The officer lied. No one waits for us outside this particular exit, though we aren’t alone. Throngs of frantic people continue streaming out of the hospital. Elizabeth pulls me along until we’re lost in the crowds. Sirens blare as police cruisers speed down side streets toward the ER.

My brain is mush from having processed too much in too brief a period. The shock, the terror, the displaced sorrow. Those men died for us—because of us.

As chaos continues to reign behind us, Elizabeth pauses to rip off my white coat. She tosses the blood-spattered fabric behind a bush, then grabs my hand again.

Past a parking structure. Across a street. Down an alley. She finally stops at a dark SUV, shoving me into the passenger seat before running around to the other side. The car starts.

She glances at me. “Seatbelt, Eden.”

I croak a harsh laugh but do as she says. It’s a good thing, too—the tires squeal as she accelerates fast. The alley isn’t that narrow, but there are doors lining it. If someone walks out of one…

“Will you slow down?”

Her eyes stay on the alley. “Not until we’re safe.”

The four-lane cross street approaches. Cars whiz past the alley. She doesn’t slow.

“Holy shit! Stop!”

She accelerates even more. When our front tires clear the last building, she cranks the wheel hard. The heavy car slides, screeching in protest. More tires squeal as cars break in a panic, swerving to miss us. Elizabeth’s foot stays pressed on the accelerator. Her hands fly with the steering wheel, correcting until we stop fishtailing.

Within minutes we’re entering a freeway onramp. The traffic is light; she moves to the carpool lane and matches the speed of the car in front of us.

Then, finally, she glances my way. “Are you okay? You didn’t get hit, did you?”

“What? No.” I touch my numb face with numb fingers. “I feel like I’m underwater.”

“It’s the shock,” she says matter-of-factly.

“Yes, I know.”

“Of course you do,” she says softly, with a touch of wistfulness. “You’re a doctor.”

I stare out the window. Time bends and stretches, slows and speeds. Faces, cars, signs… they freeze for an eternal moment in my mind, then blur as they pass.

“Shouldn’t we be going north? Into Canada or something?”

“That’s what he’ll think we’ll do. Besides, do you have a passport on you?”

I have nothing. No phone. No wallet. I don’t answer, staring stiffly out the window. Seeing everything. Seeing nothing.

“I’m sorry,” says Elizabeth mutedly. “I’ve lived this life for so long, sometimes I forget what a shock it is initially.”

I close my eyes—see blood spraying, a brain exposed—and open them quickly. Thoughts clash in my head, old ones and new ones colliding.

Does Alexis know what’s happening? Is she alive? Where’s Maddoc? Does Liam know?

I have so many questions. Too many.

“They found me yesterday,” begins Elizabeth softly. “I made a mistake. A terrible one. I was here in Seattle because I wanted to see you. Just once. I wasn’t going to talk to you, but I just wanted…” She sighs, shaking her head. “I went to the hospital yesterday. Maddoc must have had someone watching you. They ID’d me, followed me back to my hotel.”

“Is that how you got the…” I wave at her bruised face.

She nods. “These men, they never expect a woman to know how to defend herself. Even less so to go on the offensive. When I got away this morning, I came straight to the hospital. I was going to try to find you before you went into work, but there’s too many parking lots for staff, and I didn’t know what kind of car you drive.”

Delayed synapses fire in my brain. “I was under surveillance? For how long?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t know about the FBI leak until yesterday. Men like those who work for your father will think they can say whatever they want in front of you. It makes them feel powerful. Gives them a false sense of control.”

I barely hear her as a singular need overtakes my thoughts. “Did the man who took you—did he say anything about Alexis?”

Lips thinning, she shakes her head. “No.” She pauses, fingers tightening on the wheel. “After the manhunt four years ago, I lost track of her. She’s gone underground. My only hope is that she broke free from the life, that she didn’t rejoin Maddoc.”

I think of the betrayal on Alexis’s face when I went with Special Agent Hernandez, when I’d naively believed I was saving her.

I know he isn’t a good man, but he’s my dad. I love him.

And even though I don’t want to, I remember Liam telling me that he witnessed Alexis ordering an execution. That he saw her stand by while a man lost his life.

There’s still a twisted part of me that hopes it’s not true. Liam certainly lied to me before, many times. Perhaps he lied again.

Not knowing the difference between lies and truth is a particular type of pain. It scratches at the edges of you. Over time, it digs into the foundation of how you think about the world. It paints everything in watercolors.

“Eden? Are you okay?”

I snort. “Peachy.” I glance at her profile, pinched in worry. “Where are we going?”

“I have friends in Mexico.”

My eyes narrow. “I don’t have a passport, remember?”

“It won’t be a problem.”

More questions. Too many questions.

I close my eyes and hear a voice.

His.

I will always find you.

And for the first time in nearly six years, I feel the deepest, darkest essence of me stir and stretch. It blooms, obliterating my carefully maintained discipline. Wiping away all traces of denial. My false life. My false self.

What’s revealed is me. The woman Liam awakened, crafted into existence as surely as a master artist shapes misinformed clay into beauty. Not his little dove—not soft or yielding.

His little monster.

I am awake.