Page 18 of I Will Save You

Of course she is.

A horn blast forces me to turn away from the lecture I’m getting from the nosy lady, both of us jolting.

“Hey, bud. Move your car from the pump if you’re done!” says a dude in a Ford F-150 so rusted out it looks like it’s being held together by sheer will alone.

“Bye,” I say to the woman, hopping in the car with Winnie as she screams:

“I’m taking your license plate number!” She comes around the passenger side, and I roll the window up fast, realizing if she gets close enough, she’ll peer into the back and see the bodies.

The goddamned bodies.

If I don’t find Paigelynn in the next hour or so, I —

Ring!

A cold chill runs through me as I gun the engine and maneuver to the parking lot, headed for Rooney’s church. Winnie doesn’t have a phone, Paigelynn left hers at the house, and I’ve got two. Basher and Simon likely have two on them. I should have pitched those long, long ago, but I’m not on my game.

I can’t march into Rooney’s church right now. I’ve got to safeguard this mission first.

Prioritizing in a crisis is a kind of triage that makes the end result matter. It’s the difference between surviving and becoming Basher meat.

Cutting the wheel, I change course, turning onto a main road that intersects with residential developments, the kind that always have a park nearby. As I scan the area, I will myself to think clearly.

Puzzle pieces click into place as a plan forms.

Step One: get rid of all tracking devices in this van.

Step Two: get a new vehicle.

Step Three: ditch the bodies.

The sound of heavy panting makes me look on the floor of the passenger seat. Winnie’s down there looking up at me, tongue out.

Step Four: get the damn dog some water.

Steps Two and Three might need to be reversed. That depends on what I encounter next.

Next to her, I see my phone, half under the dog’s ass. Just then, success:

A park.

And not the kind with a playground structure. A trailhead, with a kiosk board filled with announcements, makes me smile. One other car in the small parking lot, a beat-up Subaru with a ski rack on top, a dull gray and blue that blends in anywhere.

Scrubby bushes create a perfect bit of cover.

Bending down, I grab my phone, a notification on the screen.

A text from Debbie.

I unlock it, grateful for the anti-tracking software I installed on it.

I know you stole her. Get back here immediately.

The sigh that pours out of me makes me realize why Paigelynn fled. She must have seen the first part of that text and decided I wasn’t so trustworthy after all.

And she’s right.

Debbie and Newman were deeper into Paigelynn’s true location than I realized. What else do they know? Debbie’s next text says:

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