid. I'm coming in."
She showed Nathaniel the message.
"Fiona?" he asked.
"No. Fiona would have called."
"Then who?"
The headlights went dark. A car door opened and closed. Footsteps on gravel, approaching the motel room door.
Victoria reached into her backpack and pulled out a small canister of pepper spray. Nathaniel positioned himself beside the door, his back against the wall.
Three knocks.
"Victoria. It's Diana. Open up."
Victoria looked at Nathaniel. He nodded.
She opened the door.
---
Diana Reyes was not what Victoria expected.
She was tall, in her early fifties, with short gray hair and a face that looked like it had been carved from granite. She wore a black jacket, jeans, and boots that had seen better days. Her eyes were sharp and moved constantly, taking in everything—the room, the laptop, Nathaniel, the exits.
"You're earlier than noon," Victoria said.
"I don't like waiting."
"How did you find us?"
"Mabel's a friend." Diana stepped inside, closed the door behind her, and locked it. "She called me when you checked in. Said you looked scared."
"I'm not scared."
"You should be." Diana looked at Nathaniel. "You're Nathaniel Cross."
"Yes."
"I've heard of you."
"Most people have."
Diana's lip curled slightly—not a smile, but close. "I've heard you ruined Victoria's company. Then you hired her to save yours. That about right?"
Nathaniel didn't flinch. "That's about right."
"And now you're both running from people who want you dead."
"We don't know that they want us dead."
"Richard Chan is dead. That's enough for me." Diana pulled out a chair and sat down. She gestured to the other chair. "Sit. Both of you. We have a lot to talk about, and I don't have all night."
Victoria sat. Nathaniel remained standing.
"Suit yourself," Diana said. She turned to Victoria. "Fiona told me you have evidence. A list. Transactions. Enough to bring down some very powerful people."
"Yes."
"Then show me."
Victoria hesitated. Nathaniel shook his head almost imperceptibly.
Diana saw it. "I'm not here to trap you. If I wanted you dead, I would have called the people you're running from. Instead, I'm here. Alone. Unarmed." She held up her hands. "See?"
Victoria opened the laptop. She pulled up the list. The twelve names. The transaction history. Richard Chan's video.
Diana watched in silence. Her expression didn't change, but her eyes narrowed at certain names—the senator, the judge, the media executive.
When the video ended, she sat back.
"You're in deeper than I thought," she said.
"Can you help us?" Victoria asked.
Diana looked at her for a long moment. Then she looked at Nathaniel.
"I can help you," she said. "But you need to understand something. The people on that list? They don't make mistakes. They don't leave witnesses. The only reason you're still alive is that they don't know you have this yet."
"And when they find out?"
"Then you'll wish you'd stayed in Ohio."