HUDSON
My phone alert wakes me with a start, and I notice several things at once. Willow’s not in the bed, a door somewhere is open and letting in cold air and birdsong, and there’s the screech of tires heading away from the cabin.
“Willow!”
I call to her as I thunder down the ladder. She’s not in the cabin, and the door swings open, the chill breeze hitting my bare legs. I’m buck naked as I race outside and catch the tail end of a vehicle disappearing around the corner.
My pickup. The perimeter was breached by Willow leaving, not someone arriving. She bolted. After what we shared last night, she still left.
I race inside, and the phone’s gone from where I left it charging.
Written on the table in bright blue crayon is a note.
Sorry, I have to do this my way.
Her way? It doesn’t make sense.
Next to the note is the laptop, which is open and showing Willow’s email. I see a video playing on loop and watch as I sink into a chair.
They found Tyler, and instead of waking me, Willow has gone to fix this herself. But she won’t fix it. There will never be just one more run for her. She must see that.
“Fuck.”
I run a hand through my hair. Willow has broken her parole by being here, and if she gets caught with illegal goods a second time, it’ll be jail time for her.
I was trying to get the Street Kings put away without getting her involved, but she’s taken the bait, and now she’s heading God knows where to break the law.
If I help her now, I’ll be aiding and abetting.
I run a hand over my stubble. There’s no choice. Of course, I’ll help Willow. I’ll break all the damn laws in the state to keep her safe.
But she’s taken my phone and my car, and I’m left stranded at the cabin buck naked.
I fire off a quick email to Marcus, hoping he’s awake this early to get it, and forward him the email with the video along with a request for a helicopter.
In the meantime, I grab a cloth and wipe the crayon off the table.
25
WILLOW
When I’m five minutes out from the address Mani texted me, I pull off at the side of the road. I huff out a deep breath as I open the phone I took from Hudson. There’s a recording app installed, and I set it to record. “Testing,” I say into the mic.
My floaty floral dress has hidden pockets, though you wouldn’t know from looking at it because they’re set into the seam on the side. Slipping the phone into my pocket, I speak again.
When I play it back, my voice is quiet but distinct enough to be used for evidence.
I turn the recording app on and slip my phone back in my pocket, then drive to the address.
It’s a parking lot on the side of the mountain road. Wooden markers direct hikers to walking trails and paths that lead into the woods. A black SUV and a small sports car are parked together, and I pull up behind them.
I don’t risk taking a photo as I slip out of the car. My heart’s racing as a man in black jeans and dark sunglasses steps forward.
“Are you Willow?” he asks.
I lick my lips thinking about the phone recording in my pocket. If it’s going to be of any use, I need names and confessions.
“Do you work for Mani?”
