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  Just as I draw the butt of the shotgun to my shoulder, the perp jerks around. I lower my weapon. It’s too dark to be sure, but something says this is the girl from across the lake. Before I calculate my next move, the figure bolts for the woods. My bare feet and 60-plus-year-old legs are no match for someone that quick. Besides, if it’s her, I know where she lives. I gaze out over the lake for a few minutes before retreating to my bedroom to slip on a pair of jeans and boots. I trade the shotgun for a flashlight. I don’t plan to confront her. Just checking things out.

  A few feet into the woods I find a game trail that leads along the lake. A quarter mile farther, the trail forks. One branch veers away from the lake, the other seems to continue on around to where the girl lives.

  Memories flood into my mind, sending my pulse into overdrive—a dozen years ago out by the coast—trudging through woods near a reservoir—hoping to find Celine. Search parties marching twenty abreast, calling out her name. Beams from flashlights glancing off trees and brush in the midnight forest. Glaring lights from emergency vehicles lining the roadside. My heart calms as the images dim.

  The trail peters out at the edge of a small clearing. I switch off the flashlight and wipe grimy sweat off my brow. A few yards away sits the rustic shack where I suspect the girl lives—a pickup parked beside it. A thick stand of trees screens the shack from the lake. Off to the left, behind the shack, an old firebreak cuts into the forest. Around front, the gravel road angles off to the highway, and a dull light, likely from a lantern, filters out of a window next to what appears to be the only door. I edge up to the corner of the window and peek in.

  A man’s standing with his back to the window in the middle of a small kitchen, his wiry frame partially eclipsing a smaller figure—a girl. She’s cowering. The man raises a leather strap over his head. I slam my flashlight into the window, sending shards of glass rattling across the kitchen floor. I shout through the broken window. “Don’t lay a hand on her!”

  The man jerks around and leers at me.

  I lunge toward the door, reaching for the latch, but he’s too quick. The door flies open, and he’s standing there, still clenching the leather strap. “What the fuck?”

  I tighten my grip on the flashlight. “You touch that girl and you’ll have me to answer to.”

  “She’s none of your business,” he shouts back.

  “I’m making it my business.”

  “You don’t call the shots around here and, you’re trespassing. I can get your ass thrown in jail.”

  “Okay. Call the sheriff. He’ll probably be glad to stick his nose into what’s going on here.”

  “Nothing’s going on here that anyone needs to go ballistic over.”

  I point towards the girl. “Then you won’t mind if we have a little chat.”

  “I said she’s none of your business.”

  “Fine. I’ll have CPS up here first thing tomorrow, and they’ll make it their business.”

  “If you want what’s best, you’ll butt out. Now beat it!”

  “You’ve got no idea who you’re dealing with.”

  “Hell, candy asses like you are just a bunch of talk.”

  “You think so? Tomorrow morning I’m coming back with the sheriff.” I nod at the girl. “And if she has the slightest bruise, your ass is going to jail … which is where you’ll want it to stay. Because once you get out, it will belong to me.”

  He peeks over his shoulder at the girl. “Get yourself to bed. I’m done with you for tonight.”

  She scurries out of sight. I grit my teeth and mutter, “You’re done with her for good.”

  “I said beat it. And you owe me for the damned broken window.” He steps inside the shack and slams the door.

  I glare at the closed door for a moment before reaching for my wallet. I yank out a couple Ben Franklins, step over to the window, and toss them in. “This should take care of your damned window.”

  On my way back to the cabin, I keep wishing I’d brought my Beretta. If I had, that girl would be on her way home with me right now.

  Amy

  Tess weaves the pickup back and forth through the middle of the firebreak … trying to dodge ruts … plowing over saplings almost as tall as the hood. It’s dark. No headlights. The clock on the dash says 3:00. She wanted to wait ‘til daylight, but Bryce told her to go now. The neighbor’s threatening to call the police. Police put people in jail.

  She glances at me, curled up against the pickup door. “This is no holiday we’re on. You understand?”

  I scrunch into a tighter ball, trying to get as far away from her as I can.

  Tess squints. “We’d better stay out of sight awhile. Just in case that busy-body neighbor tries to make a federal case out of last night’s misunderstanding.”

  The pickup bounces into a deep rut, banging my head against the door handle.

  “Damn,” she says. “Can’t see where I’m driving for all this brush. Good thing it’s not much farther.”

  Another rut … we bounce again.

  After a few minutes, Tess points. “Looks like somebody’s up.”

  I raise up and peer through the windshield at a light in the distance.

  When she pulls up to the ranch house, a man’s standing on the porch, about Bryce’s size, aiming a shotgun at us.

  Tess cuts the pickup’s engine and sticks her head out the window. “Easy Eric. Just me, Tess.”

  “Good thing I recognized the truck.” He’s got a deeper voice than Bryce. Just as skinny, though. “’Bout time you came around. What’s it been—a couple years? Thought I’d never see you again.”

  Tess gets out of the pickup. “Yeah, way too long.”

  “So, did you finally get rid of the bastard?”

  “I wish,” she says.

  He props the shotgun against the doorpost. “I’m always here ….”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  “I’d do anything for you.”

  “You’ve already done plenty. That was huge, what you did for my girl. Wish I could show you ….”

  “Just dump him.”

  “Yeah … he’s got his claws too deep into me. Anyway, he’d kill us both.” Tess stuffs her hands in her pockets. “Say, have you seen any sign of her since you let her get away?”

  I sit straight up inside the pickup. Is she still alive?

  “Sorry,” he says. “But the honest truth is I didn’t let her go. She busted out on her own.”

  “I thought you were going to take her to the bus station … give her some cash to get away.”

  “Well, when Bryce came around to collect her she was gone. I wasn’t gonna tell him we let her escape.” He folds his arms across his chest. “And you never came around asking.”

  Tess turns and kicks the dirt. “Damn you.”

  “It’s not like I didn’t try to find her. I drove up and down the damn highway several times, searching. But she must have holed up in the woods, figuring the highway wasn’t a safe place.”

  She glares at him.

  “And I searched all through these woods. All I found was a hut a couple miles from here, but I guess it’s abandoned. A few months after she ran off, my sister’s boy was helping out around the ranch. He said he’d seen a crusty old man living there. Doubt she’d have trusted a crazy buzzard like that—after what Bryce done to her. My guess is if she didn’t catch a ride out on the highway, she couldn’t have survived the first winter on her own.”

  I slink down in the seat. Bryce is right. She got eaten by coyotes or murdered by a truck driver.

  Tess points to me. “Eric, we got a situation here. The girl and I have to lay low for a while.”

  Eric grunts. “Thought I’d be the last person he’d trust after the other girl got away on my watch.”

  Tess shrugs. “As if he trusts anybody.”

  “So what’s the emergency?”

  “This time I’ll be doing the babysitting. All we
need is a place to hang out. Bryce’ll hike over here when the smoke clears and let us know it’s safe to go back. I figure it’ll take about a week.”

  “There’s an empty stall in the barn for the girl. You can have the couch.”

  Tess tucks her hair behind her ear. “What about sticking us in your spare room so I can keep a closer eye on ….” She grins. “You know, things?”

  Eric shakes his head. “My sister’s boy stays with me now. She took off a little over a year ago to follow her boyfriend up to Portland. Didn’t want a stringy 16-year-old tagging along.”

  Tess yanks me out of the pickup. “Do you have some chain and a couple of padlocks? The old man gave me orders.”

  “You must have a wild one.”

  Tess frowns. “You can say that. She’s the reason my life is in the dumper. But I’ll keep her on a short leash while we’re here … she won’t cause any trouble.”

  “You’ll find what you need in the tack shop. I’ll get some blankets while you get her settled.”

  Tess shoves me. I step barefoot on a patch of tiny burrs … start hopping. She laughs—shoves me again. “Dance, girl.”

  I hop around, driving the stickers into the soles of my feet.

  “Keep moving.” She pushes again.

  When she opens the barn door, horses snort. Paw the ground. A big brown one bucks against its stall.

  I fall to my knees.

  Tess kicks me … I crawl all the way to the end of the barn. She herds me into an empty stall and stands over me, hands on her hips. “This is your home for the time being. Get used to it.”

  I keep my eyes down.

  She walks away.

  I don’t peek up … even when she comes back.

  A chain rattles on the stall’s gatepost … again when Tess loops it around my neck. The padlock snaps shut. I flinch. She pats my head. “Just relax. You won’t be going anywhere ’til I say so.”

  I choke back tears, she turns and walks away. I pick at the stickers in my feet.

  When the barn door clunks shut, I reach into my pocket. Nothing there. Bryce chased us off so fast … left my candy wrappers behind. Tears rush out and stream down my face.

  Sunlight comes through tiny cracks in the sides of the barn. My eyes are gummy. Got a headache, sore neck. The chain rattles when I move.

  The barn door creaks … I freeze. A boy talks to the horses in a soft voice, calling each by name. When he stops at the bay across from me, all I can see is his red curly hair and his back. Tall and skinny. I hold my breath, hope he doesn’t see me. He turns to walk away.

  I let out my breath and hug my knees. The chain clanks. No … forgot the damn chain. He stops … turns … comes into the stall … kneels next to me.

  RJ

  “What the f—?” A girl … chain padlocked around her neck. I reach for the lock.

  She jerks away.

  “Who the hell did this?”

  She buries her face in her hands.

  I grip the padlock. “Did Uncle … did he do this to you?”

  She shakes her head.

  “I’m not going to hurt you. I can help. Just tell me what’s going on. How’d you get here?”

  She starts crying.

  “What’s your name?” I say.

  She mumbles.

  “Tell me your name … please.”

  She murmurs, “Amy.”

  “Hi, Amy. I’ve got no idea what’s going on, but whatever it is, it’s gotta get fixed.”

  “No, leave me be. You’ll just make things worse.”

  “Just give me a chance to figure things out.”

  I storm out of the barn, over to the ranch house, and throw open the back door. A woman’s at the kitchen sink, wearing one of Uncle Eric’s shirts. My cheeks start to burn. What the hell? Half her damn ass is showing.

  She spins around and glares. I stare back, my whole face is on fire.

  Uncle Eric says, “RJ, meet Tess. She dropped in last night needing a place to lay low for a couple of days.”

  Tess sticks out her hand.

  After we shake, she turns to Uncle Eric. “Need to teach this boy how to shake hands like a man. That was about the wimpiest ever.”

  “Tess has a situation, and we’re helping her out.”

  “Yeah, I noticed.” I glance toward the barn.

  The woman scowls. “Not as innocent as she looks. She’s like one of those unbroken horses people bring here for your Uncle Eric to tame. Nothing but trouble. Lucky she’s treated as well as she is.”

  “I can give up my room for a few nights. Don’t mind the barn.” I glare at Tess. “Long as I’m not chained down.”

  With a scowl, Uncle Eric says, “Boy, this is parent business. You best stay out of it.”

  “Fine. I’m just saying. She can have the couch—it seems to be free.”

  Tess rolls her eyes.

  He folds his arms across his chest. “That’s none of your business, either.”

  “Whatever. I’ve got horses to feed.”

  “Then get to it. And stay away from the girl.”

  “Can I at least take her something to eat? She’s probably hungry.”

  Tess struts over to the table and scrapes the leftovers from their breakfast onto a plate. “Sure. But don’t talk to her.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I snatch the plate out of her hand.

  My stomach knots up when Uncle Eric calls after me. “And, boy. Give the stallion a ride when you’re done feeding him. He needs some exercise.”

  “Yes, sir,” I mutter.

  Once out the door, I hustle over to the barn, yank open the wide wooden door, shut it behind me, and stomp to the farthest stall. Amy cowers when I set the plate of scraps down next to her.

  “Sorry, Amy. It’s the best I could do.”

  She whispers, “Thanks.”

  “Met the bitch. She’s a piece of work.”

  “You mean the witch?”

  “Huh?”

  “Witch … Wicked Witch.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  She picks at the food.

  I kneel next to her. “I have an idea how we can pull this off.”

  “Pull what off?”

  I glance over my shoulder and whisper, “Get you out of here.”

  She jerks back. “No.”

  “What do you mean, no?”

  “Bryce needs me. Tess needs me."

  “I’m not arguing. I’ll take care of everything. Trust me.”

  She covers her ears. “Stop. Can’t run away. No place to go. Girls die out there.”

  “I’ll be back … with help. Do what I say and everything will be fine.”

  She sniffles, shaking her head.

  The barn door creaks open. I hustle to the opposite stall and catch a glimpse of Amy still cowering.

  Tess yells at me as she marches toward Amy’s stall. “Thought I told you to stay away from her.”

  “I was only giving her food.”

  She peers in at Amy. “That should have taken only a couple of seconds. What were you doing, spoon-feeding her?”

  “No, ma’am. Just trying to get her to eat.”

  Tess looks me over. “It’s not your problem if she starves to death. You got that?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “It’s RJ, right?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She keeps her eyes locked on mine. “Don’t let the little bitch fool you. She’s big trouble.”

  Bryce

  Making my own breakfast is bad enough. But getting my own wood, starting the damn fire? Women … fuck. I dump my plate and fork in the wash tub. Look around. Better get rid of any sign of the girl, just in case that nosey neighbor makes good on his threats.

  I climb up the ladder, drop the damn mattress through the opening to the floor below. Same drill with all of the little bitch’s stuff. What the hell does she need with three sets of clothes? Better get rid of
that bar of soap, toothpaste, toothbrush—everything.

  I drag the mattress into my bedroom and stack mine on top of it. Grab a hammer and crowbar, along with her shit, and head outside to check for a loose panel of siding. If I remember, there’s a loose seam near the corner around the side. Planned on fixing it one of these days. Yeah. There it is. Hell. Worse than I thought. Don’t even need the crowbar … pull back the siding by hand. A shovel falls out from between two studs … nearly smacks me in the forehead.

  Damn. How’d this get here? Shit … looks new. I squint at the trees between me and the lake. Is that damn neighbor up to something? Wouldn’t put it past him, not after last night. He better not come around looking for it. Finders, keepers. ’Sides, I could use a new shovel. Old one’s rusted … blade’ll snap off one of these times.

  Stuff the girl's clothes and whatnot into the empty space between the studs and tack the plywood siding back into place. I laugh. Guess I finally got around to fixing it.

  Back inside, I check the place one more time to be sure there’s no sign of the girl. Damn. They better not figure out Tess lives here, either. I’m alone. Keep to myself. If I wanted company, I’d move to a city. Not responsible for anybody but me. Never bothered the fella across the lake. No idea why he has it in for me.

  Gather up Tess’s stuff and hide it with the girl’s things.

  Chapter Six

  Jacob

  Twenty minutes on a wood bench waiting in the sheriff’s substation has me strung tighter than piano wire. Now, seated across the desk from a uniformed bureaucrat, I scrunch up my brow as he finishes his standard spiel.

  “Sheriff, I appreciate your situation. But a child’s safety—maybe her life—is at stake.”

  He combs his fingers through his slick, black hair. “It’s Deputy Sheriff Baker, Mr. Chandler.” I’m sure he used a level to straighten that name tag on his starched uniform.

  I clench my teeth. Reminds me of those stockbrokers who spend half the day preening in front of the mirror. Resting on their laurels. Everything’s about making an impression. Give me a hungry, young buck any day.