BooksBarbecue
Back The Runaway
Chapters (80)
  1. Cover
  2. TITLES BY NICK PETRIE
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. 55
  60. 56
  61. 57
  62. 58
  63. 59
  64. 60
  65. 61
  66. 62
  67. 63
  68. 64
  69. 65
  70. 66
  71. 67
  72. 68
  73. 69
  74. 70
  75. 71
  76. 72
  77. 73
  78. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  79. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  80. What’s next onyour reading list?

That’s what Peter would have done, anyway. He’d done a lot of manhunting, in his years of combat. According to the field manual, that was the job, to locate, close with, and destroy the enemy.

It’s what he would do now.

He thought again about how scared she was, how she’d seemed to shrink in size as she curled herself protectively around her pregnant belly.

He didn’t even know her name.

10

HELENE

THEN

Roy had said she was safe with him, and Helene wanted to believe it. Anyway, she made herself believe it enough to get into the truck and get the hell out of Coldwater, Montana.

With her experience of men, though, especially Bogaloosa, she figured Roy’s hand would be crawling up her thigh before they hit Grass Range. So she kept her daddy’s pistol in her right hand, where he’d have to reach all the way across her body to grab it. If he even tried to touch her, she told herself, she’d shoot him. Even if that meant he crashed the truck.

None of that happened. Instead Roy yawned as he pulled his own holstered gun from his belt and tucked it in the door pocket. He glanced into the back seat, where Frank slept in a curl like a snail in its shell, then popped open a Coke for each of them and offered her some beer nuts. “Whyn’t you talk to me, honey? We got a lot of miles to cover and I could use some help staying awake.”

Settling in, revived by sugar and caffeine, Helene found herself telling Roy about Coldwater and her mom missing the curve above the Milk River. About how she’d gotten stuck working at the Gas and Grocery, about her predatory boss. The big truck was roomy and comfortable and it rolled steadily forward into the night. Roy kept asking questions and never turned the conversation to himself, which, in Helene’s experience, was a first. She did learn that he used to be a policeman in Minneapolis, and he told a quick, funny story about searching a guy whose pants fell down, but then he changed the subject back to her.

The night drive reminded her of the year her dad had gone missing in North Dakota. Trying to find him, her mom had hauled Helene across four states in that old car, stopping at every sheriff’s office, shale field, and man-camp they came across. Despite the sadness and loss, those long trips had given Helene some of her favorite memories. Her mom always had at least two jobs, sometimes three. We don’t sleep, we work, she’d said more times than Helene could count. So Helene had never gotten a lot of time with her. But in those strange, weightless, highway hours between stops, they’d talked the hours away.