My wife died three months ago, and today I watched her board a plane with the man who helped bury her

The second impact was harder.

The Audi rammed our left rear quarter-panel, pinning the Hyundai against the galvanized steel guardrail. The metal shrieked, groaning as the posts bent toward the void.

Through the shattered rear window, I saw Evan Ross behind the wheel of the Audi. His face was covered in a mask of dried blood, his eyes wide and berserk in the glare of the dashboard lights. He had wrapped a white towel around his forehead, and his teeth were bared in a murderous grin.

“He’s insane!” Claire screamed, clutching the dashboard as the car tilted precariously over the drop.

I dropped the transmission into reverse, slammed my foot on the accelerator, and cut the wheel hard to the right.

The Hyundai’s engine screamed. The front-wheel drive tires found purchase, tearing the front end away from the guardrail with a wrenching tear of shredded fiberglass. We backed directly into the front grille of the Audi, the airbags deploying in the rental with a violent, powdery pop.

White smoke filled the cabin. My ears were ringing.

I reached across the console, grabbed Claire by the jacket, and kicked my door open.

“Out! Now!”

We tumbled out into the cold night air.

Fifty yards ahead of us lay the entrance to Torrey Pines State Natural Reserve—a maze of sandstone bluffs, dense coastal brush, and narrow hiking trails winding down toward the ocean.

Evan was already kicking his driver’s side door open, stumbling out onto the pavement. He was limping, but in his right hand, he held a long, black tactical flashlight, and in his left, a heavy crowbar he had retrieved from the Audi’s trunk.

“Claire!” his voice echoed across the empty highway, distorted by rage. “You think this ends with him? You think you can go home? You’re dead, Claire! I buried you! You belong to me!”

“Run!” I shouted, pulling Claire off the asphalt and into the thick scrub of the reserve trail.

We plunged into the darkness.

The trail was steep, rutted with sandstone fissures and loose gravel. Behind us, the beam of Evan’s flashlight cut through the pine branches like a searchlight.

“David, I can't!” Claire gasped, stumbling on a root. Her white sneakers were soaked in mud, her dress torn. “My ankle—I twisted it in the car!”

I didn't let her fall. I slung her right arm over my shoulder, taking half her weight, my boots digging into the dirt as we descended into the canyon.

“Keep moving,” I said between clenched teeth. “Thirteen years, Claire. You don't get to quit on me on a dirt trail in California.”

A bitter, hysterical sob escaped her throat, but she pushed through the pain, matching my stride.

The path twisted around a sandstone bluff, dropping toward a flat overlook called Razor Point. Below us, the Pacific Ocean roared against the jagged rock platforms, three hundred feet down.

There was no way out. The trail ended at a wooden viewing platform surrounded by sheer cliffs.

We were trapped.

The flashlight beam swept across the clearing behind us.

Evan stepped through the pines.

His breathing was ragged, his face grotesque under the pale moonlight. The white towel around his head was soaked through with crimson. He held the crowbar low, dragging the steel tip against the sandstone path with a dry, scratching scrape.

“How touching,” Evan said, stopping fifteen feet away at the trail’s narrow bottleneck. “The devoted husband. Even after he knows you’re a thief. Even after he knows you spent three months letting him rot in his own misery.”

“Let her go, Evan,” I said, stepping in front of Claire. I reached behind my back, my fingers finding the grip of the pistol I had taken from the house. “This is over. The ledger is already uploaded to a remote server. The second we don't check in, it goes to the Department of Justice.”

Evan paused. A cold, mocking smile spread across his bloodied lips.

“You didn't upload anything, David,” Evan said softly. “You’re a contract lawyer. You don't have a burner uplink. You don't have an encrypted cloud relay. You have that little thumb drive in her pocket, and once I throw both of you off this cliff, I’ll take it back, burn the rental car, and board my boat.”

He raised the crowbar.

“Nobody searches for a dead woman twice,” Evan whispered.