Chapter Seventeen
Zoe waited until darkness fell.
Then she went to him.
She drove to the rural route that wound through foothills at the base of the mountain, where homes stretched out along the country road.
She passed a mailbox every half mile or so.
No overcrowding out here. Most people would love the open space, but to Zoe, the vastness felt overwhelmingly lonely and isolated.
His house was just a few miles from the cabin, but the winding mountain switchbacks made for slow progress.
Stopping just short of her destination, she pulled over onto the shoulder on the other side of the road, then turned the steering wheel and backed the van deep into the shadow of huge oak trees.
She couldn’t take the chance of pulling into the driveway.
Though she couldn’t see anyone nearby, someone could be watching.
She lowered the window an inch and listened.
An owl hooted. Wind rustled the branches overhead.
A small creature moved through the foliage, unleashing a barrage of acorns onto her vehicle’s roof.
An engine approached. Her vehicle should be concealed, but Zoe slid down in her seat until her head was below the window opening anyway.
She held her breath until the vehicle passed by.
After the engine sound faded, she counted to ten, then straightened.
The night was once again quiet except for the sounds of nature.
But the passing vehicle had increased her anxiety. No one could see her in the trees, but she’d have to cross an acre of open ground to get to the house.
She waited another half hour, listening for sounds of more traffic.
It was nearly midnight when she finally checked her pockets, where she’d stashed a few necessities: lockpick, bear spray, binoculars, flashlight.
Then she turned off the interior dome light and slid out of her vehicle, softly closing the door and bumping it with her hip rather than slamming it.
Standing at the edge of the trees, she lifted the binoculars to her eyes and stared across the road. The house was one story and small. A light mounted over the front door cast a dirty yellow pool of light on the cracked concrete stoop. The yard was still and silent.
She wore a black knit hat to cover her blond hair. Her yoga pants and sweatshirt were also black. But her dark clothes were meant to blend into the shadows, and tonight’s moon shone like a golden fucking beacon. Where was the storm front the weather app had promised was on the way?
Best to move fast.
She ran in a low crouch to a tall pine tree at the edge of the front yard. She stopped, peering around the trunk, sizing up the situation.
A chain-link fence enclosed a small yard behind the house.
All the windows were dark except one at the back of the house, where dim light flickered.
Had he fallen asleep with the TV on? Had he been waiting for her?
A memory surfaced with the gasp of a struggling swimmer in choppy water.
She resisted the pull of the past. She envisioned last night’s text: Need to see you.
Why? Why would he want to see her? They’d agreed that being together was too risky. What had changed? He had to have a good reason to put them both in jeopardy. Not a good reason—she had no doubt the reason was terrible.
She hadn’t answered his text, hadn’t acknowledged his message, hadn’t arranged a time or place. On the outside chance that someone was monitoring his phone, she wouldn’t give meeting details. She’d just show up randomly.
But it wasn’t really random, was it?
He’d expect her to come, as long as she’d received his message.
She’d never given him the location of her safe house, though he knew her well enough that he might be able to find her.
But he wouldn’t try. Because not knowing where she was made her safer, and he worried more about her than he did for himself.
He made no effort at all to hide his own location.
This location.
Where anyone could find him.
Where the one person she didn’t want to see undoubtedly knew he lived.
Under her sweatshirt, goose bumps rippled up her arms. She should have answered the text. Should have suggested a neutral rendezvous point. It was too late now.
But then, she always thought of the best response when it was too late.
She raised her binoculars and surveyed the house. She didn’t see any cameras mounted under the eaves. That didn’t mean there weren’t any. But unlike her, he had always seemed resigned to their fate should this moment ever come to fruition. He hadn’t bothered to take a single precaution.
She stole to the window with the flickering light, but sheer blinds covered the glass.
Peering over the sill, she squinted through a half-inch gap at the bottom of the blind.
She could see a slice of the room, a dresser with a TV on it, a dark doorway, and a few square feet of blank wall.
She headed for the back of the house and tripped over a tree root.
An oomph escaped her lips as she went down on her knees, pain bursting through her legs.
From behind the house, dog tags jingled.
An animal breathed heavily. Zoe scanned the fence line.
The shadow of a dog stood at the gate. The animal raised its head and sniffed the air, then burst into a chorus of piercing barks that sounded as loud as a siren.
It was a good thing no one was close enough to hear it.
She held still for a few minutes. The dog did not settle.
It continued to growl and race along the fence.
Would he know that she was here? Or did the dog bark often enough at wind and wildlife that he ignored it?
The grass was a basic square with no flowers, trees, or ornamental bushes.
Rust and mold streaked the concrete walkway that led to the front door.
She crossed to it on silent sneakers. She could still hear the dog moving behind the fence.
Normally, she would have knocked on the back door.
But the dog necessitated she use the main entrance.
At least there were no neighbors to see her.
She hadn’t even seen a car pass by after that one vehicle.
Moonlight reflected on the glass panes alongside the door.
She cupped her hands over her face and tried to look inside, but sheer blinds blocked her view.
Zoe turned the doorknob. It offered no resistance. Unlocked. Her heart skipped.
Did people in the country still leave their doors unlocked? Why on earth would he, knowing who was out there? Or had he left it open for her?
Pulse thrumming, she pushed open the door a few inches and poked her head through the gap.
The interior of the house was too dark to see anything except the basic shapes of the furniture: a couch, a chair, a few tables.
The floorboards squeaked as she walked through the room, then she stood still to get her bearings. She’d never been in this house before.
From the living room, a hallway led toward the back of the house.
She could see an eat-in kitchen with glass doors behind a breakfast area.
A night-light was plugged into the wall.
The dog was at the back door, furiously barking.
It stood on its hind legs and dug at the glass door, rattling the slider in its tracks.
Midway down the hall, another corridor led to what she assumed were the bedrooms. Nerves prickled the back of her neck. If he was asleep, surely the barking would have woken him. Unless he was so accustomed to hearing it that he slept right through it.
She ducked into the kitchen—empty—then tiptoed down the corridor toward the bedrooms.
Dread gathered in her belly until her insides cramped. Maybe he wasn’t home. The house felt empty. That would explain why the dog was locked out. Knowing him, if he were here, it would be curled up in his bed with him. It was a nice night, though. Some dogs liked to be outside.
But where would he be in the middle of the night? He could have a girlfriend. He could have gone out. Plenty of possibilities. Yet she didn’t believe any of them. He wouldn’t have gone out after asking to see her. Maybe he worked the graveyard shift . . .
Yes, that was plausible. He’d always been a night person.
Yet her pulse accelerated and sweat dampened the waistband of her pants.
The house didn’t just feel empty. It felt wrong in a way she couldn’t articulate.
Wrong in a way that made her feet continue down the hallway.
Three of the four doors stood open. She peered into the first room: a home office.
The second room was empty except for a pile of boxes in the corner. The next room was a bathroom. Empty.
The fourth door loomed at the end of the hall.
She didn’t need the floor plan to know this would be the primary bedroom.
Fear tightened her chest, but she couldn’t stop moving forward.
Anxiety compelled her to continue. Worry overrode her terror and she opened the door.
Sheer blinds covered the windows, dimming the moonlight.
She stood in the doorway, eyes adjusting, forms gradually taking shape.
Outside the dog began barking again. But Zoe barely heard it through the rush of blood in her ears. A scream built in a crescendo and burst from her lips as the terror took over.