Exit Strategy. Shirlee McCoy

      “Maybe I just don’t want to think my husband could have been careless enough to clean a loaded rifle.”

      “Or maybe Elijah’s brother helped him get away with murder?”

      She didn’t respond.

      He wasn’t sure if she was thinking about her answer or if she was too tired to speak. Her breath panted out, hoarse and raspy and a little too ragged for his liking. They had a long way to go. All of it on foot. If she couldn’t make it, he’d have no choice but to stay and fight. He didn’t have enough firepower to have any hope of success against Elijah’s security team.

      He’d try, though.

      If he had to.

      He prayed he wouldn’t, the words forming and taking flight before he’d even realized the depth of his desperation. He wanted out of the woods and away from Amos Way, he wanted a safe place to hunker down and come up with a plan. He might not know what was going on in Elijah Clayton’s religious utopia, but he planned to find out. When he did, he’d take the man and his followers down without a second thought or a moment of regret.

      There were too many wounded people in the world searching for places to belong. Amos Way wasn’t the kind of place they should end up, because it was the kind of place people never returned from. In his estimation, that was the kind of place that should be shut down for good, and he was just the kind of guy to do it.

      Behind them, a dog howled, the sound too close for comfort.

      A man shouted something, and Cyrus grabbed Lark’s hand, dragging her into a full-out run.