Chapter 13 - Roads to the North
Twelve hours later, the rain had vanished, replaced by the vast, piercing blue skies of the northern plains.
Mark sat in the passenger seat of an unmarked government SUV, staring out at the endless expanse of amber grasslands and snow-capped peaks rising on the horizon. His torn clothes had been replaced with a simple gray flannel shirt and dark denim jeans provided by the bureau. A white bandage wrapped securely around his ribs, protecting the cracked bone he’d sustained during the elevator plunge.
Beside him, Marcus drove in silence, his eyes scanning the empty two-lane blacktop that wound deep into the Montana wilderness.
""Victoria survived the vault fire,"" Marcus said quietly, breaking the long silence.
Mark didn't flinch. He didn't turn his head. ""And Julian?""
""Suffocation. He died on the way to the trauma center,"" Marcus replied. ""Victoria was pulled out by the city fire department. Third-degree burns across her hands and face. The hospital room is locked down under federal guard. She was formally arraigned this morning from her burn bed.""
""Will she talk?""
""She already is,"" Marcus said with a dark chuckle. ""Trying to blame everything on her father. Handing over bank accounts, shell companies, names of dirty politicians. She thinks she can negotiate a minimum-security facility. But with the evidence Elena preserved, she’s looking at life without parole in a federal penitentiary.""
Mark closed his eyes, picturing Victoria’s cold, immaculate face in the bridal suite, the polished steel chain held casually in her fingers like a dog leash.
""She wanted to be untouchable,"" Mark whispered. ""Now she's locked in a cage forever. It suits her.""
""We're fifteen minutes out from the ranch,"" Marcus said, checking his dashboard navigation. ""Elena called an hour ago. Lily woke up. She ate some soup. She’s been sitting on the porch swing waiting for a gray truck.""
Mark felt a sudden, sharp pain in his chest that had nothing to do with his cracked ribs. It was the first time in two days that his heart didn't feel like stone. It felt vulnerable, terrifyingly soft, terrified of what he would see in his daughter's eyes.
Would she look at him and see the man who saved her? Or would she see the man whose blind trust brought a monster into their lives, who allowed an iron ring to be locked around her flesh?
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The SUV turned off the highway onto a gravel road lined with split-rail fences. Dust kicked up behind them, drifting over the golden clover fields. In the distance stood a weathered timber ranch house surrounded by a wide covered porch.
On that porch, wrapped in a thick wool blanket, sat a tiny blonde girl.
