The Wife You Buried Is Back from Hell novel Chapter 1420

Dim, yellow lights illuminated the checkpoint where a few border patrol officers stood, inspecting passing vessels.

The fisherman was prepared. He handed over the forged documents he'd been provided. "Just a small catch, Officer. Trying to trade it across the border for some supplies. Long night for you boys, huh?"

The officer took the papers, inspecting them under his flashlight. He swept his beam over the deck, seeing only a few baskets of fresh fish, before finally waving them through.

The old man let out a massive sigh of relief and quickly poled the boat through the checkpoint, heading straight for the border.

Once they were miles past the blockade, Harold finally sat up from the hidden compartment. Shoving the fisherman aside, he snatched the bamboo pole and drove the boat hard toward the muddy riverbank.

"Get the hell out of my sight," he snarled.

His voice was completely devoid of emotion.

As if granted a pardon from death row, the old fisherman scrambled off the boat. Plunging into the knee-deep mud, he bolted into the reeds without looking back, terrified Harold would change his mind and slit his throat.

Harold watched the pathetic display with a sneer of contempt. Bending down, he popped open a secret compartment in the deck and yanked out a tactical duffel bag.

Inside were forged passports, stacks of cash, a loaded handgun, and high-calorie survival rations.

Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he jumped off the boat. His boots sank into the mud as he trudged toward the dense jungle looming just ahead.

This jungle spanned both sides of the border. Choked with vicious thorns and thick canopies, it was notoriously dangerous terrain—and the absolute best blind spot for smuggling operations.

Back when he was building his empire in Ashford, Harold had personally trekked through this exact route dozens of times. He knew the geography like his own backyard. He knew there were wild predators lurking in the brush.

He also knew the border patrol had hidden sniper nests stationed throughout. But more importantly, he knew his endgame was waiting on the other side.

A handful of diehard loyalists were already camped out just across the border, waiting with a getaway vehicle and a secured route overseas.

He took a deep, jagged breath. Just as he pushed off the tree to make a break for it, the frantic sound of boots tearing through the brush echoed behind him, followed immediately by the terrifying bark of a police K-9.

"Harold Chapman! Freeze! Put your hands in the air!"

A booming voice shattered the silence of the jungle.

A flash of feral savagery burned in Harold's eyes.

He didn't even look back. Digging his boots into the mud, he sprinted desperately toward the border marker, tearing through the brush like a gale-force wind.

The officers and attack dogs gave chase, their shouts echoing violently through the trees.

A bullet whizzed past his ear, slamming into the tree trunk beside him and exploding into a shower of splinters.