Page 104 of Montana Memory

Still nothing.

“What’s the problem?” Johnson demanded, pressing the gun harder against my back.

“I don’t understand,” I whispered. “This should work.”

Of course the code had been changed. What kind of security system would this be if the same code worked weeks later? But knowing that didn’t help me now.

“Open it,” Kelly growled, “or I swear to God?—”

“It’s not working!” My voice cracked with genuine fear.

Johnson grabbed my hair, yanking my head back. “You lying bitch. There’s no money, is there?”

This was it. My last chance. I had to fight now, while they were still uncertain, before they dragged me back to the car.

I subtly shifted my weight, preparing to drive my elbow into Johnson’s solar plexus, then swing at Kelly’s throat. My odds were terrible—two trained cops against one woman with no combat skills and no memories—but I’d rather die fighting than executed in some remote location.

I drew a deep breath. “Just wait, okay? I’m nervous with you breathing down my neck. Let me try one more time.”

Johnson loosened his grip slightly, and I turned back to the keypad.

Moving deliberately, I entered the code again, each press of my finger feeling like a goodbye. To Hunter. To the life I’d just started to build. To the kittens I’d never see again.

7-5-2-4-9.

The lock clicked.

My jaw dropped as the door swung inward, revealing the darkened interior of the safe house. For a moment, none of us moved, equally stunned.

“See?” I finally managed, my voice barely above a whisper. “I told you.”

Kelly shoved me forward, into the darkness. “Move.”

I stepped inside, my mind racing. Why had the code worked this time? I had no idea. I moved cautiously through the entryway, my gaze locked on the wooden chest across the livingroom. Kelly stayed close behind me, while Johnson veered off, gun drawn, checking the other rooms.

“The money’s in a locked case,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I need to get the key first.”

“Hurry up,” Kelly growled, following me into the living room.

I crossed to the chest, every step measured, my heartbeat a deafening drum in my ears. Johnson’s footsteps echoed from somewhere down the hallway—checking the bedrooms, the bathroom. This might be my only moment.

“It’s in here,” I murmured, kneeling before the chest and lifting the lid.

My fingers slid across cool metal objects until they closed around a knife handle. I didn’t look at it, didn’t give myself time to think. In one fluid motion, I gripped it tight, whirled around, and slashed upward.

The blade caught Kelly across his forearm as he instinctively raised it to protect himself. Blood bloomed immediately, spreading across his sleeve in a dark stain.

“You fucking bitch!” he roared.

I scrambled backward, knife extended, but he was faster than I’d anticipated. Before I could swing again, he lunged forward, his uninjured hand closing around my wrist with crushing force.

I tried to wrench free, but he twisted violently. The sound of bone cracking preceded the pain by only a millisecond—then agony shot up my arm like lightning. I screamed as the knife clattered to the floor, my fingers no longer able to hold it.

Johnson came running back into the room. “What the hell?—”

“She pulled a knife on me,” Kelly snarled, still gripping my broken wrist. His face contorted with rage as blood dripped between us onto the carpet.

Tears of pain blurred my vision, but I stared directly into his eyes. What did I have to lose now?

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