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In the distance I could hear Stocky yell out something, but I couldn’t make out the words. Cookie slowed her step.

“Please,” I said.

Her voice was distant, hollow. “I don’t know where Natalie is. I don’t know if she’s dead or alive. Neither does Jed. Neither do any of us.”

We hit a path made of crumbled stone. She began to turn to the left. “One last thing, Jake.”

“What?”

“If you come back, I won’t be the one saving your life.” Cookie showed me the gun in her hand. “I’ll be the one who ends it.”

Chapter 22

I recognized the path.

There was a small pond to the right. Natalie and I had gone swimming there late one night. We got out, panting, lying naked in each other’s arm, skin against skin. “I never had this,” she said slowly. “I mean, I’ve had this, but . . . never this.”

I understood. I hadn’t either.

I passed the old park bench where Natalie and I used to sit after having coffee and scones at Cookie’s. Up ahead, I could see the faint outline of the chapel. I barely glanced at it, didn’t need those memories slowing me down right now. I took the path down into town. My car was less than half a mile away. I wondered whether the cops had located it yet. I didn’t see how. I wouldn’t be able to drive it very long—there was probably an APB on it too—but I didn’t see any other way of getting out of town. I’d have to risk it.

The street remained so dark that I was only able to find my car via memory. I practically walked right into it. When I opened the door, the car’s interior light burst through the night. I quickly slipped inside and closed the door. Now what? I was, I guessed, a guy on the run. I remembered seeing on some TV show where the fugitive switched license plates with another car. Maybe that would help. Maybe I could find a parked car and do that. Right, sure, except, of course, I didn’t have a screwdriver. How could I do it without a screwdriver? I searched my pocket and pulled out a dime. Would that work as a screwdriver?

It would take too long.

I did have a destination in mind. I drove south, careful not to drive too fast or too slowly, constantly hitting the gas and brake, as though the proper speed would somehow make me invisible. The roads were dark. That would probably help. I had to keep in mind that an APB wasn’t all-powerful. I probably had some time on my hands if I could keep off main roads.

My iPhone was, of course, gone. I felt naked and impotent without it. Funny how attached we get to those devices. I continued south.

Now what?

I had only sixty dollars on me. That wouldn’t get me far. If I used a credit card, the cops would see it and pick me up right away. Well, not right away. They’d have to see the charge come in and then dispatch a squad car or whatever. I don’t know how long that took but I doubt it would be instantaneous. Cops are good. They aren’t omnipotent.

No choice really. I had to take a calculated risk. Interstate 91, the main highway in this area, was just up ahead. I took it to the first rest area and parked near the back in the least-lit spot I could find. I actually cinched up my collar, as if that would disguise me, and headed inside. When I walked past the small rest-stop convenience store, something snagged my gaze.

They sold pens and markers. Not a lot of them, but maybe . . .

I thought about it for a second, maybe two, and then I headed into the shop. When I checked the small selection of writing utensils, the disappointment hit me harder than I expected.

“Can I help you?”

The girl behind the counter couldn’t have been more than twenty. She had blond hair with streaks of pink in it. Yep, pink.

“I like your hair,” I said, ever the charmer.

“The pink?” She pointed at the streaks. “It’s for breast cancer awareness. Say, are you okay?”

“Sure, why?”

“You got a big bump on your head. I think it’s bleeding.”

“Oh, that. Right. I’m fine.”

“We sell a first aid kit, if you think that’ll help.”

“Yeah, maybe.” I turned back to the pens and markers. “I’m looking for a red marker, but I don’t see any here.”

“We don’t carry any. Just black.”

“Oh.”

She studied my face. “I got one here though.” She reached into a drawer and picked out a red Sharpie marker. “We use it for inventory, to cross out stuff.”

I tried not to show how anxious I was. “Is there any way I can purchase it from you?”

“I don’t think we’re supposed to do that.”

“Please,” I said. “It is really important.”

She thought about it. “Tell you what. You buy the first aid kit and promise to take care of that bump, and I’ll throw in the pen.”

I made the deal and hurried into the men’s room. The clock had to be ticking. A police car would eventually drive by major rest stops and check cars, right? Or wrong? I didn’t have a clue. I tried to keep my breathing even and smooth. I checked my face in the mirror. Ugh. There was swelling on my forehead, and an open gash above my eye. I cleaned it out as much as I could, but a big bandage would make me stick out like a sore thumb.