Her whole body felt tight. She wrapped her arms around her belly and shivered in the cold that whistled past the punctured glass. “I don’t know. Roy’s never let me leave the property. I’ve never been anywhere else.”

Peter must have heard something in her voice. Without looking, he reached over and patted her hand, then turned up the heat all the way. “We can handle this. I have an idea. Who drives the gray truck? Can you describe him?”

“They call him Pony Boy. He’s not as tall as you, but he’s thick and strong, with long black hair. He wears a black coat, hip length. I think he’s an Indian.”

Peter slowed as the road turned left, then picked up speed again, head still swiveling back and forth. “What’s he like? Smart?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. He’s quiet.”

“Is he a killer, like Roy? Maybe not as bad? Or worse?”

She frowned. “He did what Roy told him to do. He’s the one who locked me into that stall like a damn milk cow.” She looked away. “He also offered to take me to see his grandmother, who’s a midwife in Pine Ridge. But Roy wouldn’t let him.”

Peter nodded, as if that detail meant something. “Okay.”

He turned right and the asphalt got better. Then he turned again and they were on a smooth two-lane that carved long arcs between the hills. He had the hatchback up to ninety. There were no other cars. She glanced at the clock on the dash. It was almost midnight.

“When I was coming in,” he said, “right after I crossed the river, I saw my truck pulled off the highway. If Pony Boy is waiting somewhere, I think that’s where he’ll be. I think Roy put him there as a backup. I’m going to stop. I can let you out here if you want.”

“No, please.” She didn’t want to be pregnant and alone in the bottomless Nebraska night.

“All right. I’m just going to drive right up to it. Keep your head down. I want him to think there’s only one person in the car.”

“What are you going to do?”

Peter gave her a wolfish smile. “That depends on him.”

They descended toward the river. He dropped the windows and opened the sunroof and the cold air rushed in. Ahead on the right, in the middle of a sweeping curve, she saw an old work truck parked well off the road at the edge of a shaggy meadow that looked like it hadn’t been mown or grazed in a long time. Just past the truck was a thick stand of evergreens, maybe where a house or barn had been long ago. She didn’t see Pony Boy or his pickup.

“Okay,” he said. “This is it.”