Panic distorted time. Maybe we drove for five minutes, maybe twenty. I took breaks from kicking, then would go at it again. It’s because my ankles were bound, that’s why I couldn’t get a strong enough kick. But I did bust through a tail light, slicing my calf in the process. It stung for a moment before the pain faded. I pushed my feet out, hoping someone would see them.

The car slowed, turned pointedly, and bumped over a curb. Drove a minute more, and lumbered to a stop. The parking brake yawned and ended with a click. The engine died, but some belt continued to spin. The engine ticked. They spoke quietly near the front of the car, their voices muffled.

One set of footsteps neared. “That’s just gonna piss him off more,” Desiree said, smacking the bottom of my shoes. I pulled my feet back into the trunk. The trunk moaned as she leaned against it. The flick of a lighter, an inhale. Exhale. The smell of smoke leached in.

“I was a sneaky kid, a bored kid,” Desiree said. “I went through drawers and shoeboxes and toolboxes and attics. Adults don’t seem to know that about kids. How kids don’t leave a goddamn thing unturned. Everything is a potential treasure.” She laughed, but her laugh had a sullen quality.

What was she talking about? My ankles throbbed. Sweat dripped down my neck. I concentrated on my breathing and listened.

“So, I found things,” she said. “Tokens, I guess. I thought they belonged to my mom or his girlfriends; he had girlfriends after mom died. I found the cocktail napkins with birds drawn on them when I was seven or eight and asked him about it. Did Mom like to draw birds? He was so pissed; I didn’t understand why. By the time I got to high school, I was suspicious but I couldn’t put my finger on what it was I suspected, you know?”

Wait. Cocktail napkins. Dawn used to draw on cocktail napkins for her customers. Is that what she’s talking about?

“I’d found a plated bracelet engraved with the name ‘Leah J.’ I searched the name online, and one of my searches came up with this seventeen-year-old in Minnesota who went missing a few summers before. I tracked down every photo there was of this girl until I found the one where she wore the same bracelet.”

Asher Moss? I pictured his smooth jaw, his aw-shucks smile, his lake blue eyes. He’d had that compulsive energy, but he seemed easygoing, smooth. And, he loved that cow. He’d hidden his psychopathy and redirected me impeccably. A shiver ran through me.