Page 40 of Love Me Dangerous

What would have happened if I’d handled it differently?

By the end of the day, I’ve reached a high plateau with a hollow area partially hidden by a thick grove of trees.

It would be a perfect campsite. It’s level, protected, and, because of a rocky creek nearby, has a good water source.

The giant aspens up this high haven’t lost their leaves yet, which rattle in the cold breeze descending from the mountains. For some reason, the sound is eerie.

I nearly trip into a shallow hole because the wooded area is so shaded at this time of day. I squat down for a closer look. The ground’s been scraped out, but the dig marks are narrow—not from a shovel, or at least not a normal-shaped one. Decayed wood fibers are scattered around the edges. I scan the area, looking for more clues. I saw one like it yesterday, but it didn’t have these weird splinters.

I have no idea what these are. They don’t look man-made. Could animals carve out depressions like this for sleeping? It could be that something was buried here… which could fit with what I’m looking for. I make a note on my map. My burner phone’s camera is pathetic, and the darkness isn’t helpful, but I take a few shots anyway.

I continue, the terrain alternating between rocky and wooded. The light is starting to fade from the sky, leaching the colors. I hear distant rifle fire, but I don’t see any hunters. Some of the aspens have carvings on their barks, and I come across more of the old sheep fencing. It’s ancient and sagging but stiff. I’m tempted to spend the rest of the day ripping it out, but that’s not my purpose.

When I come to a hidden hollow, there’s a rundown-looking camper parked in the shade. This is forest service land, and plenty of people camp out here, especially during hunting season. It gives me creepy vibes, but for all I know, the campsite and dingy trailer are someone’s little slice of paradise. It could also be a meth lab. There’s no vehicle, but I notice a campfire ring and an enamel coffee pot next to a bundle of firewood. I mark my map and tuck it into my pocket.

Descending in the quickly falling darkness, the distantvroomof nighthawks hunting bugs reminds me of the owl Sofie and I freed two days ago. Did the bird survive? Where is she now?

It makes me think of Sofie and what’s changed between us.

With it comes Sawyer’s warning. He’s not wrong. The last time I got close to a girl, I got her killed.

Am I out of the frying pan, into the fire?

Before the Huttons took me in, I was running on fumes. Henry’s been right about Finn River having good people. But is it enough?

Sheriff Olson seems to think so.

The last of the sun drops below the western hills, and in a blink, the air turns sharp with cold, pricking my cheeks and creeping into my fingers.

Inside the truck, I run the heater but it’s slow to warm the cab. Gratitude that I’m not curled up in some public bathroom somewhere makes me pause. Closing my eyes, I inhale a slow breath and let the feeling sink a little deeper.

Things are okay right now, but how much longer will that last?

Stu’s already left by the time I return, and I barely make it to the last employee bus in time. When I get to town, I’m hungry and restless. Henry and Barb are square dancing at the grange hall until ten, so I’ve got time to kill.

When I turn the corner, a lime-green neon sign in a window catches my eye. I’ve seen it before, but in the daytime, it looks a little dated. In the falling dusk, it looks like the center of the universe—dark and inviting and full of people.

The door swings open, the hinges squeaking, marking the otherwise quiet street with a burst of noisy hubbub from inside. An older couple walk out, the man’s arm slung over the woman’s shoulder as they stroll down the sidewalk. I check both ways, then jog across the street, threading two parked cars. Tacked to the door is an events calendar and a menu of pub food, but what gets me is the mouthwatering scents of the kitchen wafting past my nose. When a guy slips past me to enter, I get a glimpse of the pub’s interior—dimly lit and cozy, with booths lining the near wall and circular tables in the center, facing a stage.

I glance at the menu again and mentally calculate the cash stored in my pack. I still have half my savings hidden in the back panel, but I have a ten and a twenty in my wallet. Enough for a burger and fries, and a beer though I’m not about to flash my ID to get one. My stomach clenches in desperation.

“Welcome to The Limelight,” an older woman with short hair says over the loud music and chatter as I step to the hostess stand. “I can put you at the bar?”

I’d feel safer in one of the booths. “Sure,” I say with a stiffnod.

The hostess leads me past the other patrons to an open stool and drops off the menu. “Kitchen closes at eight for the show.”

Show? Something clicks in my memory—this is the place Sofie mentioned, the live music venue. I search for a clock, but the reflection in the mirror over the bar catches my attention instead. In the crowd is a group of people I recognize, lit by that neon sign in the window.

Gabe and two others are sitting around one of the tables in the center of the room, drinking Bud from the bottle, their laughter rising above the din. Two girls, one in a jean jacket and the other in a V-neck shirt, are tucked tight between them. I don’t recognize them, and I’m relieved one of them isn’t Sofie.

Does he regularly treat you like that?

Not anymore.

What the fuck does that mean?

“What can I get you?” The bartender leans closer, his earnest face turned slightly away so I’m closer to his ear.

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