She wanted to trust him. She wanted to believe that this was all some horrible mistake. She was only nineteen and she’d roped herself to this man she barely knew, or maybe didn’t know at all, with no other means to make her way in the world. She was scared to be with him, and scared to be without him.

He saw her hesitation. “A woman is dead, Helene. Do you want it to be for nothing? We’re so close, you and I. Soon we can put this life behind us. Go to Costa Rica, spend our days surfing and drinking margaritas, just the two of us. How does that sound?”

Helene didn’t know how to surf. She barely knew how to swim. She’d never seen the ocean. She wasn’t going to tell him any of that. She cleared her throat. “Okay.”

“Great.” He put his big hand on her shoulder. “One last thing. Don’t forget to close the gate on your way out. We’re in this together, now. You got my back on this?”

She nodded.

“Good.” Roy stood away from the window. “Go on, now. I’ll be right behind you.”

While he watched, she made a clumsy Y-turn and headed back to the road. At the end of the driveway, she got out of the car and pulled the gate shut. Because she was a criminal now, she used her sleeve to rub the spot she’d touched with her hand. It was getting dark.

At the trailhead, before she left the car, she opened the glove box and found the registration.

The woman’s name was Jessica Moore.

—

Roy was not right behind her. Night had fallen and she was shivering behind a boulder in the scrub below the trailhead, with the keys stupidly thrown away. She was questioning every decision she had ever made when she finally heard the truck’s familiar rumble and the quick double-tap of his horn.

By the time she’d scrambled up from her hiding place, he’d already turned the truck around. Before she even closed the passenger door, he took his foot off the brake and let gravity begin to pull them downhill. The truck chimed softly. “Put on your seat belt, honey.”

She looked around for her pink backpack, but it was gone. She climbed to her knees and looked into the back, but it wasn’t there, either. The black leather duffel was missing, too.

“Where’s my stuff, Roy?” Her voice was louder than she’d intended.

“Take it easy. I cleaned up a little. Everything’s in the trailer, your stuff and mine, for our own safety.” His voice was calm. “If the cops pull us over, they’d need a warrant to get in there. And they won’t have cause. Once we put some miles behind us, we’ll stop and get whatever you want. Did you wipe down the car and pitch the keys?”

She rubbed her face with her hands. “Yeah. Where’s Frank?” The truck chimed louder. She put on her seat belt.