We crawled into wet brush as footsteps thundered inside the tunnel below.
Daniel pointed north.
“Run.”
We moved through the trees.
A shot rang out.
Evelyn stumbled.
Blood appeared on her upper arm.
I caught her.
“I’m fine,” she gasped.
Ben and Daniel returned fire toward the tunnel entrance.
We reached the shoreline.
No boat waited there.
Evelyn stared at the empty dock.
“There should be one.”
Graham Voss stepped from behind a tree.
He held a pistol aimed at my chest.
He was in his late sixties, broad-shouldered despite his age, with a white mustache and eyes that showed no fear.
Daniel raised his gun.
Graham pressed the barrel beneath my chin.
“Drop it.”
Daniel did.
