Once the wounds were cleaned and closed, Diamond sat on the floor next to the bed, her back pressed to the wall, knees drawn up. The dim light of the sleeper cast long shadows, but all she could see were her hands—stained red, slick with dried blood.
They started to shake.
She stared at them, willing the tremble to stop, but it wouldn’t. The adrenaline was wearing off. Reality was creeping back in.
She hadn’t expected Carla’s ex to actuallyfindthem. That bastard was all bark at the casino, and she figured he’d crawl back under his rock once the heat picked up. But he hadn’t. He’d come looking.Theyhad.
And if it hadn’t been her and Sayer out there—if it had been Seven, or worse, Carla and the girls?—
Diamond shoved the thought down, swallowing hard as she scrambled to her feet. Her palms left smears of red on her jeans. She moved to the tiny sink and scrubbed her hands, the water running pink before it cleared. She didn’t stop until her skin was raw.
Once clean, she grabbed the long-handled inspection mirror tucked in the side compartment—one of the tools they’d picked up along the way, the kind border agents used to check under rigs and trailers. She stepped outside, the cool air hitting her face like a slap.
Someone knew where they were. Someone hadtrackedthem.
Diamond crouched low and started sweeping the mirror beneath the undercarriage of the truck, her eyes sharp, movements tight and controlled. She was done waiting for someone else to make the first move.
The mirror caught the faintest glint of metal near the back axle—tucked high, almost invisible against the grime of the undercarriage.
Diamond crotched down and crept under the truck and reached up, fingers working carefully around the small black device no bigger than a matchbox. She popped it free, holding it up to the light. Sleek. Commercial grade. No blinking light, no flashy branding—whoever planted it knew what they were doing.
She climbed back to her feet, heart still pounding. Diamond pulled out her burner and dialed Fifi.
“Yeah?” Fifi’s voice came through, casual and crackly.
“I’ve got a problem,” Diamond said, already heading back into the sleeper. “Found a tracker under the rig. Need to know where it came from and who it’s talking to.”
There was a pause. Then, sharper. “Send me a pic.”
Diamond snapped a quick photo and sent it over. Fifi didn’t waste time.
“Give me fifteen,” she said. “Don’t turn it off, don’t mess with it. Just hang tight.”
Diamond looked over at Sayer, still breathing steady, blood-streaked but alive.
“Hanging tight isn’t really my style,” she muttered, but kept the line open anyway.
Fifteen minutes felt like an hour.
Diamond paced outside the rig, one eye on the tracker in her palm, the other on the horizon. The night air had that heavy stillness to it. The kind that made her feel like something was watching, even if nothing moved.
Her phone buzzed. Fifi.
“Got your hit,” she said, no small talk. “Signal’s been bouncing through a cheap relay, but it’s clean. Registered to a burner tied to an account used by none other than Todd Merrick.”
Diamond exhaled slowly. “Carla’s ex.”
“Bingo. Looks like he bought it a couple of weeks back. Probably slapped it on during one of those supply runs if you weren’t watching.”
Diamond pinched the bridge of her nose. “He’s sloppier than I thought.”
“No,” Fifi said, voice tight. “He’s desperate. Desperate makes people sloppy.”
Diamond nodded to herself, a slow sense of relief creeping in. It wasn’t a new enemy. It wasn’t a leak from the inside. It washim. Todd. Still chasing control the way cowards did—through tracking and intimidation. For now Todd wasn’t her concern. Unless he and his brother had other men trying to find his wife and kids.
“Appreciate you, Fi.”
“You owe me donuts,” Fifi replied. “And maybe a new keyboard if mine catches fire from this trash signal. You good?”
