Mitch wasn’t about to expose Megs to any shame. “She’s a fantastic climber. She’s also a lot prettier than the rest of you.”
Dean grinned. “Just be careful. She’s young, and she’s been through a lot.”
Mitch looked over at his friend. “How do you know so much about her?”
“We weren’t involved, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
That hadn’t been what Mitch was thinking, but it was good to hear again anyway. “Then what’s your interest?”
“She’s just a friend. She and I spent about six weeks camped close to each other in Joshua Tree. The Rangers came through and asked to see our IDs. They asked Megs a lot of questions. I just happened to overhear. She made me promise not to say anything to anyone, so that’s all you’re getting from me.”
Mitch wondered if she truly was on parole. But that made no sense. Megs was the responsible one in the group. She had the job, the steady paycheck. How would she be able to get a job if she’d been arrested or done time?
By the time they got back to Camp 4, Mitch had half convinced himself that Megs had done something stupid as a kid and been arrested, and now the police were keeping tabs on her. Maybe that’s why she had a GED instead of a high school diploma. He didn’t think they let kids take classes in juvie.
Should he feel differently about her now?
No. Everyone deserved a second chance. Hell, he’d done a few things as a teen that might have landed him in jail. Like the time he’d strung TP all over his science teacher’s house and trees. Or the time he’d strapped a dead fish to the bottom of that same teacher’s chair so that the classroom reeked of rotten fish. Or the time he’d checked out more library books than the rules allowed and returned them late.
He climbed out of Dean’s vehicle, saw that Megs’ car was gone. She must have already left for work. The guys were gathered around the table, their heads bent together as if they were studying a map or something,
He walked toward his tent, carrying two paper bags, his mind on Megs. He’d just stowed his canned goods away when Gridwall bounded over to him, clearly tripping on acid, a huge grin on his face.
“She’s not on parole.” He shook his head, repeated himself three or four times. “Little Meggie’s not on parole.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Gridwall burst into laughter, his pupils dilated, a broad grin on his face. “She’s sixteen! She outclimbs us, and she’s fucking sixteen!”
Adrenaline rushed to Mitch’s head. “What are you talking about?”
“After she left, Accardo and I searched her tent, got out those papers.”
“You didwhat?” Mitch was on his feet now, rage hot in his chest, pulse thrumming.
“We had to find out if we were dealing with a murderer, man.” Gridwall shrugged, as if breaking into another person’s belongings could be justified. “The papers say she’s an emancipated minor. There’s some kind of case number—charges against her stepfather for sexual abuse.”
Mitch’s fist struck Gridwall in the mouth, and the bastard hit the ground. Mitch bent over him, knuckles stinging. “You donotbreak into other people’s tents, go through their shit, and share their secrets with everyone. What the hell is wrong with you? Have you forgotten that you have a secret, too?”
Mitch didn’t wait for an answer but stomped over to the table, where the dirtbags sat in silence, eyes wide. “You’re lucky I don’t knock your teeth out, too, Accardo.”
Dean ripped the papers out of Accardo’s hand, gave them to Mitch. “Megs is going to be devastated when she learns that everyone here knows.”
“I can’t blame her.” Mitch took the documents. “If any of you brings this up or throws this in her face, I’ll beat the living shit out of you. Got it?”
Heads nodded.
Gridwall walked over, his lip bloody. “Are you going to call the cops on me?”
“I should, but unlike you, I’m not an asshole.” He carried the papers back toward Megs’ tent, resolved not to look. But some part of him couldn’t help it.
There, near the top of the page, were the wordsEmancipated Minor. And in the middle of the document he saw it—her full name and her birthday.
Margaret Anne Hill, October 24, 1956.
Chapter 9
Megs tuckedthe receipt into place and closed the journal, moved by this private side of the man she loved—his thoughts about her, his reflections, his deep, dark secrets. “You borrowed more books than you were allowed—and you turned them in late? You bad, bad man.”
