Chloe reached the trapped rider.
He was enormous.
Heavy black leather.
Helmet gone.
Blood covered one side of his face.
His right leg was trapped beneath the wreckage.
He looked at her.
His eyes widened.
Chloe pointed away from the truck.
Then at him.
She mouthed:
I'm getting you out.
She grabbed his vest.
Pulled.
Nothing.
She tried again.
The wreckage didn't move.
Flames climbed higher.
Chloe's palms burned.
She looked around desperately.
Then she saw a piece of metal lying near the truck.
A detached suspension strut.
She grabbed it.
It was blisteringly hot.
Pain shot through her hands.
She nearly dropped it.
But she didn't.
She shoved one end beneath the motorcycle frame.
Then she pressed her body weight against the other.
Nothing.
She pushed harder.
Her knees shook.
Her palms screamed.
The metal moved.
Barely.
But it moved.
The trapped rider pulled his leg.
Still stuck.
Chloe repositioned the bar.
Pushed again.
This time the wreckage lifted enough for him to move.
She dropped the metal.
Grabbed his vest.
Pulled.
One foot.
Two.
Five.
Ten.
They were almost clear.
Then Chloe felt a violent vibration beneath her feet.
She looked back.
The truck's fuel tank was on fire.
She dragged the man harder.
Twenty feet.
Twenty-five.
Thirty.
Then the world flashed white.
The explosion threw them into the desert.
Chloe struck the ground.
Her head hit something hard.
The last thing she saw was the man's hand reaching toward her.
Then everything disappeared.
When Chloe opened her eyes, white light filled the room.
She blinked.
Hospital.
Her hands hurt.
They were wrapped in thick bandages.
Her head felt heavy.
She tried to sit up.
A man at the foot of the bed noticed.
He approached.
Police badge.
Cheap suit.
He tapped the metal bed frame.
Chloe looked at him.
He pointed toward himself.
Then wrote on a notepad.
Detective Miller.
Underneath:
You're a hero. What happened? Was it a tire blowout?
Chloe took the pen.
Her fingers barely worked.
She wrote slowly.
No.
Then:
The truck swerved on purpose.
She continued.
I saw the driver leave the cab and run into the desert.
Miller read it.
His face changed.
Not surprise.
Not concern.
Something colder.
He looked toward the door.
Then back at Chloe.
He took the paper.
Tore it from the pad.
Folded it.
Put it in his pocket.
Then wrote:
You are confused from the explosion. Get some rest.
Chloe stared at him.
She shook her head violently.
Miller stood.
He walked out.
The door closed.
Chloe's heart began beating faster.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
An hour later, another man entered.
He was enormous.
Black leather vest.
Gray beard.
Hard eyes.
A winged death's-head patch covered the back of his vest.
He didn't approach her immediately.
Instead, he raised a phone.
Large text appeared on the screen.
MY NAME IS TOMMY. PEOPLE CALL ME REAPER.
Another line appeared.
YOU SAVED JACK TAGGART.
Then:
OUR PRESIDENT.
Chloe stared at him.
He typed again.
WHAT DID THE POLICE ASK YOU?
She reached for his phone.
Her fingers trembled as she typed.
She told him everything.
Miller.
The note.
The truck.
The driver.
The dismissal.
Reaper read the message.
His expression hardened.
He typed:
MILLER IS DIRTY.
Then:
IF YOU SAW THE DRIVER, YOU ARE NOW A WITNESS.
Chloe's stomach dropped.
Reaper looked toward the hallway.
Then back at her.
THEY MAY COME BACK.
He stepped outside.
Within minutes, men began appearing.
One.
Three.
Five.
Ten.
The hospital corridor filled with leather vests and worried faces.
Chloe watched through the glass.
Reaper spoke to them.
Then he looked at her.
The lights above the corridor flickered.
Boots moved.
A shadow appeared at the far end.
Chloe felt it before she understood it.
A deep vibration traveled through the floor.
Then another.
Then another.
Someone was running.
Reaper turned toward the hallway.
His men moved.
Chloe sat frozen in bed.
The door at the far end burst open.
Everything happened at once.
Men in dark tactical clothing rushed through the corridor.
Reaper's people moved to intercept them.
The hospital suddenly became a battlefield.
Chloe couldn't hear the gunfire.
But she could feel every impact.
The floor trembled beneath her bed.
The walls shook.
Lights flickered.
Glass shattered.
She pulled herself against the wall.
Reaper reached her doorway.
He looked at her.
Then pointed toward the floor.
Stay down.
Chloe obeyed.
She had entered the hospital as an unknown young woman with burned hands.
Now she was the only witness to an attempted murder.
And everyone in the building seemed willing to kill to make sure she stayed silent.
The President
Jack “Iron” Taggart survived the night.
Barely.
His left leg was fractured.
Several ribs were broken.
He had suffered burns across his shoulder and back.
But he was alive.
Chloe learned this from Reaper the following morning.
The hospital had been evacuated from one wing.