Page 16 of Light My Fire

“I forgive you, Stevie. It’s time you do, too.”

Alva had taken a step inside the garage. Touched Stevie’s arm. “You should go see him.”

Stevie shook her head. “I…no.”

“He misses you.”

“He hates me.”

Alva shook her head, but Stevie pressed the pliers into her hand. “I have to go.”

“Stevie—”

She stepped out into the sunshine. Turned, fighting the shards in her voice. “I have to pick up a prisoner. A guy named Eugene March. He’s wanted for murder and rape and a list of other crimes.”

Her mother followed her out of the garage.

Stevie kept backing up. “March got picked up on a recreational drug bust a couple days ago, and it alerted the system.” She nearly tripped over the bike. Pressed her hand to the seat. “It’s my job.”

Don’t let go of the clutch, Punkie! Not until you’re ready to give it gas!She shook away her father’s voice, a ghost rising above the roar of the engine.

“Stevie, stop. Don’t run away—” her mother said.

Stevie righted herself. “I’m not running. I’m just—”

“You’re running. But you can’t run from yourself.” Now Alva stood in the sunlight. Three years had added lines to her face, stripped weight from her body, added threads of gray to her hair. She appeared suddenly frail, easily broken, and pale.

Overhead, a hawk cried. Stevie finished her coffee, then set the thermos cup down on the step. “I’ll be back to check on you, Ma. Maybe get that tire fixed.”

Alva didn’t move. But she offered a tight smile, the barest of nods.

Stevie ignored the tear glistening on her mother’s cheek and fled to the truck. Climbing in, she held in the ache until she’d backed out the long drive, turned around, and taken the rutted, two-laned service road to the highway.

She wiped the heel of her hand against her cheek, her stomach raw and empty as she drove back to town to the Copper County facility.

I’m not running.

By the time she pulled up to the tiny county holding facility, the ache had subsided, her cheeks dried. She pulled into the gravel drive, dearly hoping they had March ready for her. She pulled on her blue US Marshall windbreaker, affixed the divider between the seats, turned on the child safety locks, and planned on making sure he had a gag for the road. Last time she’d transported a prisoner, he’d run his mouth the entire four-hour drive from Homer.

Someday she might be able to graduate from prisoner transport to apprehending fugitives. Even tracking down most-wanteds, the real criminals, the ones who deserved to spend their lives behind bars.

Not men like her father.

The facility for Copper County served as both a short-term correctional facility and a holding center for pretrial and presentenced felons and misdemeanants. A nondescript cement building with a rickety front walk, a small yard strung with barbed wire, and one lookout tower, the place had all the menace of a small pit bull. That and the handful of guards made it the exact wrong place for a criminal like Eugene March to hang out while waiting for his trial down in Anchorage.

Stevie secured the truck and headed inside. Flashed her creds to the woman behind the glass and got buzzed into the administrative area.

A thirty-something woman emerged from the superintendent’s office. Brown hair, no makeup, she wore a black pantsuit, a white blouse. “Brandy Perkins,” she said and met Stevie’s grip.

Stevie didn’t recognize her.

“I’m here to pick up Eugene March,” Stevie said, handing her a folder.

Perkins gave it a quick read, then addressed a nearby guard. “Go get him.”

She turned to Stevie as the man left to the cell areas. “Can I offer you some coffee?”

Stevie shook her head. “No, thanks.”

---