CIA officer Amber Starke pressed the gas pedal and prayed that she wouldn’t slide over the cliff and into the ravine below. She was trying to escape killers, not plunge to her death because she got careless in bad weather. But she couldn’t see the road she needed. It was around here somewhere, but her childhood memory was vague, the exact location of the drive refusing to rise to the surface. Of course it was dark and her windshield resembled a field of white.
The sun continued to drop along with the temperature and the snow-stressed windshield wipers slowed as ice started to form on them. Amber knew it would be time to find a place to hole up and she had just the destination in mind.
If they could get there.
She’d been driving for the last seventeen hours stopping only for restroom breaks and food. She hadn’t planned to do so, but her young passenger hadn’t protested so she’d kept going. Yesterday it had been fifteen hours of the same. She didn’t know why Sam had been so agreeable in riding almost nonstop, but she just counted her blessings and kept going.
She glanced in the rearview mirror and breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the sleeping child. The six-year-old who didn’t like change had just had his life turned upside down. With a dead mother and killer for a father, Amber knew she was the child’s only hope to live to see seven. She just prayed she could make that happen. But in order to do that, she had to figure out how to coax the secrets from his brain before his father caught up with them. Fortunately, Sam loved road trips. She had a feeling it was because there were very few distractions and plenty of game time on his phone to entertain him. She’d gotten him a special phone that was encrypted and untraceable. He didn’t know that, but it sure made her feel better.
Amber saw the sharp curve ahead and lightly pressed the brakes. The sedan slowed, but she could feel the ice building on the road.
Great. She remembered the harsh winters from her childhood and this looked to be one of the harshest. She wanted to kick herself for not checking the weather before heading east from California, but getting away from the people trying to kill them had taken precedence.
The wipers continued to slow, becoming heavy with snow and she knew she couldn’t keep going much longer. She had to get to the cabin. They’d be safe there, she was certain of it. In all the years she’d been with the agency she’d never been traced to her hometown of Wrangler’s Corner. But the deciding factor in making a beeline for home was that she had documents, passports and money hidden away that would allow her and Sam to disappear for good. She just had to get to it.
She slapped the wheel. The weather! She did not need this snow. Her brain kicked in, trying to come up with a plan should she need it.
She supposed as long as she could keep the car running and the heater on, they’d be all right but after a glance at the gas gauge, Amber saw that wasn’t going to be an option. She was pushing empty. She hadn’t liked the looks of the two men at the last gas station so had simply circled the pumps and kept going.
She might have enough to get to the cabin. She glanced behind her. Had she been followed? She didn’t think so, but the people after her and Sam were good. Scary good. Her fingers flexed on the wheel. Her heart still cried for her friend, Sam’s mother, who’d died two days ago, killed by Sam’s father before the cancer could claim her life. She’d died too soon. A violent senseless death that caused the rage to boil in Amber’s soul when the memories pressed in.
“Home. Number One Mom.”
“What?” She looked in the rearview mirror. Sam was awake.
His dark eyes wouldn’t meet hers. “Home.” He clasped his arms around his middle and began his familiar rocking back and forth. “Go home.”
She blinked against the tears that wanted to well. “Hey, Sam, I know you want to go home, but we can’t right now, okay?”
“Home! Number One Mom.”
With Sam’s autism, Amber wasn’t sure exactly what he understood and what he didn’t. He was verbal sometimes. Other times the day would pass without him uttering a word. And he loved numbers. He numbered everything and it seemed to appease him even if she didn’t have a clue what it was he was numbering. She knew Number One Mom referred to the woman who’d given him birth. Amber’s friend who now lay cold in her grave.
One thing she’d learned while watching Sam grow up these past four years and becoming his Number Two Mom as he called her, no two autistic kids were alike so it was best to treat them individually. And Sam was definitely unique with a quirky personality and a photographic memory.
With her right hand, she reached into her purse that rested on the passenger seat and pulled out a different device. It held only one game and it was his favorite. She’d been saving it for just this moment. She held it toward him. “Here. You want to play?”
“Yes. Favorite game Number one game.” He snatched it and powered it
