Page 27 of Fury
I grab my laptop from my overnight bag, opening my email to find a ZIP file waiting for me. "I got it. I'll make sure the right people see it."
After we hang up, I forward the email to myself, Greyson, my father, and Mason. Insurance, in case the worst happens. Then I open the files, steeling myself for what I might find.
What I discover makes my blood run cold. Richard Keller isn't just some obsessed stalker, he's a predator with a long history of violence against women. Financial records show payments to at least five different women over the past decade, all of whom subsequently dropped charges or disappeared altogether. There are photos of his current wife, bruised and terrified, dated just weeks ago.
And there, in a folder labeled "Contingency," is a document that makes my heart stop—a detailed plan for abducting someone. My name is mentioned repeatedly, alongside a cabin located in the mountains just outside Blackridge.
With shaking hands, I call Greyson, but it goes straight to voicemail. They must be in church, where phones must be switched off, as is protocol during official meetings. I try my father, then Mason, with the same result.
I pace the living room, anxiety building with each passing minute. Richard Keller isn't just looking for evidence, he has a plan. A plan that involves me.
A noise outside catches my attention—the crunch of gravel under tires. I move to the window, expecting to see one of the prospects making rounds. Instead, I see a dark sedan slowly approaching the driveway.
My blood turns to ice as I watch the car stop at the gate. The prospects have noticed too. They're moving toward it, hands on their weapons. But they're too far away, spread out across the perimeter as they are.
I grab my phone and my gun, ducking away from the window. As I dial 911, I hear shouting outside, then the unmistakable sound of gunfire.
The 911 operator answers, but before I can speak, the power cuts out, plunging the house into sudden silence as the security system fails. I drop to the floor, crawling toward the kitchen where I remember seeing a back door.
"Shots fired," I whisper into the phone, giving Greyson's address. “I need help now."
More gunfire can be heard from outside, closer this time. I hear glass breaking somewhere in the house.
"He's inside," I breathe into the phone. "In the house."
I end the call, knowing I need both my hands free. The kitchen is dark, but I know the general layout from breakfast. I stay low, moving as quietly as possible toward where I think the back door is.
A floorboard creaks behind me, and I freeze.
"Olivia," a voice calls, sending chills down my spine. "I know you're here. We need to talk."
Richard Keller. It has to be. I recognize the voice from the gate, from that night at my parents' house. Measured, calm, utterly terrifying in its control.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he continues, moving closer. "I just need what's mine."
I stay perfectly still, trying not to even breathe. My gun is a reassuring weight in my hand, but I've never actually shot anyone before. Could I pull the trigger if I had to?
"Your friend Diane has been very naughty," he says conversationally, as if we're discussing the weather. "Taking things that don't belong to her. Saying things that aren't true."
I hear him moving through the living room, methodically searching. He's between me and the front door now. The back door is my only option.
"I know you have it, Olivia. The flash drive. Give it to me, and this can all be over. We can start fresh."
Start fresh? The delusion in his voice makes my skin crawl. I inch backward, my free hand searching blindly for the door handle.
"You know, I've been watching you for months," he continues. "You and Diane. At first, I was just concerned about what she might be saying about me. But then I saw you, really saw you, and I knew."
My fingers find the door handle. I turn it slowly, praying it doesn't make a sound.
"We're meant to be together, Olivia. That's why I followed you here. That's why I've been so patient."
The door swings open silently. Thank God for well-oiled hinges. I back through it, onto a small patio.
"Your friend doesn't understand what real love is." His voice grows more distant as I create space between us. "But you do, don't you? You understand sacrifice."
I turn and run, abandoning stealth for speed. The woods behind Greyson's house are dense, the undergrowth thick. I crash through branches, gun clutched in one hand and phone in the other.
Behind me, I hear a shout of rage. "Olivia! Don't run from me!"
