Now.
She spotted a sign through the rain.
MAPLE'S DINER — NEXT EXIT
She took it.
The Buick slid slightly as she turned.
Her heart jumped.
She corrected the steering and pulled into the parking lot.
The diner was small.
Old.
A red neon sign buzzed above the entrance.
There were several motorcycles parked beneath the awning.
Evelyn noticed them.
She didn't think about them.
She was too tired.
She turned off the engine.
For a moment she sat motionless.
Rain hammered the roof.
Her hands remained on the steering wheel.
Then she looked in the mirror.
The black sedan had followed her.
It stopped at the far end of the parking lot.
The engine remained running.
Two silhouettes sat inside.
Evelyn's breathing stopped.
The passenger door opened.
Then the driver's door.
Two men stepped into the rain.
They weren't running.
They didn't need to.
They walked like men who already knew where their prey was going.
Evelyn's hand moved to the door handle.
Nathan's voice echoed in her memory.
If you're ever sure you're being followed, don't run.
Running draws attention.
Walk like you know where you're going.
Even when you don't.
Walk like the ground belongs to you.
Evelyn opened the door.
She stepped into the rain.
The men were twenty yards behind her.
She walked.
One step.
Then another.
Her hip screamed.
She ignored it.
She kept her head up.
The diner entrance was thirty feet away.
Then she heard the taller man behind her.
"Mrs. Carter."
She froze.
They knew her name.
Her blood turned cold.
"Don't make this difficult."
She didn't turn around.
Instead, she looked ahead.
And that's when she saw them.
Eight men.
Standing beside the motorcycles.
Huge men.
Leather vests.
Heavy boots.
Beards.
Tattoos.
Gray hair.
Scars.
They looked like the kind of men sensible people avoided.
Evelyn knew the name.
Everyone of her generation knew the name.
Hell's Angels.
Her instincts screamed at her.
Not them.
Anyone but them.
But then she heard footsteps behind her.
Closer.
Evelyn made a choice.
She turned left.
She walked directly toward the bikers.
Then she reached the nearest man.
She grabbed his leather sleeve with both hands.
"I hide here," she whispered.
The man looked down.
He was enormous.
Six-foot-four.
Broad shoulders.
Gray hair tied behind his head.
A thick beard.
His eyes were pale and unreadable.
His name was Cole Harrison.
And for the next several seconds, neither of them moved.
Then Cole looked past her.
Two men in expensive coats stood fifteen feet away.
Cole understood immediately.
He didn't know who Evelyn was.
He didn't know what she had done.
He didn't know what she was carrying.
But he knew fear.
And he knew the difference between someone running from trouble and someone running for her life.
Cole shifted one step forward.
Seven other men moved with him.
No one spoke.
The taller stranger smiled politely.
"We apologize for the interruption," he said. "This woman is a patient. She has dementia. She wandered away from a care facility about forty miles up the road. We're here to take her back safely."
Cole stared at him.
Then he looked at Evelyn.
"Is that true?"
Evelyn swallowed.
"No."
The man's smile disappeared.
Cole nodded once.
"Then you've got a problem."
The rain continued falling.
And suddenly, the entire parking lot became very quiet.
The Man Called Cole
Cole Harrison had spent thirty years learning how to recognize lies.
Some lies were obvious.
Some were elaborate.
The best liars, however, did not behave like liars.
They behaved like people who believed they were entitled to the truth they were inventing.
The man standing across from him was one of those people.
Cole didn't know his name yet.
He didn't need to.
He studied the man's shoes.
Expensive leather.
Clean.
Wrong for a man who had supposedly driven forty miles through a storm to retrieve an elderly woman from a highway.
Then he looked at the man's coat.
Too expensive.
Too dry.
The man had been outside for less than a minute.
His companion was even more suspicious.
He kept touching the inside of his jacket.
Not nervously.
Habitually.
Cole had seen that gesture hundreds of times.
A weapon.
Maybe.
Or something else.
Cole glanced at Evelyn.
She was trembling.
Not from the cold.
Her eyes remained fixed on the two men.
Cole had seen terrified people before.
A frightened person wanted to disappear.
Evelyn didn't.
She wanted to survive.
There was a difference.
"What's your name?" Cole asked her.
"Evelyn."
"Evelyn what?"
"Carter."
The taller stranger immediately spoke.
"Sir, I really don't think—"
Cole raised one hand.
The stranger stopped.
"Wasn't talking to you."
Cole looked back at Evelyn.
"Are they taking you somewhere?"
"No."
"Do you know them?"
"No."
"Are they following you?"
She hesitated.
Then nodded.
"For six days."
Cole's jaw tightened.
Six days.
He looked at the men.
"That's a long way to follow somebody."
The taller man smiled again.
"We're simply trying to help."
"Then help by leaving."
"We can't do that."
"Why?"
"Because she is mentally impaired."
Evelyn suddenly laughed.
It was a strange sound.
Small.
Bitter.
"I am seventy-two," she said. "Not stupid."
One of the bikers behind Cole chuckled.
The tension broke for half a second.
Then the second man stepped forward.