A conversion van pulls between the pumps and the gas station. I can hear the music blaring from the passenger cabin, even through the closed windows. Wind howls hard against the glass and I shiver.

Brecken turns on the engine, then tilts his head. “What if we offer what we have? Just explain it to him and offer to send the rest.”

“It is Christmas,” Josh muses.

“He won’t take it,” Kayla says darkly. “He won’t settle.”

She’s afraid. And I think Kayla knows something about men like Corey and his father. She senses something. It makes me believe that what she’s saying isn’t a line of bullshit. I remember what Mom said, about keeping my eyes open. She meant things like this.

“I think she’s right,” I say.

Josh sighs. “I can’t say I disagree. They don’t seem overly reasonable.”

“He’ll call the police and say we were stealing,” Harper states. “I can’t have that happening.”

My attention catches on that last sentence. Did I hear her wrong?

“I can’t,” she repeats, looking only at Brecken.

I stiffen. Why it would be bad to call the police?

He nods in reply, decisive. Then he scans the parking lot left and right.

Harper takes a sharp breath. “But I’ll talk to him. I’ll try.”

“No,” Brecken says simply.

“It’s the only way. I’ll handle it. I just need to think for a minute and come up with a plan. It’ll be fine.”

Brecken shakes his head again, still staring out at the gas station. The cars. The road beyond it. His grip tightens on the wheel and my stomach clenches.

He can’t be thinking what it looks like he’s thinking. It has to be something else. He’s not going to just drive out of here, is he?

Because that is stealing.

And if I’ve ever in my life met a person I’d be terrified to steal from, it’s the man sitting on that metal folding chair. Kayla’s face is frozen over. It feels like a warning.

Brecken shifts the car into drive and inches the tires forward. I gasp, looking back over the seat at Josh. The mix of shock and faint fear on his face matches my feelings exactly.

“What are you doing?” Harper asks breathlessly. “We haven’t paid.”

“We’ll send them the money,” Brecken says, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. “If he thinks I’m going to stay here so he can call the cops, he can kiss my ass.”

I inhale to argue, but before I can get a word out, Brecken hits the gas. Hard.

Chapter Nine

The SUV’s tires bite and we fly.

Harper grapples for her seat belt and shrieks. “What are you doing?”