Chapter Two
Wren
I’m not sure why I expected a heavy, dark sky with a rickety old cabin and a twisted apple tree out front, but this place is nothing like that. In fact, the entire scene is like something from one of those screensavers that pop onto my computer when I fire it up in the morning.
Tall green pines, a turquoise lake, and white-capped mountains that peak against the horizon. There’s even a storybook path between two large boulders that leads down toward the campsites and a little cabin store on the hill with a wood porch and an American flag blowing in the breeze.
The scene is so picturesque that it’s hard to believe anything shady goes down here. Maybe it doesn’t. Maybe I’ve got the wrong campground. I check my paper again, shaking my head in disbelief. Unless I’ve screwed up writing down the address, this is the place.
I turn down the path and slow the car as I drive down into the area where the campground sits.
The lot is wooded, with sites surrounded by trees to offer privacy to each camper, which people seem to appreciate because the place is nearly full.
Some folks have big, fancy RVs, while others are hunkered down in modest tents.
Most, already out by their campfire with a coffee in hand, offer a smile and a wave.
I haven’t been camping since I was a kid, but I still remember the feeling of an early morning fire.
The coolness in the air, the dancing flames, the crackling wood, the quiet serenity of rustling leaves and birds singing.
We were meant to wake up like that, not with our phones in our hands and a barrage of videos made by strangers meant to entice us into being better at something we didn’t even know we wanted to be good at.
Following a bend in the path and into a figure eight, I climb further up into the woods, passing campsite after campsite.
I wave and smile, focusing on the little flags and lights folks have strung.
Anything to keep my mind off the fact that I’m about to meet a strange man I don’t know from Adam to beg for help.
God, what am I doing? Maybe this is a mistake.
Not maybe.
This is a mistake.
I don’t need help. I need to accept that this is my life and live with the consequences of my actions.
I need to be honest with myself. There’s no escaping Zane Harlow.
Anyone who’s anyone knows that. He’s an enigma, a powerhouse, a caricature of an all-American guy, with a dark side no one would believe.
That, and his family has their hands in every pot the state of Colorado has. If he wants something, he gets it.
I grip the wheel tighter and turn down the country station that’s been crackling in and out for the last five minutes. The numbers nailed to the trees are climbing, and if there’s nothing to listen to, then I’ll obviously see better.
Four fifty-five… four fifty-six… four fifty-seven.
I slow to a crawl outside the site, and though I know I’m probably too scared to go through with any of this, I stare at the old green and white RV, wondering who’s inside.
This mountain is only so big, and I was raised in these woods, so there’s a high probability that I know whoever this is, or at the very least, I’ve seen him around.
I mean, he said his name is Tucker on the phone, but I assume that’s some sort of alias.
It’s a good one, too. I’d wager to say there’re dozens of Tuckers living up in the mountains.
I’m busy watching a bead of condensation slide down the back window and thinking about how anyone ever got the name Tucker, when the camper door flies open and a man in green flannel rolled to his elbows steps out, his breath visible in the crisp morning air.
His beard is trimmed short, but his hair is shoulder length and tucked behind his ears.
He’s graying, covered in ink, and I’d guess he’s in his mid-to-late forties.
How have I never heard of him before? Even out of towners roll into the diner every once in a while, and by noon the whole town knows every detail of what they were wearing that day. He’s definitely someone that the locals would be talking about.
I consider pressing on the gas and speeding away, but there are at least a hundred people camping right now. One scream and some sort of help would be on its way, right?
I’m not sure, but desperation pulls me from the car and across the gravel toward the giant as I say a tiny prayer in my head for myself and whatever it is I’m about to do.
“Mrs. Harlow?” The man reaches out a big, calloused hand for a shake, and my chest does this little squeeze thing it does whenever I see a big, burly man. Not because I’m into random burly men, but because they remind me of a man I used to know.
The only man I’ve ever really felt safe with. The only man I ever… yeah.
“Yup,” I say, swallowing down the lump in my throat, “that’s me. You must be Tucker?”
“Sure am. You can park right here. Long as you’re out of the road, you’ll be fine.”
“Thank you,” I say, chest loosening a little as I breathe in the fresh pine air. “I have to say, I’ve been a little nervous for this meeting.”
“That’s normal. You’re about to change your life, and change is scary as hell.
” He smiles and nods toward the pines as he wanders further into the campsite.
“Just so you know, this whole area is under twenty-four-hour surveillance. The feed only goes up to the cabins, where my buddies and I keep an eye on everything.”
I glance toward the man who towers over me, then up even higher at the little black cameras tucked away under various pine branches. “Umm… I thought this was private. I don’t want anyone knowing I’m here.”
He nods and brushes his hand down over his beard.
“I can assure you we take your privacy very seriously. If we didn’t, we wouldn’t be very good at what we do, which brings me to the second part of this.
I need to check you over for cameras, mics, the works.
I’m sorry, but it’s nonnegotiable.” He stands in front of me, his big, inked arms crossed over his chest as though he’s waiting for permission to strip me down.
“Really? Is that necessary? I’m—”
“It is.” He nods. “I’m sorry.”
I consider leaving again but my body moves as though it knows what I want before my brain does, and, without much thought, I’m setting my purse back into the car, stripping off the sherpa lined jacket I’ve been wearing before turning back to lean against my car, ready to be searched.
“I’m sorry,” he says again, starting beneath my arms for a quick pat-down. “We don’t take any chances. I hope you can understand.”
“I get it,” I say, flipping around so he can slide his big hands down over the front of me. There’s not a sexual thing about the way he’s touching me. In fact, the man is overly respectful. He stays away from my breasts, keeps his distance from my thighs, and goes around the curve of my ass.
He’s doing his best, but every touch reminds me of that guy… the one I don’t think about anymore. The one I never should’ve thought about to begin with. “I’m glad you’re being thorough. It’s very important no one finds out that I’m here.”
He drags his big hands down over my sides quickly, then lifts my hair to check around the back of my neck.
I’d never thought about someone hiding a camera in their hair before, but it’s good he’s thinking of everything.
“All set,” he says, an apologetic tone in his voice as he leads me toward two chairs set out by the campfire.
“That’s not how I prefer to begin an interaction.
Can I get you a cup of coffee? It’s been brewing over the fire all morning. ”
“No, thank you,” I say, settling down into the canvas rocker. “I’m laying off the caffeine lately. Are those cameras recording my voice too?”
He nods once and pours a cup of coffee for himself, the scent of wood smoke and caramelized sugars spreading through the air as he talks. “By default, but it’s not that great at picking up sound. It’s mostly there to alert us of intruders. If you don’t mind me asking, how did you hear about us?”
There’s a brief pause before I speak again, and I notice the creek babbling nearby.
“I found your card in a box a got from the bakery in town. I don’t know how it got there.
I thought it was an accident, so I called Josie and she explained who you were and what you did.
She said her cousin had to use your services, and that it was all quiet, so I should keep it that way. ”
He nods slowly, his gaze stuck on the fire before he glances toward me.
“The process of disappearing is a lot simpler than most people think. We’ll get some basic information from you, we’ll create a new identity, and we’ll hook you up with our mover, Atlas.
He’s a little rough around the edges, but the guy is built like a tank.
He’ll keep you safe and make sure you get settled into your new town. Do you have any money saved?”
My stomach tightens as the logs shift in the fire. “Ten grand. I know it’s not a lot, but I need out as soon as possible.”
“Ten is plenty to start over with, so long as you secure yourself a job immediately, but we can talk about all of that as this unfolds. You do realize that a relocation like this would involve completely severing with your old life, correct?”
I pause as the reality of what I’m about to do settles.
A complete severing.
My parents would always wonder what happened to me. I wouldn’t have my friend Tilly to complain to about everything. I’d lose my little online shop, and the few return customers I’ve found will wonder why I stopped making the fuzzy little creatures and cupcakes they seem to love so much.
I’d lose myself. I knew this when I sought out Tucker’s help, but the reality of it all is still alarming.
“That means you can’t call, email, or text anyone from your previous life. You’ll have a new identity completely. You can’t talk about the people you used to know. You can’t mention the places you used to live. You become a new person with a new story. Do you understand?”
I nod slowly. “I understand.”
“Great,” the man says, poking at the crackling fire. “Then let’s get down to business. What’s the reason for your relocation?”
The reason. The reason makes me sick. The reason is embarrassing. The reason is something I’ve only ever told one other person. That was seven years ago, and it ended with the big, burly man going to prison.
It was a lesson in keeping things to myself.
“My husband,” I pause, my heart pounding as I try to find the words. “My husband, ugh,” tears well in my eyes as a bird chirps above me in the tree, “is Zane Harlow.”
“Zane Harlow, as in the mayor of the Springs?”
I nod. “Yes. I’ve tried leaving multiple times, but he always finds me. And now,” I rub my hand over my stomach, “I need out.”
Tucker leans forward, his elbows balancing on his knees. “You’re pregnant?”
I nod slowly, his question cementing a reality that I haven’t said out loud yet.
“Five months. I’ve been hiding it from him, but it’s getting harder.
Soon, I’m going to be so big someone will notice.
I’ve already waited too long. I can’t risk my baby’s life too.
Zane’s family is massive and controlling.
He’s,” I glance up at the camera, “I need to start over. It’s the only way. ”
The man stares at me for a long moment, as though he’s thinking over every detail of what I’m saying. “Have you seen a doctor?”
“No, but I’ve been taking prenatal vitamins I got online.” I realize after I’ve told him about the medication that he’s not looking to make sure the baby is getting the proper nutrients. He’s trying to gather who else knows about the pregnancy. “I haven’t told anyone.”
“Good. We’ll make sure to get you started with a doctor after your relocation goes through.”
“When do you think that will be? Like I said, I’ve already waited way too long.”
The low growl of a truck rumbles loud enough that Tucker stops talking and waits for the noise to pass, though it doesn’t.
Whoever’s driving parks the jacked-up Chevy with dark tinted windows in the center of the road before one boot hits the gravel, then the other.
A second later, the truck door slams, and the man rounds the truck with purpose until he’s standing, arms crossed, looking straight at me.
My throat tightens, my mouth goes dry, and I’m pretty sure I’m hallucinating. That can’t be Father Anderson. No, my mind is playing tricks on me. It can’t be.
“Kade,” Tucker says, “calm down.”
One mention of his name and my chest squeezes until goosebumps swallow my arms. The memory of every moment Father Anderson and I ever spent together comes flooding back as I stare toward the inked-up priest I got far too close to.
The hunger in his eyes when he first saw me. The way we laughed together at the little cove by the lake. The thrill that went through me when our fingertips brushed together. The way his body felt pressed against mine. I’ve replayed those moments over and over again for nearly a decade.
I can’t breathe!
Oh my God, I can’t breathe!
He stands in the dirt, his gaze never leaving mine.
“Don’t do it, man. Let’s talk this out.” There’s hesitance in Tucker’s voice, but I don’t know why.
What is he going to do?
Kade doesn’t speak. He doesn’t say a single word. He only stomps toward me, lifts me onto his shoulder, and carries me away.