Page 37 of Bitter Truth
I swallow hard, but my throat’s too tight for anything to get past. It doesn’t matter, because my mouth has gone dryer than an empty frying pan left on a hot burner too long.
“Are their names Amelia Owens and Danielle Fuller?”
Donna’s lips tremble as she asks, “How’d you know that?”
“Because I was out there on Monday searching for that raccoon you called me about. And those were the two names that had signed in on the trail log ahead of me.”
But they hadn’t signed out by the time I left. And there’d been no other vehicles in the parking lot.
“So that means they were there, right?” she asks, a ray of hope brightening her eyes.
“Yes, I believe it does.”
What I don’t believe is that two sixteen-year-old girls went hiking before they decided to run away. Or that they went through the hassle of driving all the wayout there to sign the log just to throw off anyone looking for them. Which means that sometime that day, they ran into trouble. The question is, was it on the trail, or on the way home?
“Then where are they now?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “But I’m going to do my best to find out. I’ll stop by the house and grab some gear, then hit the trail. I’ll let you know what I find.”
Donna’s entire body seems to deflate as she utters a tearful, “Thank you.”
Hurrying from the store, I groan as I calculate the time since they went missing. No doubt Kingston waited until he absolutely had to before starting an investigation. What was it he said? That one of his deputies had checked out there this morning?
Which means no one checked the trail for signs of a struggle before yesterday’s rain. Any drag marks or blood would most likely have washed away. And though I was out there the day they went missing, I was looking for an arrow made of branches and a raccoon. Big picture, not tiny details.
Passing my car, I walk to the far side of the step van I parked next to, checking to see if Sheriff Kingston’s cruiser is there. It’s not.
I’m not sure whether to be disappointed or relieved that the man has left. If he’d had only a bit more patience, or interest in helping, he’d have still been here for this development. And I know better than to approach him for an assist. Which means I’ll just have to hope that whatever I find, it’s something that I can handle on my own.
CHAPTER 19
I flinch as the shadow swoops toward me. Tell myself to relax when I realize it’s just a bird. But no matter how many times I tell myself there’s nothing to fear, my body remains tied in knots. Because the truth is, there’s plenty to be afraid of.
The world is a dangerous place. I know this more than most. And I know the statistics that back it up. I try not to think of them now as I make my way deeper into the woods.
Before I left the sanctuary, I took the time to feed and water everyone, suspecting I’d be home late. Though it’s already early afternoon, it stays light until nine this time of year. I intend to search for those girls every second I can. If that means walking back in the dark, so be it. It’s not like I have anything to go home to.
Though I’d called Jake before I left the shelter of my car at the trailhead, he once again failed to answer, sending me to voicemail after two rings. I hung up without leaving a message. He either wants to hear fromme or he doesn’t.
Clearly, he doesn’t. There’s no use forcing the issue.
My phone pings, filling me with a jolt of elation, hoping that I had the thought too soon. But when I pull it from my pocket and wake the screen, I find that it’s not a text from Jake, like I’d foolishly hoped. It’s not a text at all.
I hold my breath as I press the notification from the security camera mounted above the front door. The one that boastshuman image detected. But it’s not Jake who appears on the screen. It’s Julian.
Groaning, I squint at the image. Pinch the screen and spread my fingers to enlarge it. Though the clip is in black and white, I’m fairly certain that the darkness encircling the man’s right eye isn’t a shadow. It’s a bruise. And I only need one guess as to where he got it.
Cursing, I turn my screen off and tuck the phone back into my pocket. I don’t have time for this drama right now. There are much more important things, two of which might be somewhere on this trail right now in need of help.
Quickening my pace, I scan my surroundings. Ancient oaks crowd the sides of trail, their heavy boughs, draped with Spanish moss, create a canopy above it. Saw palmettos and scrub litter the forest floor. Wild coffee scents the humid air. Narrow paths disappear into the brush, but none are big enough to accommodate a human.
Adjusting my pack, I continue on. Though I’m not quite as far in as I made it last time, when I found the raccoon, my back already aches twice as bad. The straps dig deep into my shoulders, weighted by the extra supplies I carry. My sun shirt is drenched with sweat, my hiking pants well on their way to being the same.
This time, my bag is packed so full I could hardly zip it. The first aid kit I’m carrying is over ten pounds just by itself. Add in the rope, paracord, knife, water purifying tablets, emergency blankets, fire starters, ready meals, a solar phone charger, glowsticks, flares, a compass, a multitool, and enough bottled water to keep three people alive in this heat for a couple of days and it feels like I’m giving a piggyback ride to an NFL player.
But if there’s one thing Butch taught me, it’s that it’s better to be overprepared than under. An image of his face pops into my mind, his expression equal parts patience and amusement, though I know that my own face, the one that matches this memory, is anything but.
Finally, we come to a stop. Butch wraps a hand around my arm, uses it to spin me around in circles. Then, he lifts the blindfold. I scowl as I look around at my surroundings.
