“They’re sectioning off territories to the local PD. It’s their job to keep hikers off of it.”

Tara nodded. She hoped hikers would listen and that the efforts of the local PD would be successful, but they also didn’t know where the killer would strike next, or if that twenty-mile stretch would cover it.

The car fell into silence and Tara stared out the window. There was a barn far off in the field that sat next to the parkway they were now on, but just as quickly as she saw it, they had passed it and it was soon behind them. Suddenly, it occurred to her just how quickly the killer must be moving.

“I think it’s pretty clear now that the killer’s not on foot.” she stated as she glanced back at Warren.

He nodded. “My guess is a four-wheeler.”

Tara thought the same. They both knew it was the only form of transportation that would be easily maneuverable on the trails and be able to transport bodies. It was a theory that fit and she toyed with the thought as she turned back toward the window and the car fell into silence once again.

But as time went by and no words were spoken, Tara’s mind drifted and an unsettling feeling swirled within her. Another couple went missing—it filled Tara to the rim with a sudden burden of responsibility to the point of near suffocation. I failed them, she thought. It was a feeling she was unfortunately privy to, and had brought her through years of therapy, initiated her nightmares, and caused her sudden panic attacks. It was a guilt she’d had since childhood, from hiding in the closet while her mother suffered. She was only a child, that much she knew, and it had taken her years of therapy and growing older to realize there was nothing her young self could’ve done, but she still remembered that torturous feeling that made her want to tear that piece of memory out of her mind.

All of a sudden, it occurred to her that she had never thanked Warren for keeping her on the case. He had spared her, more than he knew. Having this piece of her life taken away from her—one that she’d worked so hard for—would’ve been the ultimate blow.

She turned her head toward him. “Thank you,” she said.

“For what?” he asked.

“For not telling Reindhart. I didn’t thank you earlier.”

Warren nodded his head. “No problem, Mills.” He sighed. “I know this job can be a lot to adjust to.” A long silence lingered between them, “Did you want to talk about it?” he asked hesitantly.

Tara looked up in surprise as her heart beat harder. It was not something she spoke about often, if at all—only her therapist, John, and those who picked up the newspaper in their small town many years ago knew the story. John’s parents knew some of it too, but only partially. They knew her mother was murdered, that Tara grew up with her grandmother—but she made sure John told them that she never had a father and that the murder was a break-in gone wrong. Somehow, it was an easier story to face them with.