Chapter 28
LILY
Ikill the headlights a quarter mile from Turner's property line and coast the truck into a shallow ravine off the access road. The engine ticks as it cools. I sit in the darkness for three full minutes, listening.
Nothing but wind through scrub brush and the distant sound of cattle settling for the night.
I check my phone to make sure it’s on silent with the screen brightness turned to minimum.
I touch both my knives and zip up my jacket before I slip out of the truck and move through the darkness like I was taught.
I hear Wes’s voice low in my head. Low profile.
Minimal sound. Eyes constantly scanning for motion, for light, for anything that doesn't belong to the landscape.
Keeping to the shadows, I hurry up the dirt road that leads to the ranch.
I feel like I’ve been jogging forever when the main house finally comes into view.
It’s dark except for a single light on the second floor.
The barn structures are to the east, along with the equipment sheds and what looks like a newer metal building set back from the main compound.
It's the kind of operation that projects legitimacy, the kind of place where darkness hides in plain sight.
There are lights on around the metal building. Why? It’s got to be after midnight. I crouch behind a pine and study it. That's where Wes said the activity would be if Turner was moving product through here.
Product. The word makes my stomach turn. That's what they called us.
I push the thought down and start moving.
It takes me twenty minutes to reach a position on the ridgeline overlooking the compound. I hide behind a cluster of rocks and scrub pine, with clear sight lines to the main structures and the access road leading in from the highway.
I settle into position and wait. I’m overly warm from the jog up here, sweat starting to drip in my eyes, so I take my cap off to cool down, sticking it in my coat. I’ll put it back on before I head back.
Waiting is the hardest part. It's when the thoughts creep in—when I remember Mandy's face the last time I saw her, when I feel the phantom burn of the barcode being inked into my skin, when I hear the screams of the other girls in the cells next to ours.
I force my breathing to slow. Force my mind back to the present.
And then I see the headlights in the distance.
A large vehicle—panel van, maybe a box truck—turns off the highway and heads down the access road toward Turner's ranch. No running lights except the headlamps. Moving slow and deliberate.
My entire body goes still.
This is it.
The metal building's bay door rolls open as the vehicle approaches. More light spills out into the darkness—harsh fluorescent white that makes me squint even from this distance. I can see figures moving inside. Three, maybe four men.
The truck backs up to the loading bay and stops.
I watch as a man hops out of the truck and greets the other guys like it’s a party. There’s some backslapping, some laughter, and then they go inside the shed.
Are there people in the truck? I try to listen for shouts, or crying, but I don’t hear anything.
My hand goes to the knife on my thigh. Maybe if I got closer.
I’m about to move up when one of the men steps into the light. I recognize him immediately.
Patrick Kelly.
Talking to someone in the building, he gestures with the flashlight in his hand and points at the truck.
What does that mean? Are there girls in there after all?
My hand is on the knife again. My body is coiled to act. I want to act, but Mandy didn't die so I could throw my life away on a suicide run. She sacrificed herself so I could survive, so I’m not going to do something dumb here.
Kelly turns on the flashlight and sweeps the beam across the compound, casual, like a routine security check.
I flinch when the light edges closer than I expect.
The flashlight beam holds on something near the fence line. Too close. Maybe fifty yards from where I’m hunkered down.
Kelly takes out his phone. His voice carries in the cold night air. “Thought I saw movement. West ridge. Checking it out.”
Fuck.
He starts walking, not toward me exactly but close enough. The flashlight beam sweeps methodically—left, right, up the slope.
“Shit,” I mouth silently. I have maybe thirty seconds before that beam finds me.
I duck down. I can't run—movement will give me away instantly. I can't stay—the rocks and scrub pine won't hide me once he gets closer. I can't engage—he’s one man, but he’s mean, and I have no idea how many more are inside that metal shed.
Twenty seconds.
I ease backward, inch by agonizing inch. My boot catches on loose rock and I freeze, heart hammering so hard I'm sure he can hear it.
The flashlight beam slices through the night, closer.