MacKenzie Gunthrie flipped over on the hard bed in a large farmhouse somewhere in the Midwest. They hadn’t told MacKenzie what state she was in, but there were definitely plenty of fields of corn and grain.

She massaged her left shoulder that had fallen asleep. She wished her entire body would fall asleep, but didn’t hold out much hope. Sadly, she couldn’t blame the uncomfortable bed for her insomnia. One week ago, MacKenzie witnessed torture and murder as she hid behind a trash can. In the wrong place at an absolutely horrific time. She shuddered. She’d never run at night again, and every time she closed her eyes all the images and panic-inducing terror came back. Sleeping was getting tougher and tougher.

Flinging onto her back, she squished around in the bed hoping to get comfortable but failed. A tear trickled out of the corner of her left eye and puddled in her ear. MacKenzie dug angrily at it. She muttered a quick, desperate prayer for help, not sure how much longer she could stand this uncertainty. She missed her parents, her sisters, her students, though school was out for the summer so she really couldn’t see them anyway, and her friends and training partners. The quiet farm should’ve been preferable to the busy city of Chicago, but with at least two FBI agents by her side at all times and the fear always hanging over her, she didn’t get any solitude. Miserable didn’t begin to describe this night or the past week.

A gunshot rang through the farmhouse, followed by shouting. She jerked up in the bed. Her heart thudded against her rib cage. Sliding out from under the covers, she listened until the sound of more gunshots propelled her shaking legs into action. She dug her fingernails into her palms, trying not to remember the blood and the glint of the knife in the moonlight. Would the shock of having a finger completely cut off stem the pain at all? The high-pitched squealing and begging she couldn’t ever get out of her mind told her no.

She slipped into a pair of Sanuks and pulled a T-shirt over her head just as her door sprang open. Agent Klein, a tall black man, who reminded her of her grandpa, gestured to her. MacKenzie was only a quarter African American. With her lighter skin and wavy dark hair, few people believed she and her grandpa were related, but she loved him and his heritage. Because of the similarities to Agent Klein, she had felt an instant connection.

“Let’s go,” Agent Klein barked.

MacKenzie followed him without question. She’d liked him from the first time they met, and instinct told her he was a person to trust. He took her arm and led her down the back staircase of the sprawling safe house and out into the dark summer night. The midnight blue sky was full of stars. MacKenzie liked the openness of this area and the smell of dirt and crops. So different than the busy streets of Chicago.

More gunshots rang out, seeming to ripple across the fields of corn, and she ducked.

“It’s okay,” Klein reassured her. “They’re holding them off out front.”

“Is it … Squirt?” MacKenzie squeaked out, barely able to vocalize the fears of who it might be.

“Yes.” His face was as grim as his voice.

She and Klein had tried to joke about the situation she was in by calling Solomon Squire, Squirt. It hadn’t lessened her fears by much, but it had helped. Squire’s brother had been killed by the police when MacKenzie called 911 that fateful night. Solomon had escaped and MacKenzie was taken into protective custody until he was found. MacKenzie’s own experiences with the man paled compared to the rumors she’d heard about the Chicago crime lord. He was bad news and no one tried to sugar coat that he would come after her in retribution for his brother’s death.

They sprinted across the back yard and ducked into the barn. Klein ushered her in, closed the door, and stood by it.

“We’re just going to wait here?” MacKenzie’s voice was a raw squeak.

“The other agents will take care of them then come get us with an all-clear.”

“What if they don’t … take care of them?”

“Then I’ll hold them off while you run. You like to run, right?” His white teeth flashed at her in the dimly lit barn.

MacKenzie’s chest tightened. She loved to run, but the FBI agents hadn’t let her out of the house by herself the past week, and because of how hard she’d trained the last six months to compete in national level Spartan obstacle races, none of them could keep up with her on a run. Her legs ached to run her favorite paved path in Chicago, sixteen miles along Lake Michigan. The sun on her face. Sweat pouring down her chest as she flew along the trail. Her only worry if she’d brought enough water to hydrate with.

“That’s not funny, Klein,” she muttered. “If they come, I’m not leaving you.”

“Yes, you are. If it comes to that, you run and you run fast. I’ll take care of them and then I’ll find you. That pathetic Squirt isn’t going to hurt you.” He attempted a smile that she couldn’t return, and finally settled for looking into her eyes until she meekly nodded.

She wished they could both jump in a vehicle and disappear, but everything was parked out front where the fight was concentrated.

Footsteps approached the barn. MacKenzie’s pulse jumped.

“Hide in the back of the barn. There’s a rear door if you need to use it.” Klein gave her a gentle push. “Go.”

MacKenzie scurried away and through the dim light found the rear door. She slowly slid it open and went outside, peeking back in to see what was going on. The front door of the barn creaked on rusty hinges as it swung wide.

“Klein?” a low voice called.

The air whooshed out of MacKenzie. It was Agent Tureen, not Squire or his men. Klein walked into the light from the open door. MacKenzie waited for a signal from him.

“Where’s the girl?” Tureen kept his gun pointed straight at Klein.

“She’s gone,” Klein said.

“Why?”

“I sent her to meet some agents coming from the north.”

MacKenzie wondered why he would lie. The road ran north and south from the farm house, but if she ran from here, she’d be heading east.

Tureen cursed and pulled the trigger. Klein’s body banged against the rough plank wall and slid to the ground. MacKenzie gasped then slapped a hand over her lips. Clutching her mouth with a trembling hand, she panted for air.

Tureen’s head swung her direction. Luckily he was in the direct stream of light from the motion sensor outside the front of the barn. “MacKenzie? It’s Agent Tureen. I’m here to protect you. Klein sold you out to Squire. We’ve contained the problem and you’re safe now.”

MacKenzie could hear gunshots out front. If they’d contained the problem, nobody should be shooting.

“It was all Klein.” Tureen took a step into the barn. The door closed behind him.

MacKenzie didn’t believe him. Whereas she’d trusted Klein, she’d never liked Tureen much. He seemed to be always checking her out or appraising her movements and comments in some way. His smooth voice reminded her of the crime lord, Squire—silky and deceptive.

Not waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, she slid behind the rear door and slowly closed it. She ran as lightly as she could toward the cornfield. The uneven ground and rocks irritated her feet through the thin Sanuk’s sole.

The back door of the barn banged open and Tureen rushed out. MacKenzie took the last few steps and was hidden among the corn. She slowed her pace, trying to minimize the noise as the green stems scratched at her arms. A bent-over stalk poked her in the face. She bit her lip so she wouldn’t cry out and prayed the tall corn would hide her.

Where was she going to go? Was it even possible to escape from him? Her stomach tumbled with fear and questions and her prayers became more desperate.

“MacKenzie?” Tureen called. “Come back now and things will go much better for you.”

MacKenzie’s throat was dry as she threaded through the corn. Tureen’s voice grew fainter and when she couldn’t hear him any longer, she thought it might be okay to run. She took Klein’s advice, she ran fast and she didn’t look back.