Page 53 of Light My Fire

Stevie cut to the shoreline through the woods, staying just inside, stepping over decaying logs, pushing through willow brush, her feet landing on soft ground.

The campground edged the lake. She could work her way around and set up an ambush.

Or…call in for help. That thought trickled through her brain even as she came out on the edge of the camp road, a gravel drive that circled the campground.

Fifth wheels, RVs, campers, tents—the place teemed with guests parked in the wooded stalls of the campground. Fire grates smoldered, and picnic tables held coolers and boxed food not locked in cars or hanging from trees.

The tourists, at this early hour, were hopefully still sleeping.

From her recollection of his arrest details, March had been camped out for weeks—which meant that the campground would be well used. Fortified.

Her feet scuffed on the road, and she shoved the gun, then her hands into her pockets, her head down. What she wouldn’t give for a loaded weapon right now.

Or Tucker, coming up with some good idea for how she might take down March.

I’m not going anywhere.

She shook his voice out of her head.

But oh, her entire body wanted to cling to it—and the memory of his arms around her, his hands in her hair, kissing her—

Yeah. See. She’d been right. Being with him—and now without him—just led to heartache.

She slowed her pace as she came up to a yellow and white, 15-foot-long camper ringed with rust around the windows, its tires saggy and dug into the soft loam. Yellow curtains hung at the windows. Rickety steps covered in leaves led up to a door. It looked uninhabited.

A rusty red-and-white striped Ford 150—the wheel wells rusted out, an ancient topper affixed to the back, grass and weeds grown up around the tires—sat a few feet from the camper, facing the road.

This had to be the place.

Stevie stole up to the camper, under a window in the back, and listened. Just the rush of the wind, the rustle of a few decaying leaves.

Creeping over to the truck, she eased open the passenger door.

The keys—jackpot!—lay on the driver’s side floor mat. She cast herself across the bench seat and swiped them up. Then she backed away and pressed the door shut.

She crept around to the edge of the woods, crouched behind a trio of birch, and watched the road, her heart in her mouth.

That day…that day when no one shows up?Why Tucker picked now to edge into her brain wasn’t fair.It’s not today.

Yes, apparently, it was.

And of course, her words she’d spoken to him seemed to pulse with her heartbeat.

I learned that day that therewouldbe a day when no one is there to save me. And I have to be ready for it.

See, she was right.

And as soon as she confirmed a sighting of March, she’d find a radio, call in her position—

She heard grunting. From her position she had a clear sight of the road, and every cell in her body froze when she spotted March walking up the road as if out for a stroll. But he had his hand pressed to his side, his face in a knot of pain.

So she had hit him. Good.

Except, with him walked her father. The front of his shirt bore the evidence of a bloodied nose, although it looked like it had stopped gushing.

He watched the forest, scanning the road, and she wondered if he was looking for her. She couldn’t tell if he was a captive or not.

She didn’t know which she rooted for. If he were a captive, March could easily kill him. She counted at least four shots left in her gun that March now possessed.

---