Chapter Three
Dallas
She leans against her car, sizing me up. One of her shoes—that obviously has zero tread—slips out from under her and when she grips onto the side mirror to keep from falling, she winces in pain.
“It’s my wrist,” she says, gingerly holding it against her.
She’s hesitating, probably trying to decide if she wants to take her chances out here in the cold, or with a stranger who may or may not kill her for sport. I hold out the knife, sheathed in its leather casing. “Here. If it’ll make you feel better, take this.”
She ignores it and glances up and down the road. Surely she can see hers are the only tire tracks. Nobody travels this road unless they’re camping or fishing—neither of which will be happening tonight, or anytime soon based on that sky.
I put my knife away and extend my arms out to my sides, palms facing up. “Okay, fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. I’ll call for help when I make it home. But no promises. This snow is getting worse by the minute. The closest tow truck belongs to Luther O’Reilly in a town about thirty miles from here. And that assumes he’s reachable and isn’t pulling another half-dozen cars out of ditches. But whatever. Good luck.”
With that, I put my beanie on, then my hoodie and jacket, and I start walking away.
I’m not going to just leave her here. There are bears and other scary shit out in the woods, especially after dark. But she doesn’t know I’ll walk out of sight and give her the opportunity to either call out after me or follow.
After only a few steps, I hear a deep sigh that’s more like a frustrated huff. I get the idea Marti Carver does not like to give in easily.
“Fine,” she says, walking up behind me. Then she grabs my elbow to steady herself when she slips on the ice once more. “Shit.” She releases me when she finds her footing, her hands covering her face. “I did not plan for this.”
“Yeah, well, shit happens. Plans get ruined. Life throws curveballs.”
She studies me. “You say that like it’s from experience.”
I motion to her shoes. “Please tell me you have boots, or you’re going to lose some toes to frostbite.”
She shakes her head. “No boots. I’m from Florida, remember? But I have tennis shoes.”
“They’ll have to do. I’d suggest doubling or tripling up on socks. And if you don’t have gloves, bring an extra pair for your hands.” I take in her light jacket that can’t possibly be keeping the cold away. “And layers. Florida folks still wear hoodies, don’t they?”
She nods to the car. “I have a hoodie in my suitcase. Can we bring it?”
“The hoodie, yes. I’m not dragging a suitcase for five miles across snow-covered forest.”
I crawl through her passenger side and pop the trunk.
She opens her suitcase and rummages through it, getting everything she can find to keep her warm. She takes off the jacket, revealing a plain pink T-shirt that shows just how cold she is based on the stiffness of her nipples. I turn away. I shouldn’t be looking, for so many reasons.
When I turn back around, she’s traded her yoga pants for a pair of jeans and is wearing an FSU hoodie, the hood covering her long brown hair, the string pulled tight so only her face remains visible.
“Florida State, huh? You’re a Seminole?”
“That’s right. And you?”
“I’m a Bulldog.”
“You went to Georgia?”
I snort at the common mistake. “I’m the other Bulldog. Yale.”
Her eyes become dinner plates. “You went to Yale?”
“It’s not a big deal.”
She shrugs. “At least I know you’re a smart serial killer.”
I laugh. It’s super uncharacteristic of me to laugh these days and it feels… odd.
“Speaking of which”—she holds out her hand—“I think I’ll take that knife now. You know, in case we see a bear.”
“Sure thing. Just keep it in the holder.” I pass it to her, handle first. “You don’t want to slip and accidentally impale yourself.”
Sitting on the bumper, she carefully removes her flats, puts on three pairs of socks and then squeezes into her Nikes, loosening the laces to make room for the extra layers.
I look at the sky. It’s getting darker by the second. “We should get going.”
“My phone. I need it. It slipped off the seat along with everything in my purse when I hit the tree.”
“I’ll get it.”
I fish around under both seats and find it wedged between the passenger seat and the console. The screen is cracked, but it’s on. I shove it, and everything else I can find on the passenger floorboard, into her purse and hand it to her.
She adds a few more things from her suitcase into her purse then closes the trunk and locks the car.
I raise a questioning brow.
She eyes the huge hole in the windshield and says, “Habit.”
I thumb to the trees lining the road. “If we want to make it before dark, we’d better get a move on. Think you can keep up?”
“I ran a few 5Ks this year, so yeah.”
“Good. Tell me if you need me to slow down.”
She motions ahead. “Lead the way.”
She’s quiet as she trudges behind me. There’s really not that much to say. I’ve gotten used to not talking to anyone, so it really doesn’t bother me. After a few minutes though, I get the feeling she’s more uncomfortable with the silence than I am. Either that or she thinks I’m leading her to the slaughter. We are walking through a darkening forest.
“How do you even know the way?” she asks. “Everything looks the same.”
“I’ve lived here for several years. I’m always out running or hiking.” I point. “The Adirondacks are that way. Great for day hikes or camping.”
“As in mountains?” she asks, surprised.
“Yup. One wrong turn to the east and you’d have really been fucked.”
“As if I’m not now?”
I turn and give her a hard stare. “No, actually, you’re not. In fact, I’d say you’re pretty lucky I heard your horn or you very well could have frozen to death.”
She huffs out another frustrated breath. Why do I get the idea she does that a lot? “Fine. But I’m sure you’ll understand that I’m withholding any heartfelt thank yous until I’m sure you aren’t going to put me down a hole and make me rub lotion all over my skin.”
I stop walking and double over in laughter. She really is a piece of work. “You watch too much TV, Marti Carver.”
“Yeah, well, maybe you’re a bit too trusting, Dallas, uh… what’s your last name again?”
“Montana. And is there a reason I shouldn’t trust someone who clearly needed help?”
“I suppose not. It’s just, in this day and age, so many people are—” She chews the inner part of her cheek, searching for a word.
“Disingenuous?” I ask.
“Exactly.” She stares straight into my eyes. “Please don’t be one of those people. My life is literally in your hands.”
“You’re safe with me. I promise. Now, let’s pick up the pace. This snow is coming down faster than I anticipated.”
She looks through a break in the trees, up at the gray sky that is barely light enough for us to see where we’re going. Then she shuffles forward quickly and walks by my side instead of behind me.
My life is literally in your hands . The words repeat over and over in my head. If she only knew how bad I am at saving those who need it, she might have taken her chances in her car.
Phoebe’s and DJ’s faces flash in front of my eyes. I blink over and over. It’s just not fair that I was there to help Marti—a total stranger—and I couldn’t do a goddamn thing to save my own family.
“It’s not that much farther,” I say, walking faster. But no matter how fast I walk, I can’t seem to get away from the memories.