Page 107 of Trigger Happy

True. Thank you, Katya, but he’s mine now.

“Yeah. That’s the best kind of déjà vu,” I say, panting as I crunch a path through golden leaves.

My stomach growls, so I unzip my pack and dig past the duct tape, lipstick blade, and the knife tucked between two all-natural protein bars. My fingers pause on the smooth handle.

I should do it now, hold it to her throat and demand she tell me everything. We’re alone, high up, and there are no other hikers in sight. If she knew Walker, who knows what else she’s hiding. I clench the handle tighter, but then she bumps my shoulder and smiles.

“Make sure you keep those sunglasses on,” she says on a laugh. “We don’t need another shit-in-a-hot-tub situation.”

Last Wednesday, over a flight at Cowboy’s Beer & Distillery, I told her about the time I got pink eye from a bug flying into my eye. “I thought pink eye only happened from, like, shit in a hot tub,” she’d said, tears streaming down her face from laughing so hard. “Shit in a hot tub? What kind of parties were you going to?” I shot back.

I’ve never had an inside joke with someone.

My fingers loosen on the blade’s handle. I’ll do it later when there’s more tree cover, I will. I slide the blade back into my bag and pull out a salted-caramel granola bar instead.

“Want one?” I say, holding it out. “I brought extra. It’s from that booth at the farmers market you said you liked. Harvest Grains, I think?”

Bobbi perks up. “Um, yes. I’m obsessed with their bars. How’d you even remember that?”

Because I cyberstalked your entire Venmo history. “I think you mentioned it once.”

“Did I?”

“Definitely.”

Not.

“I’m honestly impressed you remembered,” she says, taking a bite. “I can barely keep track of how long Arch and I have been together, which is why I set a yearly reminder for our anniversary.”

“I’m just observant, that’s all. I win those Halloween murder mystery parties every time,” I say, biting into the cinnamon sugar topping and groaning. “Okay, why is this the best thing I’ve had in my mouth?”

“If you like these, you’ve got to try Acai Haven. They do this apple spice bowl that sounds meh, but it’s actually so good it’ll become your next breakfast fixation. They even do free bee pollen, no extra charge.”

I tilt my head. “Is that supposed to sell me?”

“I mean, it’s a superfood.”

“What even qualifies something as a superfood?” I say, chewing.

“Rare vitamins that are only found in things like salmon sperm?”

We talk about whether salmon sperm really is a superfood or if we both fell for internet propaganda, and that familiar ache starts to grow in my chest. Do it. Do it. Do it. But I never get this—normal, regular conversations that don’t involve discussing bloodstains.

Just a little longer.

Bobbi comes to a stop at an opening of massive pines overlooking a valley. The air is crisp enough to make goose bumps rise on my arms, but the trek is keeping me warm. Sunlight spills over the valley below, painting the trees, river, and jagged ridge in a glittering gold. I really will miss this place.

She puts her hands on top of her head, breathing hard. “Gorgeous, right?”

“It’s beautiful. I didn’t know lakes could be that color turquoise.” I sit on a rock next to her, checking my phone. My heart stutters when I see the SOS signal. No service.

“It’s the minerals,” she says, sitting next to me. “I used to go to this hot spring with one of my exes. The water was unreal.”

A hot spring.

The hot spring.

Sweat prickles on my neck. I reach for my pistol.