I narrow my eyes and put my cash on the table. “Keep the change. I’ll be back with the rest.”

I turn around to look for Kayla, but she must be back in the bathroom. Great. Not that I’m expecting her to hand over a bunch of cash. There’s a creak, and I notice someone walking down an aisle near me, toward the back of the store. I’m hoping it’s Kayla, but it’s not. It’s a man in a battered yellow baseball cap.

A rush of déjà vu washes over me, and my shoulders tense. I’ve seen this before. Something about this—the hat. I’ve seen that hat recently. And I’ve smelled that scent. It isn’t the gas station. It’s him. The man from the rest stop.

A chill rolls up my spine with the memory. The man who was sitting in the dark at the tables. This is him. I can’t see his face, only the back of his hat and the cardboard-brown jacket he’s wearing.

It’s not possible. That was a hundred miles from here and an entirely different highway.

But I swallow hard, throat catching as I take in the faded brown coat with dirty blond hair curling over the collar. He stands at the open cooler door, perusing whatever’s inside. My body goes cold.

It’s him.

But how?

He begins to turn, like he can feel my eyes on him. I see the barest hint of a fleshy chin. A bulbous nose—

“Mira!”

I whirl to the door, where Harper is standing, eyes wide with panic.

“Help me find my wallet?”

“Of course.” I loop the handles of the plastic bag with my water over my hand and head for the door. I spare one glance at the coolers, but the man in the yellow hat is gone. Vanished.

Restroom. He’s in the restroom. And he’s just a guy on the road like us. It happens. But all the same, I feel like he’s somewhere in that station watching me. I follow Harper back to the car, because I can’t think about some weird man I’ve run into twice. That’s a coincidence, not a problem. Paying the creepy guys in this gas station, though? That’s not negotiable.

I pull open the passenger door. Josh is in the back, clearly searching, so I start on the front compartment.

“She’s already looked here,” Brecken says from the driver’s seat. He’s contorted, searching the console carefully. “Harper, did you check everywhere back there?”

“It won’t be back here.” Harper says. She’s leaned into the trunk, sorting through every bag. Then she unzips hers. “I don’t even know why I’m checking my bag. I had it up front! That’s where I got the business card with the rental place number.”