My nerves are tingling as I ride behind Travis back to his place. It feels like a storm is about to break. Like I’m finally getting closer to some answers, after days of going nowhere.

Once I’m in my car, I follow Travis through Tanner Springs, past the road their clubhouse is on, and out of town. I had assumed we’d be going to the clubhouse, but I guess it makes sense that Angel might not want to talk to me there. We go about five miles out into the country, and Travis turns off onto a gravel road that leads to a small man-made lake where families like to take their kids on the weekends. The road makes a wide circle around the park where the lake is. We take it to the far end, where a lone motorcycle is parked not far from a picnic shelter.

Travis gets off his bike and I climb out of my car. A figure stands up from a picnic table. As we get closer, I recognize him as the man who thought I was Jewel’s friend when I went to the clubhouse last time.

“Brother,” Travis greets him. Angel nods but doesn’t say anything.

“Mr…” I begin, holding out my hand.

“Angel.” His voice is gruff. “Sit down.”

I do as he says, watching as he straddles the table with one leg. He plants his boot on the bench in front of him.

“Talk,” he grunts. “About why you came into my clubhouse pretendin’ to be Jewel’s friend.”

I glance at Travis, but he doesn’t say anything. It’s clear he’s gonna let the two of us tangle by ourselves.

“I assume Tr… Beast… has told you I’m in town investigating a sex trafficking ring. And that one of the girls who escaped the ring is currently at Jewel’s apartment.”

“Yeah.”

This Angel guy is inscrutable as hell. I force myself not to be intimidated by him and continue.

“The thing is,” I say, “this girl, um, reacted very strongly to the sight of Beast’s cut when she was in the hospital. Through a translator — the girl doesn’t speak very much English — she said it’s the same cut that one of the men who was sexually abusing her — raping her — while she was being held captive wore.”

He shakes his head, rolling his eyes. “There’s plenty of clubs around here. The Lords aren’t involved with shit like that.”

“That’s what Travis says,” I nod. I glance at him, then back at Angel. “And I believe him, Angel. I’m choosing to take his word, and yours, that the club is not involved. For now.” I draw myself up. “But that does not mean that no individual from your club is.”

Angel’s eyes grow cold. He tilts his head at me, appraisingly. “That’s a hell of an accusation to make, without any proof.”

“I don’t have proof, you’re right. But I do have a description, from the girl.”

“You see anyone at the club that looked like that?”

“No. But I’m asking you. As vice-president. To tell me the truth. Is there anyone in your club who fits it?”

“What’s this guy supposed to look like?” he smirks.

“Normal height. Older. Maybe fifties, or early sixties. A bit of a paunch. Black hair, with gray in it. Gray beard.” I pause. “Tattoos. One of them the girl remembered more than the others. On his upper arm. A skull, with long hair and a bandana tied around his head. Pointing a gun.”

The smirk is gone from Angel’s face. His brow creases. One side of his jaw pulses.

He doesn’t say anything for a second. Then another second. I glance over at Travis, to see he’s staring at me in disbelief.

“Holy fuck,” he rasps.

“What?” I ask, glancing back at Angel, who turns and nods grimly at Travis.

“Rock.”

“Brooke, you gotta get out of here. Me and Angel need to talk.” Travis has pulled me aside.

“Travis, I…”

“No arguments. Go.” He frowns down at me.

“Goddamnit, Travis. Your VP just basically told me he knows who this man is!” I fling my hands out in frustration. “If you two want your club to be seen as innocent of being implicated in all this, you can’t fucking protect this guy!”

“We’re not protecting him!” he interrupts. “But we gotta figure out what to do here. This shit affects the club, too.”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just go haul this asshole into custody.”

“Because we need time!”

“Time for what, goddamnit?”

“Time to figure out who the fuck these traffickers are!” He rakes a hand through his hair. “You think he’s gonna tell you anything? Rock ain’t gonna tell you jack shit! You haul him in today, you will not get one goddamn word outta him, no matter what you do. He’s not fuckin’ afraid of some feds. He’s been in prison before. Shit, there ain’t no way you can do anything to him that will break him!”

I take a step back, crossing my arms in front of me, and consider that he may be right. He obviously knows this Rock better than I do.

“You want information, B?” he growls. “You want to find out who these people are? Find the rest of these girls, and save them? Do you?”

“Yes,” I shoot back.

“Then shut the hell up, go back to the hotel, and let me talk to Angel.” His flashing eyes soften just a bit. “I’ll come talk to you later. Okay?”

I heave a deep, defeated sigh. “Okay,” I concede. “But I swear to God, do not leave me hanging, Travis.”

“I’ll be in touch as soon as I can.”

“I give you until the end of the day.”

I turn on my heel and walk back to the car. I’m still angry, but I’m trying to be hopeful that Travis will keep his word and get some answers for me.

I’m too antsy to go back to the hotel and just wait. So I decide to kill some time by taking the long way back.

I drive towards town slowly, for the first time really allowing myself to look around and reminisce about growing up here. It wasn’t all bad. Not all the time. It’s just that the things I have the strongest memories of are the ones I wish I could forget.

On an impulse, I turn the car at a crossroads and follow a narrow highway toward the north side of town. On the northeastern edge used to be the mobile home park I grew up in. I haven’t been there in so long, I’m not even sure it’s still there. But sure enough, pretty soon I see the faded wooden sign that announces the entrance to the place.

I drive in, slowing to look around. The park looks just different enough for me to know that I haven’t gone back in time. Abstractly, I wonder how many of the people I knew back then still live here. I wonder how many of them would recognize me, or if I’d recognize them.

The trailer I lived in with my mom is still right where it was. It’s been repainted, and it actually looks better than it did when we lived there. No one’s outside, so I slow the car, pull it over to the side of the road, and stop. With the engine running, I look around at what used to be my world. The front steps where I used to sit and read are right there, just like they’re waiting for me to come outside.

In my mind’s eye, a boy on a dirt bike comes tearing around the bend in the road. The girl sitting on the steps looks up from her book, watching him as he hotdogs, popping wheelies and skidding around.

We were both so innocent then.

I wish more than anything that I could have stopped that little girl on the steps from having to suffer all the things she did. But I couldn’t save her. All I could do was pick up the broken pieces as soon as she turned eighteen, and try to help her piece them back together.

Maybe in some ways, I’m still trying.

Maybe the reason I’m back here in the first place, trying to break this trafficking ring, isn’t only to save some other broken girls. Maybe this whole thing has been about trying to save myself, too. Any one of those girls being held captive right now could have been me. A kid who fell through the cracks, and fell prey to some of the worst instincts of men.

I could have used someone to save me. To give me strength, and hope.

I think maybe I was looking to Travis to do that. But in the end, I never gave him a chance.

I stay there, lost in thought, until I see the curtains move in the living room window of the trailer next door. I realize I probably look pretty suspicious just sitting here. Putting my car into gear, I pull back out onto the road and finish my slow circuit around the mobile home park, feeling more wistful than I ever thought I would.

I’m almost back out on the main road when I notice there’s a car behind me. It’s a dark navy Dodge Charger, totally nondescript. My first thought is that it’s an unmarked police car, and that someone in the park called in about a strange vehicle lurking around. I chuckle softly and wave my hand in the rearview mirror so he knows I’m not a threat, and then pull back out on the highway.

The car turns behind me, and starts to follow me at about five lengths behind. I shrug it off, figuring he’ll tail me for a few blocks or so to make his point, and then turn back toward town. But that’s not what happens. Frowning, I see he’s pulling nearer, closing the distance to about three car lengths behind. Now I’m starting to get irritated. I prepare to see him whip out a dashboard flasher to pull me over. “Seriously, Rambo? Nothing better to do today?” I mutter.

But he doesn’t do that either. At this point, I’m sick of it. I decide I’m going to keep driving out of town instead of turning back into Tanner Springs. He’ll get tired of following me sooner or later, even if we have to cross the county line. I speed up a little — still respecting the limit — and come to the crest of a hill that marks the unofficial northern city limits.

Once we’re over the hill, the car tailing me speeds up, rapidly.

My stomach twists in alarm.

Suddenly I realize this isn’t just a self-important cop trying to teach me a lesson.

And I’ve just driven away from town and isolated myself.

I check the road in front of me; there’s no other vehicles visible on either side. Gripping the wheel, I punch on the accelerator. I feel the engine goose ahead as I put a quick ten miles on my speed. The car behind me falls back. Then, a second or two later, it starts to speed up again. Fuck. I opted to take my own car down here instead of a fleet vehicle, and my engine is no match for the Charger’s. I push the accelerator to the floor, to put as much distance between us as possible. But the Charger catches up easily. It pulls into the left lane, and starts to gain on me. Thinking quickly, I wrench the wheel to the left, straddling the center line so he can’t pass me. He swerves and falls back, then starts to gain again.

A solid thump to the back of my car jars my neck. I cry out and grab the wheel tighter so I don’t lose control. The Charger falls back, then speeds up and hits me again, harder this time. I swerve, the back of my car fishtailing a little. He’s going to damage the chassis soon, and if he does I won’t be able to keep the car on the road. This isn’t sustainable. I’m going too fast to turn, and I can’t outrun him. I have to figure out another plan.

In desperation, I scan the road ahead for a place to pull off, but there’s nothing. At the top of the next hill, the Charger hits me a third time, and the impact makes one of my rear tires blow. This is it.

Then I’m skidding, the car veering onto the gravel shoulder on its own. I brace myself for impact as the front wheels fly over the side, into the air. My stomach drops as the car starts to fall, and as I go over the edge and the unknown, a raw cry rips from my throat:

“Travis!”