Page 3 of You'll Never Know

Her nose crinkles as she looks at me. “What?”

“I can’t wait to do this with you.”

“Well, let’s go, then,” she says, eyeing the trail.

“No.” I lower my palm to her stomach and hold it there.“This.”

She slides her fingers over mine. “Me too.” With a final squeeze, she snatches the bottle of sunscreen and raises it. “Now put this on.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I say with a chuckle.

After I’m done, we circle to the back of the Jeep. Avery pops the hatch and swings it up. Lying inside is a backpack stuffed with several bottles of water, two bags of trail mix, and a pair of long-sleeved shirts for both of us in case any clouds blow in.

“Here.” She tucks the car keys into the backpack and hands it to me. “This is yours to carry.”

“Of course,” I say, shouldering it. “So how many miles is this hike, anyway? Wait, are you even okay to hike? What did the doctor say about exercise?”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m pregnant. Women do it all the time. I’ll be fine.”

“I know. It’s just—”

The sound of an engine cuts me off. We turn together in time to see a black van with tinted windows roll out of the trees. I groan. I knew this was coming; a place like this is far too beautiful to keep to ourselves. Still, I’d dared to hope.

“Let’s get going,” Avery says. “Maybe we can beat them up the trail.”

I don’t move. I simply stand there, staring at the van as it barrels toward us. It’s paint-chipped and covered in rust, the shocks squealing as the tires bounce up and down. The sound is at odds with the peace of this place. And the vehicle is going fast. Too fast. A slash of annoyance cuts through me when it rips to a stop a few feet away, covering us in a thick plume of dust and exhaust.

I cover my mouth and cough. “What the hell?”

Avery takes my hand and tugs. “Seriously, let’s go.”

But I still don’t move. For some reason, I can’t stop staring at the idling vehicle with its battered, black body and dark windows. It’s ugly and doesn’t look like the kind of car a typical hiker would drive. Something about it feels wrong.

Avery pulls harder. “Grant …”

“Okay, yeah, this is getting weird.” I’m about to turn and follow her, when the passenger side door bangs open, and a man steps out. He’s big and dressed all in black. Black shoes, black pants, black shirt, black gloves. A black ski mask.

And in his hand, pointing at us, is a black gun.

Chapter 2

GRANT

My blood turns to ice. My existence becomes a series of micro-sensations: the gooseflesh rippling over my arms, every hair rising. The acrid smell of exhaust invading my nostrils and pooling at the root of my tongue. Avery’s hand squeezing mine, my palm going slick with sweat.

The rattle and cough of the engine.

The waves of dread stitching up my spine.

Time as it slows and turns to syrup.

Questions rip through my head like bullets: What the fuck is happening? Who is this guy? And what does he want from us? Why is he standinghereof all places, in the middle of this gorgeous natural oasis, holding a gun?

I don’t have time to consider the answers before he says, “Get in the van.”

“What?”I reply, stunned.

Through the mask, the man’s eyes turn to slits. Blue eyes. Eyes that feel like icepicks as they narrow on me. “Are you deaf?” he asks. “I said, get in the van.”