And then the truck stopped and all was quiet. No birds, because it was still night. And it was darker here, the moon no longer visible. That much he could see through the thin spots in the blanket that still covered them. Whether it was cloudy or they were under a thick canopy of leaves, he couldn’t tell.
The truck shimmied slightly as the driver’s door opened but didn’t slam closed.
Amos’s heart beat so hard that it hurt. God, please don’t let him look back here. Don’t let him see us.
But he heard no voices, just the light crackle of leaves as footsteps faded away. Amos held his breath, risking a peek from underneath the blanket. Nothing above. No DJ staring down at him.
And then he heard the tinkle of crashing glass. Not from the truck. It was farther away.
Should I get up? Should I grab Abigail and make our escape? Or is this a trap and DJ is waiting for us? Is he armed? That last question was most likely a yes. The truck had a gun rack in the cab and Amos had always seen DJ stow a rifle there before he’d left on his weekly supply runs.
But DJ wasn’t in the truck at the moment. If Amos could get that rifle . . .
But . . . but . . . Indecision and fear left him frozen in place, huddling under the blanket with his little girl.
And then he heard a door open and close – like the door to a house, not a car – followed by a quiet curse. DJ. He was coming back.
No, no, no. I should have run when I had the chance.
But the truck door didn’t open. Instead, another engine started up, a smaller sound. Not a truck. A car?
The car drove away, in the opposite direction from which they’d come, from the sound of it. The engine grew quieter until Amos could hear nothing at all.
Now. Go now.
Carefully he pulled free of Abigail’s hold, settling her small body on the truck bed, making sure she was covered up, then crawled to the tailgate and rolled over it, keeping his body as close to the truck as possible.
He looked around wildly, but saw nothing but a small house, all dark inside.
DJ was gone.
Amos didn’t question further. Still crouching, he rushed to the driver’s-side door, slightly ajar, his knees buckling with relief when he saw the key still in the ignition. Two seconds later, he was behind the wheel and turning the key. The engine roared to life and he did a quick U-turn.
When they’d arrived they’d turned left, then right and right again once the truck had slowed, so Amos turned left, and left again.
And shuddered out a sob, because there, like a shining beacon, was a highway. He didn’t know which way to go, but DJ had turned left, so Amos went right. And then he floored it, flying down the road in the dead of night until he came to a town.
Snowbush, Population 162, the sign said. The town was dark. Not a single light burning anywhere.
No sheriff’s department, either. He saw a diner, a general store, a hardware store, a gas station, and a post office. Pulling in behind the hardware store, he rushed to the back and retrieved his most precious bundle. Gently settling his still-sleeping Abigail on the bench seat, he grabbed his backpack from the truck bed and placed it on the floorboard, next to his feet. A glance behind him proved that there was indeed a rifle, which Amos would not hesitate to use if DJ chased them in the car he’d taken.
Why DJ had taken that car made absolutely no sense, but Amos couldn’t think about that now. His brain was racing, one thought pounding: Go. Go. Go.
So he got behind the wheel, cranked up the heater, and then pulled out onto the highway heading south.
Away from where they’d come.
Away from Eden.
Toward . . . ?
He had no idea. But anything had to be better than what he’d left behind.
Sacramento, California
Tuesday, 18 April, 5.50 A.M.
Blearily, Jeff lifted his head from his pillow. His phone was ringing. How could his phone be ringing? Goddamn telemarketers. He groped for it, intending to jab it into silence.
His finger veered away at the last moment as he blinked at the screen. It was a local number. Knowing he’d regret it, he answered. ‘Hello?’
‘Jeff. This is Daisy Dawson.’
‘You’re perky,’ he mumbled, and she laughed, waking him up a bit more.
‘It’s my job to be perky at six a.m. Morning radio, remember?’
His mind clicked and he sat bolt upright. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘No, no. Relax. I read your email.’
‘Oh, right.’ It was coming back to him now. ‘I haven’t posted it. I wouldn’t, not until I got the okay.’
‘I can’t give you that, not as it’s written anyway.’
His heart sank, but then she continued. ‘Mercy would need to approve it. I forwarded it to her, but I doubt she’s seen it yet. However, I would like you to present your proposal to the coordinator of one of the local rape crisis centers, with no mention of Mercy. I think giving a platform to victims could be a positive thing. The coordinator was already scheduled to do an interview on my show this morning, so she’ll be in the studio. I know you were told to keep a low profile, but I’ve informed Agent Molina and she’s on board. Agent Reynolds can pick you up. Your mother, too. He’ll keep you safe.’
‘Wow.’ He was fully awake now, his adrenaline pumping. It was better than Mountain Dew. ‘Yes. I’ll do it. I need to wake my mother up. What time do you want us to be ready?’
‘The crisis center coordinator will be here from nine to ten, but I have to be on the air in a minute and a half, so I’m calling now. How about you be ready at eight thirty?’
‘Yes. Yes, please.’ He pressed the heel of his hand to his pounding heart. ‘Thank you.’
‘I can’t promise it’ll go anywhere, but she’s a great resource if you really want to do some good. Gotta go. See you soon,’ she said and ended the call.
Had that really happened? He hadn’t been dreaming, had he? He pinched his arm, hard. ‘Ow.’ Yeah, he was awake. Then he checked his call log and, yes, the call had happened.
‘Jeffy?’ his mother called through his door. ‘Are you okay? I heard you talking.’
He jumped from the bed and flung open his door, full of energy, but the good kind. ‘Did I wake you up?’
She wore her housecoat and a worried frown. ‘No. I haven’t been able to sleep. What’s going on here?’
His excitement plummeted. God, she looked exhausted. ‘Why couldn’t you sleep?’
‘Just worried about that man still out there.’ She held out her phone. ‘I found out what the Sokolovs’ family emergency was. There was a shooting up near the Oregon–Nevada border. Detective Rhee was hospitalized. Sasha Sokolov was also hurt, as were Agent Reynolds and Captain Holmes, the police officer from New Orleans. It doesn’t say that the shooter was the same guy that you saw there, but who else would it be?’