Ideally, I’d rather be in another country. I need to get as far away from Seattle as I can, and a small town in Montana isn’t going to cut it for long. Although, it might be the perfect place to hide out during the late summer and fall months while I save up.
Who looks at small towns anyway? I doubt they have accurate records of literally anything.Callum won’t find me here.
I squint at the old, worn-down sign that reads “Thornton Farm” and let out a sigh. It has to be pushing eleven p.m. already, it’s fucking raining outside,andI just spent the last two hours lost in this godforsaken town. There’s no cell service outhere, and it’s pitch-black outside. Every road and cornfield looks the same. I never thought I’d end up in the thick of farming town, but sometimes life takes you to strange places.
My fingertips drum against the steering wheel. If not for my fear of Callum discovering I’m still alive, I never would’ve agreed to this. I know it’s an irrational fear, but what’s that saying about it being a small world and Murphy’s Law? If something can go wrong, it certainly will go wrong. It doesn’t help that his work was in hacking into security systems and surveillance. I never knew exactly what it was he did, but I knew it involved finding people.
I’m a city girl, always have been and always will be. In fact, I’ve never set foot outside of Seattle. Why would I when the city has everything a girl could need? The thought never even crossed my mind to live out here in the countryside long-term, yet something deep inside my chest warms at the change in environment.
But I have a plan: Sell as much shit as I can. Get the money for a plane ticket. Leave and never look back. Then I won’t have the looming fear of running into Callum.
No one would even know I’m gone…because there’s no one left to look.
A small voice in my head nags that it will be worth the risk of staying in one place for at least a month or two, but I doubt I’ll find anything of too much value in my uncle’s things. This entire property is in shambles, at least that’s what I can make out in the dark.
The attorney was clear: The entire property has to be cleaned up before I can sell it. I’m hoping this takes a few months at most, but from what I see in the dark, it might take much longer. I groan and press the palm of my hand to my forehead.
From the attorney’s notes, it didn’t sound like there were any animals, just crops, which is a fucking blessing. From whatI know, there’s a ranch hand that helped my uncle manage the property, so I’ll get him to help as much as he can. I’m hoping he takes IOUs because there’s no way I can pay him for labor until I sell the place.
My frown grows the farther down the driveway I get. The wooden fence posts are sagging in their centers from rot, the dirt road is overgrown with weeds and grass, and the house at the end of the driveway could literally be haunted. Its chipped paint and warped siding give it a foreboding look that screamsrun. Gray, long-worn deck planks don’t add any charm either.
Is this where I’m going to be trapped for the foreseeable future? I groan and purse my lips.
I could kick myself for being so naïve. Why did I believe for a second that my uncle could be secretly rich? A farm shouldn’t be this much work to fix. What the hell was he doing all this time? What did he even farm?
It doesn’t matter.I sigh my frustration. I’m already here, and I can’t change that. There’s nowhere else for me to go, and I can’t keep sleeping in my car or at motels. I’m already low on cash as it is. At least it’s a free place to stay. Technically it’s my place now. My nose wrinkles at the thought. I’ve never really had a home; this farm will be no different.
What’s that?
Red taillights from another vehicle come into view as I pull up closer to the house. My brows arch and my stomach twists with uncertainty. Why is there a car parked out here in bum-fuck-nowhere at this time of night? The driveway alone is so long that I couldn’t even see the lights until I was almost at the end.
I lock the doors to my Jeep and slow to a crawl as I gradually enter the round parking area by the front porch.
Just my luck… Is this person casing my uncle’s house?
Mr. Holland, Uncle Thornton’s estate attorney, warned me that there might be some interest from the townsfolk since it’ssuch a small community, but I assumed if they were really that nosy, they would just come during the day and not so late at night.
The vehicle is a blacked-out Mercedes-Benz and is still running. There’s no telling if the person is already outside of the car and scoping out the house or if they’re sitting in the driver’s seat. I drive slowly around it, reluctant to stop and put myself in danger. I’ve watched way too much true crime, and I’m not about to get myself killed by confronting whoever this person is.
I slide my phone out of my pocket and check to see if I have a signal. My hopes aren’t high, since I’ve been without one for hours now. Who knew you’d need to worry about dead zones nowadays? I’m completely out of my element.
My phone’s battery symbol is red, as it’s been searching for a signal this entire time.No bars. Great, I can’t even call the local police. That’s lovely, now what?
The black SUV is ominous, idling as if someone is inside staring back at me. I consider running to the front door, but that seems like a terrible idea for several reasons.
I know I saw a diner a few miles back, and it looked like it was open. Maybe I should go to the restaurant and grab a midnight breakfast while I wait for the car to leave. They should have a pay phone there that I can use to call the police if my phone still can’t get bars.
Well, I guess that’s if this small town even has a police station. Uncle Thornton’s farm must be pretty far out of the community because the only thing I’ve seen so far is the diner and farmland. The few lights off in the distance are comforting, though. There must be some sort of civilization out here.
As I make my way around the Benz, the driver turns their high beams on, and my heart falls out of my chest.Holy shit there really is someone in there watching me.I take that as awarning from them that I should leave and put my foot on the gas, speeding down the road leading up to the property.
I hold my breath a few times after I’m out of the long drive, as I take uncertain turns down roads that all look identical. Then I let out a relieved breath when I find the diner several miles out. A small, nervous smile curls my lips as I pass under the sign—thank God it’s a twenty-four hour diner, which is a little surprising since the town is so small, but I’ll take it.
I’m in no position to question any mercies thrown my way.
I’m still jittery from the farm and the car casing it by the time I park. I quickly look around my car to make sure that the Benz didn’t follow me before I get out. I exit the car and trot into the diner.
There are empty bright-red booths and round stools with iron legs at the countertop. It’s a ghost town in here. My keys jingle as I take a seat at the bar.
