“I beg your pardon?”

“What is it you want? Night people always want something. They’re always going somewhere or seeking something or just plain out to get something. What’s yours?”

I thought for a moment. “I need to get—” I shoved my plate over and pointed at the map on the placemat. “Here.”

“I can drive you,” she said. “What do you want there?”

I was torn between being incensed at her probing questions and being nice and cooperative in exchange for the ride.

“Friends,” I finally choked out. “I have friends to visit there.”

“Ah.” She chuckled and signaled the worn waitress for more coffee. “A life raft. Someone to save you? That’s fine. I’ll drive you. You will find that it won’t work. But I’ll drive you.” She paused while the girl filled her cup, then she emptied the last dribble of liquor into it and stirred the black liquid with a spoon. “Will you let me?”

I nodded. She smiled at me, turning her head this way and that, looking me over, and I sipped my cold cocoa and felt the ache in my legs and was glad this woman, this old, strange, intriguing woman, would take care of me, all the way to Sarah’s house. We sat in silence for a long time, almost too long. And then, with a gasp, I remembered.

“My name’s Angelina Watson. What’s yours?”

“Rosemary. Rose.” Her sharp eyes glittered at me as she finished her coffee in silence. Then, with lips tight, she drew money from her leather handbag and set it on the table. “Shall we be on our way, then?”

Obediently I followed, hiding the pain that rocked the top of my skull as I stood, feeling very small and inexperienced. It didn’t occur to me until later—until it was too late—that she had told me that night people were always out looking for something. Instead of asking her name, I should have asked what she wanted in return for the ride.

But by then I already knew.

“I felt her moving away from me. I felt her moving south, and it was all I could do to stay in Seven Slopes and wait. I itched to be back on the road, back on the trail, but all my information was routed here, and I had to wait. Waiting is the hardest part of the hunt. I just prayed to have one of those experiences where I could see out of her eyes so I could look around and maybe recognize a landmark or something . . . It was hard, that waiting. The hardest waiting I’ve ever done. To be so close . . .