“It’s raining,” Amiya said. She edged closer, shielding him beneath the umbrella’s canopy. “In these conditions, you might not have seen what you thought you did.”
“I know what I saw. I saw a person running down there.” He pointed, his finger shaking. “What if they have my granddad?”
“Jesus, Nick, really?” Amiya said. “That’s ridiculous.”
“It would explain why he’s missing. He was unconscious before we wrecked and then when we woke up, he was gone. What if he didn’t wake up and leave on his own?” He stopped pointing, made a fist, and shook it. “What if someone took him?”
“Who would be out here, except for us?” she asked. “This is private property and it’s gated.”
“It’s a lot of land, so much undeveloped acreage that people could be living out here secretly, and my granddad might notknow it. Fences, gates can be easily climbed. There could be squatters here . . . drifters.”
He was standing so close to her that he could feel her sudden shiver, and the tremor passed through to him, too.
“The idea scares me,” she said. “But I have to agree it’s possible. Still, why take your grandfather and leave us alone? No one took my purse or your wallet.”
“We need to go find out,” he said. “I guess it’s a good thing you brought the rifle.”
“Hang on now. I’m not Calamity Jane. I’ve never shot anyone.”
“If someone is keeping my grandpa, I’ll gladly shoot them myself,” Nick said, and meant it. “Give me the gun.”
She unhooked the strap from around her shoulders and passed the firearm to him. He slipped on the strap, and, holding the rifle across his chest, he charged off without looking to confirm whether she was following him. It didn’t matter to him if she joined him or not. He was convinced of what he’d seen, and equally convinced that whoever he’d seen would have knowledge of Grandpa Lee.
If someone hurts my granddad, I’ll kill them.
He started at a brisk trot, damp grass swishing around his legs, shoes squishing through mud. Cold rain slanted into his eyes and trickled underneath the collar of his shirt. A few seconds later, Amiya caught up to him and put the umbrella over them.
He cast a sideways glance at her. “You believe me?”
She puffed out air. “I don’t know, but if you’re right, I’d never forgive myself for not doing everything I can to help.”
She kept up with him as they jogged. Soon, they reached the approximate area in which Nick thought he had spotted the intruder.
“Look, there’s a trail here.” He pointed with the barrel of the gun. A narrow, muddy path branched off the main lane and snaked deep into the woods. The forest was so dense in that area that he couldn’t view more than ten feet ahead. “I don’t see any signs of where this leads.”
“Have you ever been in this section?” Amiya asked.
“It’s almost funny that you ask, ’cause when I think about it, Grandpa Leeneverlet me wander back here without him. Ever. That was an ironclad rule of my visits: never go off alone. He would take me to the lake, but that was all I ever saw. All of this land around us is uncharted territory to me.”
“That’s not reassuring in the least.” She swept her gaze around warily and brought her attention back to the trail leading deeper in the wilderness.
Nick checked the rifle. Ready to rock.
“Stay behind me,” he said.
They followed the trail into the forest.
15
Amiya hadn’t truly accepted Nick’s story of seeing a stranger slip into the woods. She believed hethoughthe had spotted someone, but her experience in psychology had proven that people viewed the world through an imperfect lens. Emotion, faulty memory, bias, and environmental factors influenced perceptions. It was the exact reason why eyewitness testimony was often discounted in criminal trials.
So when they had traveled along the trail for several minutes, brushing past brambles and vines—and then discovered actual evidence that they weren’t alone, she found herself in the uncomfortable position of disbelieving her own eyes.
“What the . . . ?” Nick said, letting the sentence trail off unfinished.
Amiya, too, was silenced by what they’d found.
A makeshift campsite had been erected in a small clearing about twenty yards off the trail. A damp, tattered bedsheet had been tied between low-lying tree branches, providing a crude shelter. Raindrops escaped the tree canopy and beat a solemn cadence against the fabric.
