Page 20 of Girl Lost
7
SORRY? HE WAS SORRY?She shook her headas she ordered her Uber because she couldn’t believethose three words were supposed to make up for abandoningher all those years ago.
The last time Luna had set foot in Millie Beach she was a teenager with dreams as vast as the ocean. She’d spent her years since vowing never to return. Now she remembered why.
This place was a magnet for regret. A breeding ground for heartache.
Even the crimes here were laced with a desperate, reckless edge. Meth labs booby-trapped to destroy evidence and take out anyone who got too close? That was some twisted logic born of addiction. A maladaptive defense mechanism to protect themselves at all costs—even if it meant taking innocent lives.
A sharp twinge shot through her ankle. She stopped and leaned against a nearby palm tree. Her hand reached to rub the sore spot, but she stopped herself. The denim, charred and stiff, clung to the blistered skin beneath. She gingerly pulled up the leg. A bright red burn, angry and raw, marked her skin.
Great. Just great. Now she had a burn to add to the list of regrets.Singed hair. Possible smoke inhalation. Ex-boyfriend. And on top of everything else, she’d destroyed her new jeans.
She straightened, biting back a wince. The burn throbbed, a dull ache that radiated up her leg. She’d need to clean it, keep it covered. The last thing she needed was an infection.
Her gaze drifted toward the ambulance. The red and blue lights still flashed. Paramedics bustled around the open back doors. Maybe she should go back. Have the burn dressed. At least a thick gauze pad would keep her jeans from rubbing against the raw skin.
She opened the ride app and canceled the car she’d ordered to drive her back to her rental car at the gym. When she looked up, her eyes landed on a man walking toward her and the chaos behind her. He shuffled along, head down, shoulders hunched, wearing a sweat-stained sleeveless shirt that revealed sun-weathered arms and faded tattoos that continued up his neck. His worn jeans were caked with dirt at the knees, and his once-white tennis shoes had long ago surrendered to the permanent stain of St. Augustine grass. He looked familiar.
Abercorn. He walked through the gawkers held back by a line of police cruisers, their lights flashing, a silent barrier between the burning house and the rest of the world.
Then their eyes met.
He froze, his gaze widening. Then he turned and bolted like a rabbit darting for cover.
“Oh, snap.” She bolted after him.
He was fast, rounding the block and weaving through yards. Arms pumping.
“Police!” The word burst from her. Stupid. That was the last thing he needed to hear. He’d run faster now. For sure.
Abercorn headed toward the narrow alleyway between two buildings.
He glanced over his shoulder, eyes wide with panic. He saw her. He stumbled, his foot catching on a loose piece of concrete.
Closer. She was closing in.
He reached the alleyway, a narrow chasm of shadows between two dilapidated buildings. He hesitated, glancing back at her, his eyes darting. Then he scrambled up a chain-link fence, the rusted metal groaning under his weight. He disappeared over the top.
She pushed harder, the pain in her ankle a white-hot fire. Metal scraped against her palms as she pulled herself up. On the other side, she gasped, her lungs burning.
Abercorn was already halfway down the block, sprinting across a busy street, dodging cars that honked their annoyance. She could hear tires squealing, a chorus of angry shouts.
Luna didn’t hesitate. She followed him through the traffic, weaving between cars. A truck roared past, its horn blaring, the wind of its passage buffeting her. She could feel the heat of its engine, smell the diesel fumes.
She reached the other side, heart jackhammering. “Stop!”
Abercorn ignored her and scrambled up a dumpster positioned at the rear corner of the U-shaped motel building. He reached the top, hesitated, then jumped, grabbing the railing of the motel’s second-story walkway. He dangled precariously for a moment, arms straining, before swinging his legs up and hauling himself onto the walkway.
Luna didn’t hesitate. She scaled the dumpster, gagging on the stench of rotting garbage. From this vantage point, she could see Abercorn checking a door handle.
“Luna, what are you doing?” Corbin cut through the adrenaline-fueled haze.
She hadn’t even heard him. He must have been chasing her, chasing Abercorn, since the house. “It’s Abercorn! I saw him at the fire. He ran.”
“Which way did he go?” Corbin hauled himself onto the dumpster beside her.
“Down there.” She pointed toward a darkened doorway at the far end of the walkway. “Room 12, I think.”
