Page 54 of Light My Fire

If he wasn’t a captive, then…

No. Her father could not be a part of this escape.

March went right up to the truck with not even a glance at the camper and opened the door.

An expletive sharpened the air as he slammed the door.

Then he came up to her dad, yanked him around to the front of the truck, and dispelled any questions about her father’s involvement. He set the revolver against his head. “I know you’re out there, pretty girl,” March said, staring into the woods, nearly right at her. “I want my keys.”

Her dad didn’t move. Didn’t blink, his face stone.

March lowered his gun and shot her father in the foot.

The sound cracked through the silence of the morning, scattering birds, and Archer howled.

Stevie clamped her hand over her mouth to keep from shouting.

“Shut up!” March said, grabbing his shirt and pulling him up from where Archer was keeling over. March looked beyond her, as if searching for her. “I have three bullets left. I promise to save one for a head shot, but I have two more to use up. Give me those keys and he goes free.”

She closed her eyes, almost hearing her father in her head.You gotta watch your own back, Stevie.

Except she hadn’t, had she? Because when she’d needed her father—even if she didn’t want to admit it—he’d shown up.

Maybe your dad was just as scared as you were.

March turned, his grip now around her father’s neck. “You have three seconds.”

He began to count, and her father’s expression tightened. “Stevie, if you’re out there, don’t—”

She stepped out on two, holding up her hands. “March!”

He took the gun off her father, and her father’s mouth tightened. But what was she supposed to do?

More, she was banking on the hope that he was still a law enforcement officer under all that soot and blood and desperation. That he had some trick up his sleeve.

She took another step toward March. “I have the keys. But you don’t get them unless you let him go.”

“Drop the keys.”

She stopped moving. “Let him go.”

March considered her, his eyes narrowing. He put the gun back on her father.

“If you shoot him, I throw these into the woods,” she said.

March gave her father a hard push. He stumbled forward, one eye closing in a grimace, his jaw tight. But he barely grunted as he dragged his bloody foot across the grass. One step, two.

“Throw the keys.” March leveled the gun to her father’s back.

She took a step. “Two more steps!”

Her father kept walking.

“Now. I won’t ask again,” March said.

Her father met her eyes, gave a little shake of his head. But she wasn’t made of the stuff he was, apparently. Because she wasn’t better alone, and frankly, if she could show up to save her dad, then maybe that’s why she was here.

Today, she showed up to save someone she loved.

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