Prologue
COLLINS
“Thank you so, so much,” Natalie, one of my coworkers, says when she comes into the room dressed for her shift. “You have no idea how much it meant to me and my kiddo.”
I get up from the couch and stretch, my body achy from being at work for so long. “Don’t mention it.” The room is quiet as most of the guys on shift are lying down on their beds, waiting for the calls to come in.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to take your shift?” Natalie asks. “I don’t mind.”
I think about it for a second, but I know the extra money will be good. I could probably do a little bit of renovation at home. Maybe even buy some patio furniture so I can sit out there when I am actually home.
“I should be fine to replace you at nine,” I tell her. “I have the weekend off, I can always catch up on my sleep then.”
“Yeah,” she says, “unless you take someone else’s shift.” She laughs at me, knowing that if I have a weekend off, I usually only take one day and try to get the extra shift. I’ve worked hard my whole life to get where I am, and I still just barely have my head above the water.
“I’ll see you soon, I guess.” I walk out of the common area and head toward the bathrooms on the second floor.
Opening my locker, I think about not changing out of my paramedic uniform but know I’ll feel better if I do.
I peel the thick blue cargo pants off and fold them up before sliding on my jean shorts, then unbutton the matching blue shirt before putting on my white tank top.
I walk out of the bathroom with my uniform folded in my hand and put it in my big bag to take home and wash.
I walk out of the station, waving at a couple of the guys from the fire crew sitting outside, enjoying the nice warm night.
It’s that time of year when it’s not hot and muggy yet, so I think everyone is taking advantage of it.
“Drive safe, Collins,” Hudson, the lieutenant fireman, says to me, and I nod at him with a smile.
“Will do.” I throw my bag over my shoulder as I make my way to my Honda Civic. It’s the first car I’ve ever driven. I was lucky that Brock, the local mechanic in town, took payments, so I was able to buy it.
Opening the door, the heat from the day seeps out as I start the car and open the windows right away. I pull out of the parking lot, waving once more at the guys sitting outside.
I drive down Main Street. The local bar, Thatcher’s, is the only thing still open.
The music seeps out to the street from the open doors.
It’s packed for a random Wednesday. It’s the only bar in Montgavin, and where both locals and visitors hang out—they have a special with most of the bed-and-breakfasts in town.
I pull up to the stop sign before turning to head onto the highway.
I’m listening to nothing but the wind filling the car as I drive.
I don’t normally turn the radio on after my shifts, instead taking the twenty-five-minute drive home to decompress from the day.
It’s especially helpful since I just worked an eighteen-hour shift.
I am practically dead on my feet when the sound of clunking reverberates through the car. I immediately pull over.
“Please tell me this isn’t happening,” I mutter to myself before getting out of the car. I grab my phone and turn the flashlight on. I don’t have to take more than a couple steps before I inwardly groan. My front tire is very flat.
My long day just got even fucking longer.
A field of corn stands behind me, and across the road, five farmhouses are spaced out, windows dark—no one is up.
“Why me,” I mumble for a good ten minutes before trying to pull up at least three do-it-yourself videos on changing a tire.
The first thing they tell you to do is to get your spare out.
I close my eyes before going back to my car door and pulling the latch open to unlock the trunk.
I think I’m holding my breath at the same time, hoping like fuck I have a spare tire.
If I don’t, I’m probably going to have to call a cab to come get me and leave my car here until tomorrow.
I move the bags in the car and pull up the felt cover, revealing the tire with the jack.
“Yes!” I have a mini celebration, thinking I won the jackpot.
“Okay, so step one is done.” I put my phone in my back pocket before I take the jack out and then haul out the tire, practically spraining my back doing it.
I’m trying to figure out where to place the jack when headlights come toward me.
I move onto the side of the road, out of the way, in case they can’t see me.
I’ve been a paramedic for a long time, and I’ve seen the accidents from being hit by a car.
I wait for them to drive past me. What I’m not prepared for is for the truck to stop in the middle of the road.
The passenger-side window rolls down. “Hey, need a hand?” It’s a man’s voice, but I can’t really see him from here, and in the darkness, I’m not about to get closer.
My head screams to tell him no, but then I think if I don’t say yes, I’ll be out here for hours and hours. “Depends,” I answer him, “are you a murderer?” I’m waiting for him to immediately deny it, but instead, he laughs.
“Not that I know of.”
“Well, that’s not a no”—I walk to the front of my car and look down at the flat tire—“but it’s not a yes either.”
“How is this? How about you wait in my truck?” he offers. I tilt my head to the side. “If anything is off, you can leave me here, take off with my truck and the four good wheels that I have.”
“Hmm.” I know the only other option is to call my rig partner, Roman, which would suck since he has to be at work in four hours.
Maybe I could call one of the guys at the station instead.
While I’m thinking, his truck starts to move, and he pulls over and parks right in front of my car.
The door opens, one booted foot comes out, and then the other.
In the glare from the lights on his truck, all I see is his silhouette as he walks toward me.
Only when he’s standing in front of me am I able to take him in.
And what a fucking sight he is. His face is rugged, his hair cut really short.
I immediately think he is, or was, a military man.
“Hi,” I say, trying not to gawk at him too much. His eyes are a dark brown, maybe even blue, but I can’t tell in this light. He is wearing a light-green T-shirt with a pair of black jeans.
“Hi.” He smiles at me. “I’m Theo Williams.” He holds out his hand for me, and all I can do is look at it and then back at his face. “Would a serial killer introduce himself to you and give you his full name?”
“Yes.” I nod my head. “That is the first thing they would do.”
He laughs again and this time I can’t help but laugh too. “Well, then forget I told you my name.” He goes over to the front of my car and crouches down in front of it, picking up the jack. “Do you have a lug wrench?”
“Um.” I squat down beside him. “Are you playing with me?”
He smirks. “Not playing with you. It’s going to be easier to take the tire off if we remove the lug nuts.”
“Wait a second.” I get back up and move away from him. “Is this when you tell me to go and look in the trunk for it, and then you hit me over the head and murder me?”
He stands. “I’ll get it, and you can watch me.”
“That doesn’t make it better,” I retort as he walks to my trunk. “You could use it to knock me out.”
“Let me guess,” he leans into the trunk and comes out with the tool in his hand, “you watch murder mysteries.”
“I’m neither confirming nor denying that. But I will say I’m probably seven steps ahead of you if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I’m going to take that as a yes then.” The musk of his aftershave floats past as he walks by me and kneels down again next to the tire. I make my way back to his side gingerly, squatting down beside him, and only when he finishes loosening the lug nuts do I speak.
“I’m Collins,” I finally tell him.
He looks over at me. “It’s nice to meet you, Collins.” He uses his jeans to dust off his hand before putting it out to me, and this time I shake it, not knowing this handshake will change my life.