Twenty minutes later, they pulled into a run-down gas station that looked like it hadn’t been updated since the eighties. Faded beer signs flickered in the windows, and weeds pushed through cracks in the concrete.
“I need to use the bathroom,” Amy said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Scar-face turned in the passenger seat, his cold eyes meeting hers in the rearview mirror. “You say one word—one single word—to anybody in there, and everyone in that gas station dies. You understand me?”
The casual way he said it, like he was discussing the weather, made Amy’s blood freeze. She nodded, not trusting her voice.
“Good girl.”
The bathroom was a nightmare of cracked tile and flickering fluorescent lights, but Amy had never been so grateful for a locked door. Her hands shook as she gripped the sink, staring at her reflection. Her hair was a mess, her mascara smudged, but her eyes … her eyes looked like a stranger’s. Wild. Desperate.
Please, God,she whispered, closing her eyes.Please help me find a way out of this. Help Nash find me.The prayer felt inadequate, but it was all she had.
The door creaked open behind her, and Amy spun around, her heart in her throat. An older woman with silver hair and kind eyes stepped in, then froze when she saw her.
“Oh, honey,” she said softly, taking in Amy’s appearance. “Are you okay?”
For a split second, Amy almost broke. Almost threw herself into this stranger’s arms and sobbed out everything. But then she remembered the threat, remembered those cold eyes in the mirror.
“I—” Amy’s voice cracked. “Can I … can I use your phone?”
She didn’t hesitate, pulling an old flip phone from her purse. “Of course, dear.”
Amy’s fingers hovered over the keypad. Nash’s number. She’d called it a thousand times, but her mind was blank with panic. Nothing. She couldn’t remember a single digit.
“You comin’?” The voice echoed through the thin bathroom door, making both women jump.
The older woman’s eyes widened with fear, and she took a step back. Amy pressed her finger to her lips, then grabbed the phone from her hands. Her fingers flew over the keys:Help. Please contact the Cross Creek Ranch and tell them that you just met Amy and she is headed to Windsong Reservation.
Amy handed the phone back to her, her hands shaking so badly she nearly dropped it. “Please,” she whispered.
The woman nodded, her face pale but determined. “I will, honey. I promise.”
The door rattled. “Let’s go!”
Amy squeezed the woman’s hand once, then forced herself to walk back out into the nightmare waiting for her.
CHAPTER 24
The convoy of vehicles pulled up the gravel drive—trucks and SUVs creating a dust cloud that would have made their father proud. Nash barely registered the familiar sight of the main house with its wraparound porch, the barn where he’d learned to ride, the corrals where they’d worked cattle every summer of his childhood.
All he could think about was Amy.
“Nash.” Porter’s voice cut through his spiraling thoughts. “Come on. Office. Now.”
Nash followed his oldest brother into the ranch office, a room that had been their father’s domain and now served as Porter’s command center for running the Cross Creek operation.
Maps covered one wall—topographical surveys, property lines, and water rights documentation spanning back to when their great-grandfather first claimed this land.
Porter was already pulling out the historical property maps, spreading them across the massive oak desk their father had built with his own hands. The desk was scarred from years of use, marked with coffee rings and the occasional gouge fromwhen one of the brothers had gotten too enthusiastic with a pen or letter opener.
“Put down what Amy left,” Porter said, his voice carrying that authoritative tone Nash remembered from childhood—the voice that could settle any argument between brothers with just a few words.
Even though all of them had taken turns looking at it on the way here, Nash had hoarded it a bit. It was all he had of her.
Nash’s hands shook slightly as he unfolded the piece of map Amy had torn off and hidden in the boat cushion. The fragment was small, maybe three inches square, but it showed a detailed section with symbols and geographical markings.
“There,” Nash said, pointing to a distinctive rock formation marked on Amy’s fragment. “That’s Eagle’s Peak, isn’t it?”
