Page 46 of No Place Left to Hide

She unlatches her seatbelt and grabs the wheel with one hand, holding it straight, and I all but dive into the backseat. She slips one leg over the console, and the second she’s more on the left side of the car than the right, I lean forward and grab the wheel from the backseat so she can fully get into the driver’s seat. She switches off cruise control just as we hit the next curve. The momentum of the turn throws me against the rear door.

The back of my head smacks the window with a thud. “Ah, fuck.”

“Are you okay?” Jena asks, sparing a glance over her shoulder before her eyes are back on the road.

I rub the sore spot and sit up on the edge of the cluttered backseat. “Yeah. All good.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Teach him a lesson about tailgating.”

One good thing about the Bronco driving so close is that I don’t need my phone’s flashlight to see back here. The mess in my backseatis bathed in blistering white high beams. I duck my head to keep the worst of it out of my eyes and start to rummage for something heavy.

The plan is simple: throw stuff at him until I spiderweb the windshield.

If he can’tseeus, he can’tchaseus.

Bonus points if I shatter it entirely.

I dig through piles of dance team workout clothes, binders from school projects, and discarded Dutch Bros cups until my gaze lands on the big donation box I forgot to drop off. A box full to the brim with Chef Boyardee, Spam, and canned peas. I immediately imagine a shower of metal cans hurling through the windshield and into his stupid surprised face.

Perfect.

I gather up an armload of cans.

“Brooke, I don’t think this is a good idea,” Jena says. “We’re going too fast. You’re going to get hurt.”

I lean into the space between the front seats. “I’ll be fine. I’m just going to donate a few things,” I say, brandishing my weapon. Spaghetti sauce. The big can.

From this angle, I can see her eyes go big. “Brooke…”

“This will work. I promise.”

She groans and takes a turn that pushes me into the side of the passenger seat. “We’re going a thousand miles an hour on a shit highway, and you want to fling stuff out the window at the car behind us?”

“Absolutely not. I want to throw it from the sunroof.”

She glares at me.

“Do you have a better plan?” I ask.

“Yes! We keep going until we get service again, and you give him what he wants.”

What?I wait for her to say more, because no way is she suggesting I actually confess. Jena slips into silence and my grip tightens around the metal can in my palm.

“You want me to bow down to Brandon Heck and tell the cops I had something to do with what happened to Claire? Are you out of your mind?”

“No, I want you to tell the cops whatever you have to say to get us out of this, and then take it back later. Tell them you were under duress, that he was going to run us off the road if you didn’t make up a story. I’ll vouch for you. At least it’ll get him off our damn backs. Literally.”

I want to shake her. “That’s not how the law works, Jena. You can’t confess and then take it back. The police will have questions. They’ll reopen the case. And when word gets out that I admitted to some nonsense, it’ll be all anyone ever talks about. I could lose my spot at Yale. My dad could lose his seat on the bench if anyone so much as whispers that he may be involved. Hell, my mom might even get fired from the school, and then we’ll be no better than the Heck family. And it’ll all be because of that fucker back there.” I stab my finger at the back window. “Do you really want me to blow up my entire life? Because fighting back seems like a much better option.Thisis self-defense.”

I press the button to open the sunroof and wind rushes through the car, drowning out whatever Jena says next. I don’t have time to argue with her.Of courseshe’d think fake-confessing is the way to go. If she were the one being harassed, she’d shed some tears in a police station, maybe share a well-timed video of us being rear-ended while on the road, add a little help from my dad, and she’d be on her merry way, living out her culinary school dreams without any fallout.

I know. She’s done it before.

Because nobody cares what the Howtons do. Nobody cares what kind of drama she gets into. It’s not the same for me.

Everyone loves to see a prominent public family topple, and in this county, the Goodwins have the furthest to fall.

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