Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
SOFIE
“Where’s Linnea?” I ask. Dad and Jesse have just finished talking to Sheriff Olson for the second time. Neve’s parents arrived a half-hour ago, and I’m wary of them jumping Jesse’s shit. As soon as the shock wears off, they are going to blame him. I know I would, given Jesse’s history.
Dad frowns. “She’s not with you?”
Panic flickers at the base of my spine. “No.”
Jesse walks from the lounge, looking wrung out, like he’s been crying, but he takes one look at me, and his body stiffens. “What’s wrong?”
“Is Linn with Neve?”
“No.” He draws out the word, like he’s still processing. “She went to move my bike.”
“When?” The icy tingles of panic vibrate up my spine.
“Shit, an hour ago? Before Neve’s parents…”
I stare at him while this niggling anxiety cascades into very real fears.
“I’ll check with the nurses,” Dad says, and dashes to the desk behind us.
“You think she took off?” Jesse asks, looking confused.
I peek into Neve’s room. Her mom is sitting next to her, holding her hand while her dad is braced against the wall, his face locked in a scowl. No sign of Linn.
Dad spins away from the nurse’s station and shakes his head.
I whip out my phone. It’s almost nine o’clock. Linn doesn’t have a phone, but maybe she went home. I dial the house, my mind racing.
No answer.
Dad pulls out his phone. “I’ll call the school.”
I hang up when our answering machine greeting clicks on. “Where would she go?”
Dad is wrapping up a call with someone, nodding. “If she shows up, will you please call me?” He pauses, his eyes finding mine. “That’s a good idea. Thank you.”
He hangs up, his face tense with worry.
“Does she know about your flight today? That you’re leaving?” Dad asks.
Bold fear flashes in his eyes. “Shit.”
“I thought you already told her!” Dad barks, stepping closer.
Jesse’s mouth hangs open. “I meant to.”
“We talked about it when we first got here,” I say. “And you went to call the airlines, right?” Remembering exactly who was where over the past several hours is impossible—it’s all a blur. Could she have overheard something, put it together?
Jesse sends me a pleading, desperate glance, but I’m already spinning away.
Dad catches up, and we hurry down the stairs. “I told Jesse to check the cafeteria but to stay here in case she comes back.”
I’m out of breath by the time we punch through the exit and race across the spacious entryway to the sliding glass doors.
Dad’s phone is pressed to his ear, and I catch enough of his conversation to know that he’s calling another parent of Linnie’s friends, and he’s getting the same answer. Nobody has seen her.
I scan the parking small parking lot. Below the main entrance and to the right is the E.R. Jesse’s dirt bike is gone, but I didn’t expect to see it. There’s no sign of the bike anywhere else, but my gut instincts are telling me she’s long gone .
If Linnea overheard Jesse talking about leaving, she would have interpreted it only one way.
Another person I love is about to leave me.
Careless, selfish Jesse. Waiting for the right moment, waiting for someone else to do it for him, or… to just slip away and not have to face the little girl who idolizes him.
“When?” Dad barks into the phone as we get to his truck.
I stop in my tracks to read the hard planes of his face for clues, but his eyes are focused on some point in the distance.
“No, thank you, though.” He climbs behind the wheel. I follow his lead and jump into the passenger side.
“Yep,” Dad says, then tosses the phone to the seat and jams the keys into the ignition. “Someone rode past Rumble Creek about a half-hour ago. Sounds like Linnie.”
Linnie hasn’t taken riding lessons there since she was eight years old. “Why would she be out there?”
Dad reverses out of the parking space, twisting in his seat to look through the back window, his salt-and-pepper stubble catching the early morning light.
Rumble Creek Riders is east of town. On the way to Morning Star Road.
I dig out my phone and call Zach.
“Hey, sorry about—” Zach’s tone has a weird edge to it, but I ignore the anguish stirring to life inside me.
“Have you seen Linnie?” I say in a rush. “Has she come out there?” I hold my breath.
Dad pauses at the exit from the hospital, his gaze flicking from me to the road ahead. Turning left will take us toward home. Turning right, we’ll head toward the Huttons.
“No, but Henry and I left early,” Zach says. “What’s wrong?”
“Maybe nothing.” I realize how stupid it was to call him. To open myself to him when I’m slowly unraveling.
“Bullshit. Talk to me, Sofie.”
The tone he’s using now is completely different. It makes me bristle, but it cuts through the hurt. “I think she’s upset. She may have taken Jesse’s dirt bike. ”
“Where are you?”
“The hospital.”
If he’s curious about why, it’s not evident in his voice. “Let me call you back.”
Zach hangs up.
Dad turns right. “Would she go to the Huttons?”
“Maybe. I think Zach’s going to check with Barb.”
“We at least know she went past Rumble Creek. Let’s see if we can pick up her trail.”
“Okay.”
My phone rings.
It’s Zach. “Barb hasn’t seen her or heard a bike go past.”
The last of my hope withers to a painful ache. “Thanks.”
I’m about to hang up when Zach says, “We’re coming to help.”
The ache burns hotter, making me feel prickly. Angry. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know. Where are you headed?”
The logical side of my brain takes over. Whatever my feelings, denying Zach and Henry’s help is stupid and petty. “There’s a place called Rumble Creek Riders. Linnie went past it thirty minutes ago. She did horse camp there every summer.”
“See you there.” He hangs up before I can protest.
Dad accelerates, his grip on the wheel so tight that the little scars on his knuckles are bright white. I look away as that anguish stirs tighter like a twist of the knife.
Just paying homage to your battle scars , Zach had said, his lips so soft.
Is that why he shut me down? I finally pushed him too far? Forced him to reveal too much?
We pull onto the dirt road just as tiny snowflakes tap the windshield. I tug my zipper up hard, just missing grazing my chin. The snow wasn’t supposed to start until tomorrow night. What was Linnie wearing? Did she have a coat? Gloves?
I force in a series of deep breaths. Lin isn’t stupid. She’ll turn back if it gets worse.
Right now, she’s hurting so much—too much—trying to process big feelings she doesn’t understand and isn’t equipped to handle. When our mom left, she shut down—protecting herself, and rightly so—but getting her back took patience and fierce, unrelenting love. I had to prove to her over and over that I wouldn’t leave her, that she was safe. Slowly, she wriggled out of that shell.
Was it just days ago she teased me about Zach in that grown-up way that had my heart gushing with pride?
Yes, I’m worried about her safety right now. But I’m equally worried she’s gone so far inside herself that I won’t ever get her back.
I press my fist to my mouth, but the sob I’m trying to keep inside leaks from my eyes.
Dad sends me a steely gaze. “We’ll find her. If she’s gone up, there’ll be tracks.”
Of course he’s already thinking ahead to how we’ll trace her. He’s two steps ahead of me. It’s what makes him so good at his job.
At Rumble Creek, we drive past the pasture where half a dozen horses are clustered, their manes already collecting snow. Dad’s truck tires chew up the gravel, loud in my ears. I don’t see any tracks in the dusting of snow starting to accumulate on the road, so if Linnie has been here, it was before.
Lyle, the owner, strides from the large shed where a Ford 250 is parked next to stacks of hay bales. He’s dressed in a thick coat, a black watch cap on his bald head. Dad lowers his window.
Lyle squints through the snowy breeze, the airy flakes sticking to his eyelashes. “I drove the road a ways, lookin’, but that was before this.” He gives the sky a scornful glance.
“You or Shelly see her come back?” Dad asks.
“No.” He gives Dad a thoughtful glance. “We used to take the kids up Rumble Creek. Linnie loved that open country.”
“I remember,” Dad says.
“She can’t get too far,” Lyle says with a reassuring gleam in his eye. “You need help? I can loan you a couple of horses.”
“I might take you up on that,” Dad says, glancing at me as if to acknowledge his plan. I know he’s thinking that in the time it would take us to load up two horses and the gear, Linnie would only get farther away from us. “We’ll check that trailhead first, see if there’s tracks. ”
“All right. I’ll keep a lookout,” Lyle says, and is about to turn away when his gaze narrows. “You catch that poacher yet?”
“You’ll know when I do,” Dad says with finality.
With a nod, Lyle turns away and shuffles toward the barn.
“Has there been poaching out here?” I ask Dad as he swings the truck around.
“The first one was past Rumble Creek. Near Crooked Pine Pass.”
The snow swirls around the truck as we turn back onto the dirt road, heading for the forest service trailhead.
“Has anyone reported salt licks?”
“No.” He gives me a sharp look. “Why?”
“Zach found a few near Crooked Pine Pass. A couple of days before he got attacked.”
“Why didn’t he report it?”
“He didn’t know what they were until I told him.” This is only a partial answer, but I don’t understand Zach right now and don’t feel like trying.
As we accelerate, a silver truck approaches behind us. The driver flashes his brights once. It’s Henry, with Zach next to him in the passenger seat. They must have followed our tracks in the snow.
“What was he doing up there during hunting season? Is he trying to get killed?” Dad’s words come out tense, like he’s angry.
“I think he’s doing some special project for Stu.”
Dad curses, his lips pressing together in a hard line.
“What?”
Dad just shakes his head.
I watch him for another moment, my skin prickling. Dad rarely raises his voice in anger, and he’s already done it today with Jesse. Either the added stress of Linnea missing is pushing him over the edge, or something is going on.
The road narrows and dead ends in a large parking area framed by a split rail fence. It’s empty except for one other vehicle, a battered-looking SUV that could be a mirage thanks to its white color and the swirling snow. Even the faded trail sign looks blurry, like the storm is getting worse.
“There,” Dad says, pointing to the break in the fencing that serves as the entrance to the trail as he parks the truck. After snatching his binoculars from behind the seat, he jumps out. I hurry after him, balling my fists against the cold.
Henry and Zach pull in and park on the opposite side but I don’t look in their direction.
Dad’s strides are so long that I have to run to catch up. Just under the scrim of accumulating snow, I see what he noticed.
Tire tracks. Dad climbs the fence rails like a ladder and braces both shins against the top one for balance while he brings the binoculars to his eyes. I lower to the balls of my feet to get a better look at the tire tracks. I only see one tread, but I don’t know enough about tracking to know which direction they are going.
“See anything?” I call, my voice snatched by the wind.
Behind us, Henry’s truck doors slam, making me jolt.
Dad’s body is completely still as he slowly sweeps the landscape. He steps down and hands me the binoculars. “Keep looking. See if you spot the tracks up there.”
I take his place, hugging the top rung between my shins the same way, and lift the heavy glass to my eyes.
Footsteps approach but I don’t turn toward them.
“Rowdy, how can we help?” Henry asks, breathing hard.
Dad trots toward his rig. “I’m calling dispatch. We need to organize a search.”