“Come on, come on,” she said aloud, but wondered if she were on a wild goose chase. Sophia might not be doing anything nefarious, and here Rebecca was, trailing after her for what reason? A hunch? Because she’d stolen James from Megan? Well, if so, there was nothing to worry about; she was safe in her car, and if she lost Sophia, so what? The woman had a right to a private life.

Right?

Squinting into the distance, she saw no hint of the car.

So this whole damned heart-stopping, anxiety-riddled midnight ride was for nothing. She started to slow and look for a spot where she could turn around just as she spied a flicker of a red light ahead.

The road had dipped, but now Sophia’s car was on the other side of the depression, steadily climbing, and Rebecca could see it again.

She took it as a sign and gave the car more gas.

Once again, she thought she should call someone, let them know what she was doing, but who? She’d already dismissed the police and James, which left no one.

Taking up her phone, she dialed 9-1-1, teeing up the emergency number. Now all she would have to do was hit one button and she’d be connected to the police.

And how long will it take for them to get up here? You’re miles from civilization.

Tough. She’d come this far. She wasn’t backing down.

* * *

Someone was on the road behind her!

Driving to the tiny house with a load of supplies, Julia saw the headlights in her rearview mirror as she passed through the thickets of evergreen trees, boughs heavy with their snowy mantles, the narrow road winding ever upward.

The flashes of light came and went, disappearing for a few minutes only to flash again.

Was she being followed?

What were the chances of someone else driving through these forested hills in the middle of the night?

Kids!

It could be kids.

Teenagers out of school, looking for somewhere private to party or make out or whatever.

But she’d had the feeling she was being tailed—well, of course, there had been the idiot truck that had nearly blinded her before passing, but she’d sensed another car as well. Lagging back. Acting sketchy. She’d told herself she was being paranoid, that no one knew about the tiny house, that no one suspected she wasn’t Sophia.

But she couldn’t be certain.

And there it was again, the faintest light flashing against the falling snow.

She wouldn’t panic, not yet, but she’d keep her eye on whoever it was and, of course, if worse came to worst . . . she glanced at the passenger seat and spied her gun, winking in the barest of light from the dash.