Tony took a step towards the Iron gear.
CRACK.
A timber beam surrendering to a century of decay, echoed through the mill like a localized earthquake. A plume of ancient dust and wood shrapnel exploded into the air, choking the light.
Tony flinched. He spun toward the wreckage, his suppressed pistol snapping up, the barrel turning away from the rusted gear, and away from the hiding spot.
In that split second, Alex didn't think. He moved. With his hand clamped around Emily's waist, he shoved her toward a low, rectangular maintenance hatch hidden beneath the base.
"Go," he mouthed.
Emily didn't hesitate. She clutched the rusted metal box to her chest as if it were her own heart and dove into the dark opening. Alex dropped in right behind her, his boots hitting the slanted floor of a dry, narrow crawlspace.
The tunnel was a blur of cobwebs and stagnant air. They scrambled through the dark passage, the muffled thud of Tony's boots echoing on the floorboards above. Then burst out and hit the soft, sucking mud of the marsh with a sickening thwack. The air out here had a strong smell of peat and stagnant water. To their left, Black Creek roared, its current violent and fueled by the morning's rain, but Alex caught Emily before she could stumble into the freezing water.
"This way," his voice barely audible over the rush of the water. "And stay low."
They waded through the tea-colored swamp water, the muck almost reaching their knees. Every step was a battle against the earth trying to pull them under. When they reached a limestone cliff that curved sharply away from the mill's line of sight, Alex pulled her toward a hidden trailhead. Emily scrambled upward, her fingers clawing at the wet earth and exposed roots. She collapsed onto a patch of moss. Alex crawled up beside her, his chest heaving, his expensive suit stained dark by the marsh. He didn't say a word. He just grabbed her hand and hauled her up.
With Alex leading the way, they hiked through a dense, thorny thicket until a glint of charcoal-grey metal appeared through the trees.
The Porsche.
Alex fumbled with the key, his fingers blue with cold. The doors unlocked with a muffled chirp. He ushered Emily into the passenger seat and climbed into the driver's side, panting. He didn't turn on the engine immediately. He sat there, staring through the windshield, listening.
It was silent. No yelling. No sound of an engine. Only the distant, mocking call of a crow.
Alex hit the ignition. The engine purred to life; a low, muffled vibration that felt like a heartbeat. He shifted into reverse, navigating the car through the brush with the skill of a man who spent his life calculating escapes. Only when they hit the asphalt of the main road, miles away from the mill's entrance, did he finally let out a breath.
***
Emily was huddled in the passenger seat, the rusted metal box clutched against her chest like a holy relic. The silence in the car was suffocating, heavy with the phantom scent of gunpowder, damp rot, and the electrifying kiss they'd shared behind the gear.
"He killed him," Emily whispered, her voice breaking. "He didn't even hesitate. He just… He stood over him and fired. I should never have come here."
Alex's knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel, he turned to her for a second. "It's not your fault. This is all Tony. He knew you were meeting with Scott and didn't come with the intention of letting him go. He's trying to clean up loose ends."
A sudden, sharp suspicion pierced through Emily's shock. "I wonder how he knew." She turned her head, searching his profile. "Same with you… how did you know where I was?"
Alex's eyes flickered to hers. He saw it immediately, the distrust.
"Cosgrove told me," Alex admitted, his voice tight. "There's something I have to tell you, Emily."
"That Cosgrove is the drug lord who likely killed my father for Tony? And now you're his partner?"
The car swerved slightly as Alex's eyes went wide with genuine shock. "Killed your father? Is that what Scott told you?"
"No. But I saw the payment Tony made to him from my father's assets three days after he died. Before then, he never had any business with the 'Sink Hole' project."
"Emily, I swear, I never knew about the payment," Alex said, his voice cracking with raw honesty. "I only found out who he really was after I signed the contract. I didn't want you to worry. I thought I could handle it. But last night… someone sent me this."
He shoved his phone toward her.
With trembling fingers, Emily looked at the screen. She froze. It was a shot of them in the garden, in the forbidden heat of their kiss.
"It was Cosgrove," Alex rasped. "I met with him to find out what he wanted. He said 'nothing' for now. Then he mentioned you were at the mill and that Tony was already on his way. I'm guessing he told Tony. I had to get to you first. I was terrified he'd hurt you."
Tears blurred Emily's vision. The betrayal she'd been bracing for wasn't what she thought. It wasn't deceit; it was a messy, desperate attempt at protection.
"Thank you," she whispered, the words catching in her throat.
Alex only nodded, his jaw set in a grim line.
Emily looked down at the box in her lap. With a hand that wouldn't stop shaking, she pried the lid open. The hinges groaned, yielding to her touch.
"What is that?" Alex asked, his voice low.
"My dad left it for me. Scott was supposed to give it to me once the divorce was final."
Inside, resting on a bed of rotted, wine-colored velvet, was a key. Tucked beneath it was a small sheet of yellowed parchment, her father's handwriting ran across the page.
First National, Box 402.
Call LAWRENCE - (212) 555-0198
Below the number, three words were underlined so hard the pen had nearly punctured the paper: Trust no one.
"A key to a safe deposit box," Emily whispered, her thumb tracing the embossed digits. "And the phone number of someone named Lawrence."
Alex's eyes cut to the key, then back to the rearview mirror. "You can't just go to a bank or make calls. Cosgrove is keeping tabs on us. Tony would also be watching you. We need to devise a safe plan. For now, let me get you home safe."
He pushed the Porsche harder, the needle climbing as they blurred past the dark tree line.
***
They arrived back in the city two hours later.
Alex slowed the Porsche a block from the penthouse. Emily tucked the cold brass key and paper against her skin, hidden in the lace of her bra and discarded the rusted box.
As she stepped out, she paused, "Alex?"
His hand froze on the gear shift. His eyes met hers through the glass, dark and unreadable.
"Thank you," she whispered.
It was a small word for the weight of what he'd done, but it was the first crack in the fortress she'd built around her heart. She didn't wait for his answer. She ran.
The penthouse was silent as a graveyard. She slipped into her room unseen, stripping off the mud-caked leggings and accessories. She scanned through them, the only thing missing was an earbud which she must have lost during her escape from Black Creek. She ignored it and went under the scalding shower until her skin was raw and flushed red, but the chill stayed deep in her marrow.
She hid the key and paper in a secret compartment of her jewelry box, then crawled underneath the heavy duvet, pulling it to her chin as if it could protect her from the monster in the hallway.
Click.
The sound of the elevator was like a gunshot in Emily's ear. She froze, her breath seizing. Then came the heavy thud of shoes.
Tony.
The footsteps stopped outside her bedroom door. The silence that followed was worse than the noise. Then, the handle turned with agonizing slowness.
Tony stepped inside. He was immaculate. His suit was crisp, his tie perfectly knotted, his presence terrifyingly composed.
"Emily," he said, his voice low. "Too early to go to bed, don't you think?"
She didn't look at him. She couldn't. She stared at the far wall, her voice a brittle rasp. "I have a headache."
"I see," he murmured.
He crossed the room, his reflection in the mirror appearing like a dark, looming shadow. Slowly, almost lazily, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, mud-stained object. He set it down on the polished marble of her dressing table with a soft, metallic clink.
"Then I guess you didn't go to the old mill at Black Creek."
Emily's heart seized. Her lungs refused to pull in air as she stared at the white plastic glinting under the lamp.
It was her other earbud. The one she had lost.