"Hunting, huh." Wade's tone makes it clear he doesn't believe me. "Hunting what, exactly?"
"I don't ask about his business." True enough, I suppose, because he really is hunting. Just not the bear I told Ellie. Dane is hunting a madman, and I'm not at liberty to discuss why.
He pulls out his phone and sets it on the table between us. On the screen is a news report—my face, my name, the word MISSING in bold letters. "You want to tell me who you really are?"
My mouth goes dry and the coffee suddenly tastes too bitter.
"I'm his sister. I told you that."
"You look an awful lot like this woman." He taps the screen. "Sloane Grady. Missing from New York City. Last seen October seventh at a nightclub in Manhattan. Authorities suspect foul play."
"Lots of people look similar." My hands are shaking, so I clasp them in my lap where he can't see. "I don't think I look anything like her. She has puffy cheeks, see?" I point out my round face on the image knowing I've lost several pounds from not eatingright out here and the stress that's eating me alive. "I guess you could say we look like we're related…" Faking this shit is worse than just telling the truth and letting the hatchet come down, but Dane is relying on me.
"So you're saying you're not Sloane Grady?"
"I'm saying I'm Sarah Strouse, Dane's sister." It doesn't feel right lying to a police officer and now it feels flimsy and transparent, like he's looking right through me. "I don't know who that woman is."
Wade leans forward, elbows on the table. "Here's the thing, Sarah. I've been a sheriff for twenty years. I know when people are lying to me."
"I'm not?—"
"You show up in my town the same week this woman goes missing. You're the right age, right build, right coloring. And your brother—who I've never fully bought as ex-military—suddenly has a sister nobody's ever heard of…" His voice is low, meant only for me. "So I'm going to ask you one more time. Who are you really?"
The diner has gone quiet. Or maybe it's just that all I can hear is my own pulse pounding in my ears. I'm trapped. If I admit I'm Sloane Grady, Wade will have questions I can't answer. If I maintain the lie, he'll dig deeper, and eventually, he'll find proof.
"I need to use the restroom," I stammer, starting to slide out of the booth, desperate to escape, to think, to figure out what to do.
Wade doesn't stop me, but his eyes follow as I stand. "Don't go far. We're not done talking."
I head toward the back, past the restrooms, past the kitchen. Ellie's at the counter now, watching the exchange with concern. I can't read her expression—sympathy, suspicion, curiosity, all of it mixed together, but I push through the back door into the alley behind the diner.
The snowmobile sits where I left it, covered in a light dusting of fresh snow, and I'm about to head for it when I hear engines.
Three black SUVs roll down Main Street too slowly for the speed limit. They're out of place here just like me, and too expensive for such a small town. The windows are tinted dark, and as they pass I can see men in suits through the windshields. These men aren't tourists or locals, and I get a wretched feeling in the pit of my stomach.
My blood turns to ice as I walk toward the snowmobile keeping my head down. I know exactly who that is and I know precisely why they're here. And now the anxiety I have about Dane being gone has turned to utter panic. Why are those men showing up and not him? Have they hurt him? Is he even coming back?
The snowmobile flies over the white landscape, engine screaming, and I pray I make it back before they figure out where I came from.
I was supposed to get coffee. That's all. Just coffee and a pastry and then back home.
But I've exposed us both and potentially put a target on our location. And Dane isn't here to protect me from them if they come after me and follow the snowmobile tracks.
The cabin appears ahead, and I've never been so relieved to see anything in my life. I kill the engine near the barn and run inside, slamming the door behind me and engaging every lock.Then I grab the shotgun and position myself by the window where I can see the driveway. My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my fingers and toes, and all I can think about is whether Dane is still alive.
If Cal Maddox just rocked up in Sutter's Gap and Dane is in New York, who's going to save me? And if he already killed Dane, does that mean there's no hope?
15
DANE
After three days of checking my old haunts and tracking Cal Maddox like the animal he is, I've all but given up. The city really is a jungle, and one I haven't hunted in years, so distant, the memory is, that I've called on the reinforcements I swore I didn't need. Jason plans to meet me now, and I'm hoping he can shed some light on this search because I can't go home to Sloane empty handed.
We meet at a diner in Brooklyn, the kind of place that serves breakfast all day and asks no questions about who you are or why you're there. Jason's already in a back booth when I arrive, stocky frame hunched over coffee. He sits with his back to the wall and his eyes locked on the exit because old habits die hard and just like me, he has scars only his defense mechanisms talk about.
"Barrett, what the fuck…" He stands to shake my hand and almost crushes my fingers in his firm grip. "You look good. Mountain life agrees with you."
"It did until recently." I slide into the booth across from him and take a load off. It feels good to rest for a moment knowing he can see over my shoulder for me. I forgot how tense I get having to watch my own six. "Thanks for meeting me."
