Page 17

Chapter 16

Mila

A s though he knew I needed junk food to steel myself after the disappointment I’d suffered today, Jude drove a solid thirty minutes to the nearest McDonald’s.

We sat in his truck in a parking lot off 95 while I willed the carbs, salt, and grease to quell the panic inside me.

He’d been so kind in the forest. Searching tirelessly, keeping me fed and hydrated, and attempting to lift my spirits. As frightened as I was, I’d actually enjoyed the time with him a little.

“Admit it.” I threw a fry at him.

It bounced off his shoulder and landed on the dash, where he plucked it up and popped it into his mouth.

“It’s delicious.”

He held his double cheeseburger up, studying it like it was a rare jewel.

“Good thing you let me order for you.” I chomped on a scalding-hot fry. “I can’t believe you tried to get a salad.” I shuddered.

“Seemed like a good idea.”

“McDonald’s doesn’t have salads. They used to, but no normal person ordered them. Why would they when they could have this instead?” I lifted up a McNugget like a trophy.

“Clearly.” He gestured at the two bags filled with fries, chicken nuggets, and every type of dipping sauce.

Once he’d admitted that he hadn’t had McDonald’s since he was a kid, I’d insisted that we sample all the delights. So we may have over-ordered a bit.

I glared at him as I picked up my Coke. “Don’t complain. I got the Filet-O-Fish for a healthy option.”

He rolled his eyes and took a massive bite out of his burger.

Shit. That should not have been hot, but suddenly, my core was tightening.

He closed his eyes and chewed, his strong jaw working.

“I can admit it. After a day spent in the cold, damp woods, this has made me pretty happy.”

He broke off a piece of his burger and held it out to Ripley, who was lounging in the back seat.

He took another bite and grinned at me, one cheek puffed out.

My stomach flipped, and not because I’d shoved an eleventh McNugget drenched in sugary barbeque sauce down my throat.

I should not be having fun. I was on the run from criminals, I’d lost valuable evidence, and I was exhausted and in pain.

But I was at peace here, sitting beside him, listening to country music, and devouring fast food.

He took another enormous bite, the move leaving a glob of ketchup on one side of his mouth.

“You have ketchup on your face.” Without thinking, I leaned over the console and used my thumb to wipe at the condiment. When the soft yet scratchy sensation of his beard registered, I yanked my hand back. Shit. This was exactly the kind of physical contact we needed to avoid.

“Sorry,” I said, grimacing.

He snatched my wrist and, gaze heated, brought my thumb to his lips and gently licked it clean.

My heart practically leaped out of my chest.

His tongue. Oh God, did the memories of his tongue haunt me.

I must have briefly hallucinated, because before I could truly register the sensation, he dropped my hand and went back to devouring his burger, completely unaffected.

I blinked a few times, willing my heart rate to slow. Suddenly, the car felt too small, and I had the overwhelming urge to run straight into the woods and never look back.

But good sense prevailed. I’d already done that, and it hadn’t exactly helped matters.

When he turned the music up, probably to drown out the awkwardness, I let myself relax. Emotions were running high. I had to keep my focus on the search. On my brother. Not the sexy lumberjack beside me.

“Do you want to head home?” He crumpled up the Filet-O-Fish wrapper and tossed it into the bag. He’d polished that off, along with the double cheeseburger and a large order of fries. It was impressive.

I hummed. “I need some time to think through my movements again so I can pinpoint other locations where I could have lost it.”

He rolled the top of the bag down and nodded. “Makes sense. If I take the scenic route back to Lovewell, maybe the view will stir memories. As painful as it is, try to go through every move you made that day. Where you went, how you felt, sensory details. It can help.”

I’d relived the events a dozen times already, but since we turned up empty-handed today, it wouldn’t hurt to go through them again. Though I was at risk of falling into a food coma on the drive after spending the day in the mountains and consuming so many carbs.

I reclined the seat a bit and closed my eyes, letting the memories wash over me. I started from the moment I woke up. The sense of triumph that came with the realization that I’d gotten the evidence. Then came the mounting panic when Razor pounded on my door.

I was going through the movements I made as I escaped my trailer when a comforting warm pressure rested on my shoulder.

With an eye cracked open, I peered at Ripley, who’d placed her snout on my shoulder and closed her eyes. She understood I needed her in that moment.

I smiled. What a good dog. When this was over, I’d adopt all the dogs.

Eyes closed again, I envisioned slipping my phone into my bra and climbing out the bathroom window. The panic that hit me as the SUV pulled up returned, causing Ripley to snuggle closer to my neck. Then came the hair trigger decision to take off on Razor’s bike.

Struggling to balance and steer, getting to the stop sign and then flooring it. Wobbling, desperate to get away from the scary dudes who would have done God only knew what if they caught me.

The air was chilly that morning, the dew soaking into my sneakers as I ran.

Bathroom window, looking out at the road, noticing the motorcycle keys were still in the ignition.

“Wait.” I kept my eyes closed, pushing away thoughts of the physical space to make room for sensations.

The wind stinging my eyes. The fear that I’d lay his bike on its side and kill myself since I wasn’t wearing a helmet or any kind of protective gear.

“I stopped the bike a few times, to get control and to get my bearings. I’d ridden before, but not a lot, and without a visor, it was difficult to see.”

He hummed, the sound vibrating through me. “Keep talking, Trouble.”

“They were chasing me. Just the SUV at that point. The bike was almost out of gas, but I didn’t have time to stop. I headed up Route 2, and after the old service station, I picked up Route 16, thinking I could lose them.”

Jude turned the music down. “What happened next?”

The engine sputtered. I knew then I had to ditch the bike and hide. I pulled onto the shoulder and jumped off.

“That’s where I bruised my knee. I jumped off the bike and then caught my foot. It was a steep drop-off. I fell, and that’s when I made a beeline for the woods, looking for cover.”

“That’s where you cut through to get to the state forest.”

I nodded, still reliving the moments, taking in the details I may have missed the first time.

“I almost fell a few times. I was leaned over the bike, struggling, wobbling. I thought the phone had fallen out in the woods, but what if it happened just off the road?”

I sat up, itching to search again.

“Can we go back? To the trailer park? It may spark more memories.”

He winced. “If it fell out on the road, it’s probably destroyed.”

I shook my head. “No. It can’t be.” That was an outcome I couldn’t accept. I’d find that damn phone if it killed me.

“Take me to the trailer park,” I urged.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” He blew out a long breath, his focus fixed on the winding road. “What if you’re recognized? I won’t put you in danger.”

“At this point, not finding the phone is more dangerous.” I leveled him with a glare. “I’ll put my hat back on, and I’ll stay out of sight.”

When he flipped the turn signal on, I was hit with a rush of hope and affection for him. He was pushing aside his caveman instincts and trusting me. I wasn’t sure when I’d last felt so respected.

“But you’re not going into that trailer,” he warned.

“They probably trashed it.” I lifted a shoulder. “If I think there’s anything worth salvaging, I’ll send you.”

He shook his head and continued on. As we rode in silence, I sent up prayers to any deity who might be listening that the phone was out there and the evidence was still accessible. That all this work and anguish hadn’t been for nothing.

Thirty minutes later, we turned into Pine Tree Acres. I pulled my hat over my head and slumped down in the seat, watching carefully out the window for people I recognized or anything out of the ordinary.

As we drove farther into the park, I was hit with a wave of embarrassment. The place was a dump. I should have come alone.

Pine Tree Acres was gross by rural Maine trailer park standards. And that was saying something. But it was cheap and close to the main hub in Heartsborough. It had been a good cover, living here on my own, keeping quiet about my past.

I shifted, grimacing as we passed a car with four flat, rotting tires. “I’m sorry for bringing you here. This may have been a mistake.”

The homes near the entrance were nicer. The residents there lived in double-wides with potted plants out front and outdoor furniture. My single-wide was much farther back.

“Where was your place?” Jude’s expression remained impassive, free of judgment.

I pointed to the back road, where most places were deserted and crumbling. One nicer trailer was clearly a meth lab, but the people who worked there were quiet and clean. So I kept my distance.

The owner of the park, Betty—a chain smoking seventy-something with teased hair and a Harley—had been more than happy to accept cash when my rent payment was due. She didn’t ask questions and I didn’t offer any information.

At the time,it made sense.

But now, as I cataloged the details through Jude’s eyes, this all felt wrong. What the hell had I gotten myself into?

My heart rate picked up, and my breathing went shallow. “I had a home,” I babbled, my face heating. “Or I used to. Before I ended my lease. A townhome in the East End of Portland. I used to walk along the harbor and go to trivia night with my colleagues on Tuesdays.”

Jude was silent as he navigated through the park. The farther we got, the shabbier the homes looked. With each passing second, the shame that had hit me grew.

“My mom and I went to the outdoor summer concerts in Payson Park. She’d get whoopie pies from Becky’s Diner for my birthday every year,” I rushed out. “But.” I snapped my mouth shut and eyed him.

He glanced my way, his brow furrowed in concern.

“But I fell apart after Hugo was attacked. The same kind of fear I’d felt when I was overseas in a war zone took over, and when the adrenaline joined in, it was as if I had to be alert and ready to go at all times.”

He looked over at me with nothing but compassion. God, I wished I could go in for another hug right now. The way he’d held me in the woods was more comforting than any hug had the right to be. Like he was there to keep me on my feet when I no longer had the strength to remain upright. Against my better judgment, I trusted him.

“I think I got addicted.”

“Addicted to what?”

“Living in survival mode.” I let out a shaky breath. “Waking up ready to fight. I’ve been cooped up at your place for over a week, and my nervous system has been twitchy for days already. It feels like I can’t function unless I’m digging and investigating and moving forward.”

He gently placed his hand over mine and gave it a light squeeze.

“It’s PTSD,” he said. “You’ve been through so much.”

It was unnerving how he could practically see into my soul and read my innermost thoughts so easily. I wasn’t the heart-on-my-sleeve kind of girl. No, I was battle hardened. Elusive. Mysterious. I’d been living as Amy for over a year, for God’s sake.

Yet after only a few days with this guy, he was diagnosing my trauma.

Discomfort rolled over me. This was too intimate. Too much. All the hugs in the world wouldn’t help my brother.

I squeezed my eyes closed, steeling myself. Reminding myself of my mission. Jude was helping me find the phone. Nothing else.

I forced myself to give him a sassy grin. “Didn’t know I was hanging out with an armchair psychiatrist,” I needled. “I think it’d be best if you stuck to lumberjacking.”

His eyes flashed, but rather than get angry about my jab, he grinned. “My job is not lumberjacking.”

Shifting his way, I arched a brow. “So it’s just your hobby?”

“No,” he replied. “My hobby is beating your Ivy League ass in Scrabble. Now lead the way so we can find this phone.”