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  I try to sit up … fall back. Raindrops splat on my face. I shiver, chilly and tingly all over. My arms sink to my sides. I start floating … like a feather in the wind. It’s dark now.

  RJ

  The first half mile out from the hut—Mercedes and me riding double on the stallion—we have an easy time following Amy. The afternoon sun at our backs highlights hoof prints in a thin layer of dusty topsoil. But as heavy black clouds sweep in from the east and fill the sky, shadows make our job tougher. Mercedes’ keen eyes aren’t good enough.

  She leans forward into me and tightens her grip on the saddle horn, digging her elbows into my sides. "Those clouds don't look friendly," she mutters.

  I spur the stallion forward. After a few yards, I rein him in and lean down to study the ground. A large raindrop splatters on the back of my neck. I wipe it away and nudge the animal to the left. "Hope this storm holds off. It'll be impossible to track her if it rains too hard."

  Mercedes shifts her weight on the back of the saddle. "Thunderstorms freak me out."

  "It's just like fireworks … the Fourth of July."

  "Maybe to you. But you don't see Bryce in every flash of lightning."

  Her body stiffens against my back as I prod the horse forward.

  As the sun disappears into the black sky, solitary raindrops grow into solid sheets of water. The hard-packed ground turns to mud. I shiver at the quick drop in temperature, and no amount of shaking can unglue my shirt and jeans from my skin.

  Mercedes clutches me tighter around the waist, burrowing her face into my wet back. She winces at every clap of thunder. When lightning strikes so close it’s just a white light all around us, I turn the stallion into a nearby stand of trees for shelter. "There's no use," I shout over the rain.

  As our feet hit the ground, Mercedes throws her arms around me and nests her body against my chest. She’s trembling. I cup the back of her head and draw her close, pressing my cheek into her wet, musty hair.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers into my shoulder. “All this is my fault.”

  I pull back and clutch her face, forcing her to look at me. “Why?”

  “It was my tantrum. She didn’t want to make either of us mad. She'll do anything to keep the peace."

  I let go of her. "How’s taking blame going to fix anything?"

  "I figured if she thought I was jealous, she'd back off like she always does."

  "And do what?"

  "I don’t know. I didn’t expect her to run away."

  “She did. So think about it. Is there any special place? Somewhere she’d go? ”

  “Back to Tess and ….”

  "Even after—?"

  "Maybe she thought it was her only choice. Or that … he … he and Tess might go easy on her if she came back with her tail between her legs. She always does whatever … whatever keeps them happy."

  "Jeez. She's one messed up chick."

  "Yeah, aren't we all ….."

  “If she’s going back to him, she’s headed the wrong way.”

  “She’s probably lost. Can’t imagine she knows her way around well enough to make it back to them. Bryce never let her wander far from the shack. She could have gone any direction. Maybe she’s wandering in circles.”

  “That could be for the best. I’d take my chances with coyotes and bears over that creep any day.”

  “Maybe Bryce isn’t a problem anymore.”

  “How’s that?”

  She shrugs. “Just saying. If he was smart, he’d be long gone—before the law or someone else catches up with him. He’s a murderer—molester. He’s bound to get what he deserves.”

  “My money’s on the mare. She probably headed back to the barn as soon as she smelled the storm coming.” I take Mercedes hand and lead her to the driest spot I can find. “When this downpour is over, we’ll head to the ranch and see if she’s there.”

  Deputy Sheriff Baker

  The storm’s finally letting up, but the sun will be setting in a couple of hours. Four deputies are out there pounding a 400 square mile grid, and I still haven’t found a K-9 team. Those men might as well be stumbling around in the dark. I slam my fist on the railing of Chandler’s deck.

  My dispatcher’s voice crackles over the radio strapped on my shoulder.

  I snap back, “Give me some good news.”

  “Best we can do right now is an air sniffer dog from an SAR volunteer crew. They don’t track like bloodhounds, they just get whiffs of any human in the area.”

  “Yeah. Let’s just hope Chandler is the only human out there. Do you have an ETA?”

  “Should be there in under an hour.”

  “Roger that.” I stretch my neck side to side. It pops.

  The radio crackles again. “Boss, Grimes here.”

  “Go, Grimes.”

  “Boss, we’re losing daylight.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “What do you want us to do?”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Give it another hour, then come on in. With any luck, we’ll have an air sniffing dog by then.”

  “Sure hope there’s something left for the dog to sniff after that squall washed everything clean.”

  Jacob

  I hunker down under an old cedar a couple hundred feet from the ranch house and let the storm pass. This is the place the neighbor led me to a few nights ago. The yellow tape cordoning off the house and barn says it’s a crime-scene. It’s got to be the place Carl mentioned on the phone. I stay put, even when a rider-less horse gallops into the corral. About nightfall a dog barks in the distance. The way noise travels after sunset, it could be over a mile away.

  Now and then, the moon appears through gaps in shape-shifting clouds as they crawl across the slate-black sky. Each time the moon exposes itself I freeze, hoping that if anyone’s standing guard they’ll take me for part of the landscape. When the moonlight ebbs, I creep towards the barn. I’ve never ridden a horse, and wouldn’t be attempting it now if it wasn’t for those damn tracking dogs on my scent.

  RJ

  Mercedes insists I tie the stallion to a tree up in the woods about a quarter mile from the ranch house—just in case the place is swarming with sheriff’s deputies. We leave the crossbow with the horse, along with one of the shotguns, and slip down to a spot at the edge of the trees overlooking the corral.

  After dark, as we’re about to step out into the meadow, Mercedes grabs my arm and whispers, “Down.” She ducks behind some bushes for cover.

  I start to protest, but she covers my mouth with her hand. “Shh ….” Her eyes widen.

  She raises up to study a solitary figure approaching the opposite side of the corral. She whispers, “Way too big to be Amy. It’s gotta be a man.”

  I raise up to see for myself.

  “Anyone you know?” she asks in hushed tones.

  “Don’t think so.” I point to the corral. “The mare made it back.”

  “Yeah, but no sign of Amy.”

  We watch the stranger prop his shotgun against a fencepost and climb onto the top railing.

  I gulp. “Is he planning on stealing the mare?”

  Mercedes opens the breach of the shotgun she’s been toting and digs into her pocket for a shell.

  “What the …” I mutter.

  “Just in case,” she whispers.

  As she closes the breach, a pair of headlights rounds the curve in the dirt road coming up from the highway. The solitary stranger jumps off the fence, scoops up his weapon, and takes off into the woods above the barn.

  Mercedes ducks down. “Company.”

  I roll onto my back.

  She glances between the bushes and whispers, “Sheriff’s cruiser.”

  As the cruiser stops in back of the ranch house, sensors activate the flood lights. A lone deputy steps out of the vehicle, armed with a flashlight, and slips past the yellow tape into the house. We track his movements from room to
room by following the flashlight’s glow. When he finishes inside, he proceeds to the barn.

  It’s not long before the cruiser’s speeding back down the dirt road, kicking up a cloud of dust. We stake out the ranch house for another half-hour, waiting for the stranger to return. When he doesn’t, Mercedes says, “We don’t need to search for Amy down there. The deputy would have hauled her out, if she was anywhere to be found.”

  I nod. “We should at least get the mare.”

  Jacob

  Two figures creep down from the woods on the other side of the corral. My pulse quickens. By the way they’re moving, one is clearly a boy; the other could be a girl. Not the girl from across the lake, though. This one has grace and confidence. God, could it be Celine? My heart races.

  I watch and wait for the flood lights to come on so I can get a better view of them—more than just their silhouettes. When the boy climbs onto the fence, the area lights up. He drops down into the corral and sidles up to the horse, collecting its reins. The horse follows him out through a gate and lets him mount without resistance. The boy rides over to his companion and pulls her up in the saddle behind him.

  Shadows obscure the girl’s face, but I have an impulse to call out to them anyway. Then more images of Celine flash through my mind. It’s not her. After a couple of minutes, they disappear, and I venture down to the house, to find out what happened here that night of chaos.

  At the backdoor, a horrible stench draws stomach acid up into my throat. I pull out a bandana from my jacket pocket and cover my nose and mouth before going inside. The odor is dense, almost unbearable.

  In the back bedroom, I take off my pack to retrieve a flashlight. Caked-on slime and blood stains cover the carpet. The sight reminds me of Jesse lying with Celine’s mother in a pool of blood.

  The stabbing pain starts again, just behind the ear, arcing to the top of my head. I grab my pack and stumble to the hallway—bracing myself against the doorpost. After a couple minutes, the throbbing goes away.

  Amy

  The moon peeks out from the clouds then hides. My clothes are soaked. I shiver, ache all over. Curl up in a ball, teeth chattering.

  Where am I? Who am I? Names pop into my head. Some I think I know. None stick. My heart’s beating fast, my throat’s too tight to swallow.

  My left arm throbs. When I try to sit up, pain sucks my breath away. Head’s spinning, stomach gurgles. I’m burning with fever.

  I’m freezing again. I roll to the side and prop up on my good elbow. There are trees nearby. I push up off the ground, but stay on my knees ’til the fog clears from my head. The wind kicks up. I stand and touch a sore spot behind my ear. It’s tacky. When the moon comes out again, I study the smudge on my fingers. Blood.

  I hobble over to the trees—a line of bush pine and live oak. A big pine’s low-hanging branches reach out to me like hands. I crawl under it and hunch up. Hang my head. Shut my eyes to keep tears from pouring out. They come anyway. My shoulders shake.

  Please, let someone be coming for me.

  A dog barks in the distance. I snap my head up. My heart pounds. Coyotes? Don’t let them eat me. Bryce says they eat girls. A crazy girl all by herself will die out here.

  Who’s crazy? Who’s Bryce?

  Tess

  I slide onto a barstool next to a lean, clean-cut cowboy type. He smiles. I return the favor.

  The bartender eyes me. “What can I get you?”

  “A beer.”

  The cowboy raises his empty mug and winks. “Make it two—on me.”

  I swivel and touch his wrist, letting my hand linger as I search his face. He’s eager. “Thanks,” I say.

  The tug of loose cotton on my nipples sends tingles through my body and turns up the heat between my thighs. Back when I was twenty-something, stalking the corporate jungle, sex landed me in a mother lode of trouble. Sex also landed me Bryce when I needed help getting what was due me. It worked on Eric, too. Tonight I need to score a meal ticket—or two. I shove the images of mangled faces as far back in my memory as they’ll go.

  The cowboy’s hand finds mine. “Not a problem. I hate to see a pretty woman pay for her own drinks.”

  “They say a woman can’t live on beer alone.”

  He calls the bartender. “The lady needs a menu—for starters.”

  As the barkeeper steps away, the cowboy introduces himself. “I’m Roy.”

  “Tess.” I guide his hand onto my knee. Hold it there.

  “So, what’s a nice girl ….”

  I throw back my head and laugh.

  He copies my laughter. “Seriously, you’re not a regular.”

  I slip my hand off his. “No. I’m just passing through. Been staying at a dive of a motel off the highway.”

  Roy sips his beer. “Where you headed?”

  “Haven’t figured that part out yet. Just away.”

  “From what?”

  “Trouble, I suppose.” My finger traces the rim of my glass.

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “My old man died. Left me broke … and alone.”

  “My condolences.”

  “No biggie. Guess that gives me a clean slate, huh?”

  Roy picks up his glass and tips it toward me. “Every cloud’s got a silver lining.”

  My glass clinks his. “Here’s to fresh starts.”

  We chug our beers and Roy signals for another round.

  “Where you from?” he asks.

  “Up on the mountain.”

  “So, you’re local.”

  “Imagine you could say that. But never get to town much. Always think of town as—I don’t know—another world.”

  He laughs. “You don’t get out much.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “How long you lived around here?”

  “About ten years—more or less.”

  “And before that?”

  “Drifted with my old man and girl for a couple of years.”

  “Thought you were all alone.”

  “Am now. She split.”

  “Out of the nest pretty early?”

  “More like flew the coop. Ran off. The old man was tough on her.”

  “Does she know he’s dead?”

  “Doubt it. She’s not in touch.”

  “She still around?”

  “I’m hoping she didn’t go far.” I check the view in the mirror behind the bar.

  Roy signals for another round. “Maybe if you tracked her down you could get a fresh start together.”

  “I’d like that, but we don’t have anywhere to stay.”

  “You could crash at my place ’til you get on your feet.”

  I gaze into his deep brown eyes. “Me and the girl?”

  “While we’re searching, it can be your base camp.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Got any better offers?”

  I lay my hand on his knee. “That ‘we’ sounds like you’re offering to help me find her.”

  His face brightens. “Barkeep.” He motions for the check.

  I slide off the barstool. “Excuse me while I visit the powder room.”

  “Take as long as you need.”

  When I rejoin him, he’s got a local newspaper in his hands, reading intently. I lean into him, pretending that I’m interested. He slaps the newspaper with the back of his hand. “Getting to be as bad as the city.”

  The headline reads Ex-Financial Tycoon Charged in Local Murders. I stare at the picture below the headline.

  Amy

  An owl hoots. Shivers run down my spine. Bryce’s hot breath, Tess’s shrill voice—I’ll take anything over this cold, damp freedom. Two other names, RJ and Mercedes. Are they searching for me, or are they like parents who never come to take a girl home?

  That growling noise—? I scan the shadows for wild animals. Have to keep watch. Can’t close my eyes. Sleep’s no friend tonight. It’s the enemy. My head dr
oops, eyelids flutter.

  Something rustles the bushes. I jerk up, shake off the fog in my head, and peer into the night. Can’t let them eat me. I feel around for some kind of weapon. Come up empty-handed. Bryce—he’s the one who pounces on me in the night. Nothing I can do to stop him.

  I wait for the next sound. Nothing. The pounding in my ears stops. I say out loud, “It’s not Bryce. I’m free.”

  Mercedes—the girl who learned to survive. I remember her saying, only be afraid of what’s real … if it’s not real, it can’t hurt you … and just because something was real once, that doesn’t mean it still is.

  I’ve survived Bryce’s touching. Closed my eyes and shut my mind, pretended it wasn’t real. That’s the secret. If he’s not here, he’s not real. I only have to be afraid of what’s real.

  It can be done. Alone doesn’t have to be scary.

  Chapter Twelve

  Tess

  The morning sun streams through Roy’s floor-to-ceiling bedroom windows. I roll over and gaze at his tanned, taut body—it begs for my lips and tongue to slip-and-slide all over it. I’m coming up in the world so fast it makes me giddy. Satin sheets, king-size bed. Probably not as nice as the cabin across the lake, but a palace compared to the shack Bryce had us squatting in. This guy has something Bryce never did—class. Whoa, I would have settled for anybody who offered a meal ticket and an extra hand in finding the little bitch. I sure lucked out with this cowboy.

  I ease my hand under the sheet and reach for his joystick. After all the years of Bryce’s bullying I haven’t forgotten how to enjoy a real man. Last night none of the orgasms were faked. Too bad I’ll have to use him and lose him.

  Before his eyes open, a smile unfolds on his face and the muscle in my hand stiffens. He stretches as if offering me every inch of his hard body. I nuzzle up to him, bringing my hand up to his chest and caress him.