Page 16 of One Big Lie

I looked up at him, a small smile tugging at my lips despite the situation. "And you picked me. Lucky you," I replied, attempting to inject some lightness into the heavy atmosphere.

Brad's answering chuckle was warm, but there was a note of seriousness as he continued. "You know what they say about history repeating itself..."

I swallowed, my heart pounding in my chest as the implications of his words sank in. We were next, the last of the Rosedale co-owners or their family to be kidnapped or terrorized by the psycho. It was a chilling realization, the icy finger of terror already disrupting our lives gaining a stronger grip.

"Should we call the others? Giuseppe?" Brad asked, his eyes searching mine for an answer.

I thought for a moment, considering the options. But deep down, I already knew what our decision should be. "Let's wait," I said finally. "At least until we have something concrete to tell them."

The weather outside had gradually calmed down, leaving in its wake a beautiful sunset that painted the sky with shades of orange and pink. The moment felt oddly serene, a brief respite from the storm that had just passed and the one we knew was still to come.

Brad and I moved to the front porch, settling onto the swing that had been a fixture of my childhood. The scent of rain mixed with the sweet aroma of the surrounding pines, creating a tranquil atmosphere that seemed at odds with our current predicament.

As the last rays of the sun dipped below the horizon, I reached for a candle that sat on the porch table. The small flame flickered to life, casting a warm glow around us. We sat there in silence for a moment, watching the dancing flame, it's light a beacon against the encroaching darkness. We were in this together, come what may—it was our turn.

The silence between us was heavy, as I turned to face Brad. "What are we going to do, Brad?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, almost drowned by the soft rustling of the wind in the trees.

He inhaled deeply, his blue eyes reflecting the flickering candlelight, momentarily lost in thought. "First things first, Courtney," he began, his voice steady despite the weight of the situation, "We need to decide what we want to do before looping in the others. It's our turn in the crosshairs now. Just like the others did, I want us to face this together."

I nodded, my heart swelling with admiration for his resolve. His hand found mine, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "So, what's the plan?" I asked, my own voice sounding stronger than I felt.

He was silent for a beat, his gaze focused on our intertwined hands. "I could rent a place in Laramie, attend classes with you. We could try to keep a low profile, see if that shakes anything loose."

"But would that work?" I questioned, my brows knitting together in thought. "If Tyree is the psycho, he could track us down. And if he's not…" I trailed off, remembering Tyree's increasingly strange behavior over the past few years.

Brad sighed, the lines of worry etching deeper on his face. "I know Court. But we can't just sit here and do nothing. We can't let fear dictate our lives."

An idea sparked in my mind, and I turned to him, a newfound determination in my eyes. "Maybe we could set a trap?" I suggested, my mind whirring with the possibilities. "If Tyree is involved, we could catch him in the act. But that would mean I'd have to go back to San Diego, maybe even to Seattle."

Brad's eyes widened slightly at my suggestion, and he opened his mouth to respond when my phone buzzed on the table, its shrill tone slicing through the gripping tension. I glanced at the screen, my father's name flashing in the dim light.

I looked back at Brad, his expression mirroring my uncertainty. I took a deep breath, preparing myself for the conversation ahead. Picking up the phone, I pressed it against my ear and answered. “Hey, Dad," I greeted, my voice filling the space around us. I gestured to Brad, and he moved closer, his warm presence comforting in the face of my father's interrogation. I switched the call to the speaker, placing the phone on the coffee table between us.

"Dad, you're on speaker. Brad's here with me," I added, looking at Brad, who gave a small nod of acknowledgment.

"Hello, Mr. Thompson," Brad greeted, his voice respectful and warm. Brad had never met Dad in person, but they had spoken several times on the phone when we were in Yosemite.

"Ah, Brad! Good to hear from you, son," my dad's voice echoed, his jovial tone brightening our mood. "How are you two enjoying Wyoming?"

"We're doing well, Dad," I answered, feeling the first strains of the tedious conversation we were about to have. "School's going great, and we're managing to enjoy some of the local scenery too."

"That's wonderful to hear, sweetheart," he responded a hint of relief in his tone. "I hope you're not letting Brad distract you from your studies too much," he teased, and I could almost see the playful glint in his eyes.

I exchanged an amused glance with Brad before replying, "Oh, don't worry, Dad. Brad's been nothing but a gentleman, and he's going back home tomorrow night."

I could hear the smile in my dad's voice as he responded, "I'm glad to hear it. Let me tell you about Aunt Jill and Uncle George's new place."

My attention began to wane as my father told me about how my aunt and uncle had purchased a new house, described their dog, and detailed their plans to get a horse. As he continued talking, my thoughts kept going back to the urgent issue that needed to be addressed.

The conversation became monotonous in the background, with Brad and I exchanging glances and silent gestures, communicating our shared impatience. But I knew better than to rush my father. He was notorious for his long, drawn-out conversations filled with the minutiae of life.

"...and they've decided to get a horse, can you believe that?" my father continued, oblivious to our silent communication. "They've really missed living out west. It's a different lifestyle, that's for sure..."

His voice trailed off, and I forced myself to focus, responding with an appropriate, "That sounds nice, Dad."

As the conversation continued, I couldn't help but feel a sense of restlessness. The irony was not lost on me; we were in the middle of a potentially dangerous situation, and here we were, discussing Aunt Jill and Uncle George's dog and horse. Life, it seemed, had a strange sense of humor.

"Dad," I said, a hint of impatience creeping into my voice as he elaborated on Uncle George's newfound equestrian passion. "I really need to go. It's been an exhausting day."

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