Page 71 of Evidence of a Folktale

Bel planted her hands on the table and collapsed forward, not caring if the stragglers witnessed her exhaustion. Her feet ached, her back ached, her neck ached, and she wondered if Taron would mind if she snagged a few minutes of rest in her chair. She’d asked her to watch her seat. What better way to guard it than sit in it?

“Watch my seat,” Bel whispered, suddenly registering Miss Monroe’s odd request. Why did she ask her to babysit her chair? Had a fan ducked under the tablecloth to hide? Bel leaned down, readying to rip the cloth aside and catch the perpetrator red-handed when she spotted it. A simple piece of paper sat folded on the chair’s cushion, and she understood. Taron didn’t want her to guard her seat. She wanted her to look at it.

With an unwelcome bolt of adrenaline coursing through her, Bel snatched up the paper and unfolded it. The note was only two sentences long, but she recognized the handwriting. Fear clogged her throat, but not because she knew who’d penned this. Unlike his letters, thishadn’t beenwritten with flowery prose or poetic text. It was straightforward and to the point, its message unmistakably clear.

There’s a bathroom down the hallway to your left. Use its window to climb outside, or I’ll blow up everyone in this hotel.

Bel cursed,dropping the note on the table for Griffin to find when the police swept the room and bolted for the hallway. She couldn’t afford to wait for backup. Taron had a two, maybe three-minute head start. If Bel was fast, she might catch up with her before The Wolf whisked her into the woods. Was this how he’d killed Rossa and Roja? She’d assumed they knew their killer, but maybe they hadn’t. What if he’d threatened them with a bomb?

Bel

Explosives. Taron’s table? Call bomb squad.

She texted Griffin, not bothering to check for typos as she raced down the hallway. The distance was short, yet it felt like miles, the monotone carpet stretching endlessly before her feet.

“Taron!”She burst through the bathroom door,butshefelt the emptiness the minute she stepped inside.The restroom was freezing,the backwindow leading outsidewide open.The actress was gone.

Bel cursed under her breath and rushed to the window, thrusting her torsooutinto the winter air, but only the dirt-streaked snow covering the hotel’s property greeted her. Taron had vanished, and she cursed again, readying to call Griffin and lock the entire town down when movement caught her eye.She squinted at a solitary couple rushing for the sidewalk, and the stiffness in the woman’s body suggested she wasn’t aiming for the parked vehiclewillingly.Her haste was born of duress, and her familiar clothing warned that if Taron Monroe got into that car, the next time they’d see her would be in the woods with her intestines spilling from her shredded gut.

Bel glanced down at her phone. She had seconds to decide. Seconds beforeTaronvanished from sight, andshedecided. Bel vaulted out of the window, her feet sliding on the ice, and then she was running, unsure how she’d kept her balance. Her footfalls were silent as she raced toward the car, and just as the man escorting his prisoner eased out of his parking spot, Taron twisted her terrified gaze to meet Bel’s.

“Unlock the door,” Bel mouthed, pressing an imaginary lock button with her finger, but Taron had already arrived at that idea. She reached down and unlocked the doors, and as the kidnapper pulled into traffic, Bel flung the rear door open and dove into the backseat.

“What the—” the driver glanced back at her as the vehicle’s speed increased. “You’re that cop!”

Bel slammed the door behind her, the insignificant act binding her fate to Taron’s.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Taron, are you hurt?” Bel ignored him as she met the actress’ gaze in the rearview mirror.

“No—”

“Shut up!” the man shouted, his rage silencing Taron as she flinched. He was younger than Bel expected. Better lookingtoo, in a slightly unnerving way.Likehe’d never left the house as a child,sohe’d spent his entire adulthood yearning to fit in, yet always missing the mark.

“Shut up, both of you!” he ordered. “What are you doing here? You’re ruining this.”

“You are kidnapping a world-famous actress and a police officer.” Bel withdrew her sidearm. “You’re the one ruining things, so pull over.”

“I don’t think so,” he said.

“I said, pull over!” Bel aimed the gun at their captor’s skull, but the man jerked his fist into the air to reveal an old flip phone.

“Hand it over,” he demanded as he thumbed the device open and poised a finger over the call button. “Or I’ll blow that entire hotel to hell.”

Bel’s finger shifted to the trigger. If he didn’t have a thumb, he couldn’t dial the number to detonate the bomb.

“Don’t think about it,” the driver yanked his fist out of sight, stealing her only hope of emerging from this encounter unscathed. “I mean it, cop. Hand over the gun, or you’ll get to watch the hotel go up in flames through the rear window. I’m sure you have friends inside the building. Do you want them all to die?”

“Do it,” Taron begged, fear engulfing her like a death shroud. “Please, listen to him.”

“I don’t want to kill all those people, but I will,” he continued. “Give me the gun, or I’ll hit the call button.”

“Okay, okay.” Bel flicked on the safety. She hadn’t considered this outcome. She assumed she could force him to obey, but what good was a Glock when faced with a bomb? “Here.” She handed it over, praying he didn’t shoot her with it, but he thankfully tucked it out of her reach.

“You shouldn’t have done this,” he spat. “You’re ruining everything.” He stepped on the gas, and the vehicle picked up speed. What was she ruining? What did he have planned? And could she stop it unarmed in the back seat of a car that belonged to the kidnapper with her Glock and an explosive at his disposal?

“What am I ruining?” she asked.

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