Gathering information was usually my thing, but I hoped he’d contact Clem. She’d be able to help him. She knew everything about Gray and me, and she knew all the details of the Rembrandt heist. Perhaps there was some information she could give Nash that he could use to... do what?
I was already a mafia target. There was no coming back from that. Maybe this was it for me; maybe this was the life I had to accept.
What would Nash tell my father? Would he say I disappeared? Ran away?Died?Isn’t that how witness protection worked?
I recalled the last personal chat with my dad at Sybil’s wedding. He’d been so hopeful for their future, and for mine. It was ruined now, wasn’t it? Did this mean I’d be responsible for shattering Sybil’s peace and security? She was so delicate and needed protection and safe spaces. Would the mafia forever torment Nash and Sybil and force them to flee?
My mind was a jumble of questions I couldn’t get answers to tonight, and my head throbbed. I rested it against the earth, grateful for the helmet’s padding. Therehadto be a solution, a way to untangle all of this. I needed to understand the full scope of the situation. Once I made it through tonight—and Iwouldmake it through—Gray and I needed to talk,reallytalk. I had to know about his history, his family, and how all this drama fit together. If there was one thing I excelled at, it was unraveling problems and finding solutions.
We deserved a chance at life—Gray deserved it most of all.
I was drifting off, my body shutting down. Bone-tired and so cold that it was a struggle to do anything but exist. As I drifted away, I prayed for a chance to fix this. I had to fix everything, and I wouldn’t give up until I did.
Chapter 20
Gray
I’d found Betty’s tracks easily enough, but they disappeared at the river. There were rocks that bridged the fast-flowing rapids and formed a crossing, and I jumped over with ease. On the other side, Betty’s tracks continued next to a clear set belonging to a certain pine marten.
“Larry,” I whispered to myself, my heart pounding, hoping this trail would continue.
Where had she gone? I couldn’t bring myself to face the reason why. It was a blow to my ego, proof of her distrust in me and desire to sneak away. I followed the tracks to the edge of the treeline, peering into their depths.
It was nearing three in the afternoon.
I retraced my memories of the day, hoping there was something I had missed. When she didn’t come in for lunch around one-thirty, as she usually did, I thought nothing of it. Besides, I was busy putting another loaf of bread in the oven and wasn’t watching the clock. It was normal for her to get absorbed in her organizing, sometimes needing to be coaxed to stop and eat. By two-fifteen, I had the loaf out of the oven and went to get her. I wanted to be sure vengeful rats hadn’t stolen her away.
I’d jogged down the hill, dismissing the nagging feeling in my stomach that told me something was wrong. The stillness was palpable, an unsettling emptiness hanging in the air. When I noticed no smoke rising from the shed chimney, I quickened my pace. My fears were confirmed as I entered the shed and found her missing, not a trace of her anywhere. The fireplace was cold. It hadn’t been lit all day.
Panic seized me.
Had I overlooked seeing her by the river? I then scanned the yard, and then the shed one more time. Repeating the task, I was hoping she’d magically appear, but there was nothing. I whistled, expecting Larry to emerge from a tree, as he often did. He wasn’t there either.
My mind leapt to the worst-case scenario—my uncle had found us and taken her. I had to fight that thought, flashbacks igniting behind my eyelids with every blink—my sister struggling in my uncle’s grip, my mother weeping as sanity drained from her eyes.
“No,” I’d told myself then. I needed to think rationally. Matteo wasn’t here. If he were, I’d be dead too.
Shaking off my fear, I needed to start with reality and facts. I’d began searching the snow for tracks and clues. Heading back to the shed, I discovered fresh boot prints leading away from the door. They hugged the wall in the mud from the snowmelt; I hadn’t noticed them earlier because I wasn’t looking, but they were clear. They led around the building, over the fence, and along the river before heading across it, ultimately ending up here at the edge of the woods where I was standing now.
Hands on my hips, I had to come up with a plan, and quickly.
The trees gave way to a field ahead. She wouldn’t have stayed in the forest; it was too difficult to navigate with fallen logs and undergrowth. She’d probably headed for the open field to find an easier path, putting the cover of the forest between us.
I crossed back over the river to the cabin side. I could track her on foot, but the snowmobile would be a faster and wiser choice. The challenge was getting it across the river. I’d never taken the snowmobile to that side before, as it would necessitate a bridge. However, that wasn’t necessarily true. I’d seen it done before at a snowmobile competition.
Snowmobiles could skim across water. It was a trick. If you kept them above thirty miles per hour, like skipping stones, they could stay afloat. I’d need to find a spot on the river with no rocks and deep water. A section just past a small waterfall might work, but it would require angling the machine against the current since this wasn’t a pond or lake as I’d seen crossed in the past.
The risk was worth it.
I jogged back to the shed, unhitched the sled from the snowmobile, and pushed it closer to the four-wheeler. After checking the gas, I jogged up to the house for supplies. I grabbed my rifle, first-aid kit, and the satellite phone. I also tucked in a few knives and a box of extra ammunition.
As I left, I snatched a wool blanket from a chair. I’d discreetly checked the weather on my computer while Betty was in the bathroom this morning, a habit of mine. The forecast predicted that the temperature would drop tonight. A wool blanket would be perfect if I found her wet and cold.
I couldn’t fathom what she was up to or where she thought she was going. On foot as she was, it would take days to reach any sign of civilization. Did she not realize the threats? I’d warned her about the wolves and other wildlife. She’d heard them howling every night. Spending a night in these woods without shelter was suicide.
Was that truly the risk she was prepared to take, simply to escape me?
I headed back to the shed and loaded my gear onto the snowmobile, then secured my rifle within easy reach along its side. With a press of the starter, the engine roared to life. I rode out through the gates and followed the river.
