Page 17 of Chasing Creed

“Wait a minute,” Jason said, “so you think the sheriff is lying?”

It was something Brodie just knew about people. Not a sixth-sense kind of thing. Maybe just a strong intuition. Although she was seldom wrong, she didn’t like to explain it. Instead, she always tried to be nonchalant about it.

She simply said, “He’s lying about something.”

10

Nebraska

Sara was exhausted by the time she pulled into the entrance of the long driveway. The rain had stopped, but heavy, purple clouds rolled in over the horizon bringing colder temperatures.

Out here, there were no street signs or mile markers. Even most of the mailboxes at the end of long driveways didn't have an address attached to them. It didn’t matter. She knew these gravel roads by heart. The slight curves and gentle slopes were stamped on her brain. She’d be able to find her way blindfolded. Had even done it once. A foiled escape years ago when she was just a kid.

The dirt driveway showed no signs of recent travel. Someone would need to look hard to find Sara’s previous tracks, but the day’s rain-soaked ground would leave deep ruts. She pushed the truck slowly up onto the stubby brown grass alongside the driveway. She maneuvered under branches and around silver maples and cottonwoods, squeezing the truck between the tree trunks and the barbed wire fence.

Neighbors knew someone checked on the two farms. Both properties were back-to-back with an acre of pasture and another of woods between them. Both were set back far enough from the view of local traffic, but some days not a single vehicle drove by.

Electricity, water, everything had been left intact exactly the way Iris Malone had left it. The neighbors were good about minding their own business, especially after what had happened here. Even with the old woman now in prison, no one in this community would dare cross Iris or step onto her property. Nor would any of them admit to being her friend. It was embarrassing enough to be her neighbor.

No, it wasn’t the community or the neighbors Sara worried about. They hadn’t bothered or seemed to notice her presence. It was Iris’ “business associates.” Men like Orlando. So far, none of them appeared interested in crossing Iris, either. All of them were more worried about what the woman knew. What she had on them and how much she was willing to spill to save herself.

Sara was the only one among them who had nothing to lose. Absolutely nothing at all.

She parked close to the rear of the huge two-story farmhouse. On her phone, she pulled up a camera’s view of an interior room, swiping back and forth, checking for movement or anything out of place. Satisfied, she tapped another app and disengaged the deadbolt on the back door. She grabbed a couple of grocery bags, yanked open the heavy steel back door and set everything inside. Returning to the pickup, she engaged the lock using the phone again. Then she shifted into gear and zigzagged between a couple of the sheds at the back of the property.

The old pasture road was usually a bumpy stretch, but the rain and mud had softened it. Still, Sara caught herself hanging wide to avoid any jarring ups and downs as she glanced over at the dog. She cut a path between the woods, one she had recently shaped. A shortcut that almost matched the one she used to take as a girl. Here, there were no fences or gates to mess with, and soon she could see the small clapboard farmhouse.

Instead of parking next to it, Sara chose the barn’s breezeway. Despite being open all the way through, no one could see what was parked inside because of the angle. She backed into the spot, so that her truck pointed in the direction she had come, ready to shoot out and use that same path through the woods as an escape. Or as a hiding place.

“Stay here,” she told the dog after she sat up and looked to Sara for an explanation. They had driven for over an hour, and now they were stopping a second time.

“Stay. I’ll be right back.” She had no idea if the dog understood her, but Sara’s voice did seem to calm her.

She opened the truck cap, and this time slung a backpack over her shoulder. She gathered more bags of groceries. Her eyes took in everything, scanning the line of trees on the other side of the property. Her focus stopped at each outbuilding, watching the corners for movement. Then she stared at the house, a small one-story with a back porch the length of the house. She took in every window, the roofline, and the overgrown bushes.

Last, Sara looked up and scanned the sky. Held her breath. Listened. Heavy purple ribbons of moving clouds made it feel like twilight.

Being aware of her surroundings had become second nature. Instinct always beats out logic. Good surveillance habits could avoid encounters. Avoiding encounters could save her life. A smart planned-out strategy separated the winners from the losers.

She glanced back at the smudged glass of the truck’s passenger side. A dog was nowhere in that plan.

A sound from above stopped her in her tracks. A hum in the distance. Mechanical. Man made. Not the approaching storm. Something in the sky. And it was heading this way.

She rushed the final steps. Climbed onto the porch and tucked herself under its roof. She emptied her hands, setting everything down slowly and quietly as if the thing in the sky could already see and hear her.

The sound grew louder. Sara pressed hard against the wall. Frozen in place.

The helicopter swept to the north. Not over either farmhouse. It was much farther away than it sounded. Closer to the highway she’d left. A good ten miles from here.

And yet, her heart still banged so hard that her chest ached.

Breathe. Focus. It’s nothing.

She’d worked so hard to make this property—this tiny spot on the map—her sanctuary, her safe haven. All the precautions, all the cybersecurity she’d put in place, and yet, in a matter of seconds, she knew it could be snatched away.

Maybe there was nowhere she could feel safe.

11