Chapter 12
Hannah
Istare at him.
The worst part is how badly I want to give it to him.
Before I can figure out what to do with it, my phone vibrates again.
Then again.
I glance down.
Three more messages.
A news alert.
An email.
“I should get my laptop...” I thumb toward the door.
“Of course.” Torin nods.
My heart is hammering as I hurry back inside and flip open the lid. I enter my password and connect to the network. Torin moves around the kitchen behind me. A cupboard opens, mugs clink against the counter, and a moment later the gas burner catches.
I start with the news.
Every local station has picked it up. A couple of national websites have, too.
Sheriff Appeals for Help Finding Missing Daughter.
Concern Grows for Missing Woman.
Family Begs Public to Come Forward.
Different headlines, same story. A vulnerable young woman. A worried father. A desperate search.
I click the first one. Dad’s face fills the screen. I close it before the video starts and open another.
His face again.
They’re all pulling from the same interview.
I keep going, looking for something else. A contradiction. A skeptical reporter. Someone asking why a twenty-four-year-old woman might be hiding from her own father.
Not one person questions his version of events.
I open the comments.
Big mistake.
Praying she gets home safe.
That poor father.
Mental illness is heartbreaking.
I slam the laptop shut.
I sit there staring at the lid. He got there first. Of course he did.
A few seconds later, I open it again.
Fine.
If the local press won’t question him, I’ll find someone who will.
I start searching. Investigative journalists. National newspapers. Reporters who’ve covered police corruption. Podcasts with audiences big enough that Dad can’t make them disappear with a phone call.
A name catches my eye. I open her website and scan a list of investigations into police misconduct. There. I find the contact page and start an email.
My name is Hannah Hayes. My father is Sheriff—
I stop. How the hell am I supposed to explain this? I delete the sentence and open another tab instead. Another journalist, another contact page. Then another.
“Hannah.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“I didn’t say you didn’t.”
I glance at Torin.
He’s standing on the other side of the table, watching me.
“I have evidence,” I say. “Recordings. Documents. Enough that if I can get the right person to look at it, they’ll know he’s lying.”
“I believe you.”
“Believing me isn’t enough.”
“I know.”
I turn back to the screen.
There’s a national paper with an anonymous tip line. I open that too.
“How many people are you going to contact?” Torin asks.
“As many as it takes.”
He’s quiet.
I find another reporter who covers police misconduct and add her to the growing row of tabs.
“You don’t have to fix all of this right now,” Torin says.
My hands stop over the keyboard.
“Yes, I do.”
“Why?”
“Because look what happens when I don’t.”
I turn the laptop toward him.
Dad’s face stares back at us from three different pages.
“He gets there first. He tells everybody what happened, and then that becomes the truth.”
Torin pulls out the chair beside me.
“I spent years waiting for someone to see what he was like,” I say. “Waiting for him to go too far in front of the wrong person. Waiting for somebody to believe me.”
My throat tightens. “Nobody did.”
Torin says nothing.
“So, I stopped waiting. I started recording things. Keeping copies. Planning how to get out. Every single day, I did something.”
I look down at the screen. “Because if I stopped, he won.”
Torin reaches over and closes the laptop.
I look at him.
“I’m not asking you to stop.”
“Then why did you just—”
“I’m asking you to stop doing it on your own.”
That shuts me up.
“What does that even mean?”
His hand stays on the laptop between us. “For a start? I think we need to get you out of here.”
I blink. “Out of the cabin?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because your father just put your face all over the news. I don’t know if he can find this place, but I’m not betting your life on it.”
The thought makes my stomach tighten. “So where am I supposed to go?”
“Come back to the lodge with me.”
I stare at him. “You mean stay there?”
“Yeah. With me.”
“Torin, I don’t know how long this is going to take.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“It could be weeks.”
“Then stay for weeks.”
He says it so easily that I just stare at him.
Weeks. Living with Torin.
After last night, I can think of at least one complication.
“What about Orson? Yesterday was awkward enough when I was only visiting.”
“He feels guilty because he put your truck into a tree. He’ll get over it.”
“That’s easy for you to say.”
“He wants you safe too.”
I fold my arms. “Torin, my father has just recruited half the state to look for me. If I move in with you, I’m putting you and Orson right in the middle of this.”
“I’ve thought about that.”
“And?”
“I still want you there.”
“I could stay here and you could just check on me.”
“No.”
The answer comes so fast I almost laugh.
“Very diplomatic.”
“I can try again if you want. Still gonna be no.”
“I can’t be here all the time, Hannah. At the lodge, there are two of us. Orson and I know every trail and logging road on this mountain. If somebody comes looking for you, we’ve got a much better chance of knowing about it before they get anywhere near you.”
I look around the cabin. Before, it felt hidden. Now it just feels isolated.
Torin’s voice is quieter when he speaks again. “I’m not leaving you up here alone.”
I look at him.
“Come stay with me.”
I go still.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll come.”
Relief flickers across Torin’s face. “Okay. Go pack.”
I duck into the bedroom and unzip my backpack. There isn’t much to pack—a couple of changes of clothes, my toiletries, my laptop. The files I’ve carried with me ever since I left home.
I hesitate before slipping it carefully inside.
When I step back into the main room, every cupboard door stands open. The boxes Torin brought yesterday are lined up by the front door, already filled with pasta, rice, coffee and tins from the shelves.
He glances up from the fridge, where he’s pulling out the perishables. “All set?”
“Yeah.” I pass a hand across my forehead. “I guess so.”
His expression softens and he crosses over to me. “What is it?”
“I don’t know. I…” I look around the little cabin. “I guess it feels weird to be leaving so soon. This place had kind of been the light at the end of the tunnel for me. I kept thinking, if I can just get here...”
My voice trails away.
“...I’ll be safe.”
He follows my gaze around the cabin. “It did keep you safe.”
I look at him.
“It got you this far.”
A lump rises in my throat.
“I guess I thought…” I shake my head. “Once I got here, I could stop running.”
His eyes soften.
“I know.”
“But you’re not running because you picked the wrong place.”
I frown.
“You’re running because your father’s still chasing you.”
I swallow. “So, what if he never stops?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reaches for one of the canvas bags by the door.
“Then we’ll deal with whatever comes next.”
The words are so matter of fact that they steal my breath.
We’ll.
He tucks one box under his arm and reaches for another. “Come on,” he says quietly. “Let’s go.”
I lock the door and put the key back where I found it, then I climb into the truck.
As we pull away, I twist in my seat for one last look. The cabin disappears behind the trees almost immediately.
Just like that.
I let out a slow breath and face the road ahead. The forest slips past in flashes of green and gold.
I’m going to be living with Torin now. Sleeping under his roof.
With every minute the flutters in my stomach grow.