“Reach up to about the height of your shoulder and run your hand along the metal until you feel a handle.”

She obeys, but the choice of where to angle the flashlight bothers her. She decides to run her hand along the metal in darkness and angle the flashlight’s beam at the opposite end of the tunnel, in case some night predator decides to peer inside and see what all the fuss is about. But the darkness beyond the opening is so total, the flashlight makes the opposite end of the culvert look like a portal into a realm of infinite nightmares. So she turns the beam to the curved metal wall next to her.

Then she feels it.

“Pull,” he says.

She does. “It’s not doing anything.”

“Pull harder. It’s been months.”

Months, she thinks. So whatever it is, he could have put this in place himself.

She’ll have to either put the flashlight down or stick it in between her teeth. She goes with the latter. It works. With both hands, she begins yanking on the metal handle. It whines and bucks, fighting her for every tug. If she tries any harder, she might end up swallowing the flashlight and choking on it. Instead, she curses as she bites down on it, which only causes Noah Turlington to say her name again and again.

Then, suddenly, she’s flat on her ass in the thin stream of water trickling through the culvert’s bottom. Whatever fell to the culvert’s floor made an impact that sends vibrations rattling through its length. They tickle her thighs and butt, so startling she almost misses the second loud gong that follows the first—the sound of something big and heavy falling free of the new opening overhead.

It’s a lockbox, and it landed on one side in between her splayed legs.

“Charley!”

The flashlight stayed between her teeth, probably because she bit down harder on it during the shock of the metal door coming free. She pulls it from her mouth. “I’m OK.”

“Do you see it?”

“Yes. What’s the combination?”

“Seven, five, eight, one.”

The lockbox is too heavy and big for her to hold in one hand. She rocks up onto her knees, even though it means keeping them in the water, and enters the combination.

The lock clicks open, and she pulls the lid up, and she’s shining the flashlight down on a plastic bag of what must be a dozen orange pills just like the one Dylan Thorpe gave her in his office at the Saguaro Wellness Center five months before.

“That should help with your security issue,” he says.

37

“How long have these been here?” Charley asks.

“That’s all?” he asks. “Not even a thank-you?”

“How long?”

“Like I said back then, I figured if we got separated after Arizona, you’d either run to your lawyer in San Francisco or back to Altamira. It’s not quite halfway, but given you picked Altamira, I’d say I chose a good spot.”

“These have been here that long? You planted them before you sent Jason to my house?”

“Yes, as a backup.”

“A backup,” she whispers.

She’s surprised by how much this lockbox frightens her.

Yes, she was angry when Cole refused her request for pills today. But when they had first started working together and he demanded she give up the rest of her stash, she had felt relief. Immense relief. A freedom from the responsibility they presented. The responsibility of keeping them secret and deciding how, if ever, they should be put to use. Now she’s responsible not just for the three she requested, but for nine more Cole doesn’t know about.

“I’m so disappointed,” the voice in her ear says.

“This is incredibly dangerous, leaving these here like this.”

“For whoever gets in your way, maybe.”

“This isn’t about me. Someone could have found these.”

“Oh, you’re right! The local chapter of the Isolated Ditch Exploration Society just had a huge membership drive. What was I thinking? Honestly, Charlotte! Can you not manage to thank me for anything?”

“Now I’m supposed to find a place to hide these?”

“My hiding place is perfect, thank you. Just take what you need and leave the rest for later.” Her hands are shaking as she runs her fingers over the plastic bag. It’s like the pills inside are giving off invisible vibrations. She feels less like an employee—a test subject, a host!—who placed herself, perhaps foolishly, but entirely, in Graydon’s care, and more like that frightened woman who had to flee Arizona months before, without a plan, without a map.

“I’m assuming Cole doesn’t give you an unlimited supply to do with as you please.” He takes her silence as an affirmative response. “OK. Well, there you go. You don’t have to use them, of course, but now you have the choice. And someday soon, once you get past your anger, you’ll see that’s what I’m all about.”

“Secrets and hiding places?”

“Choices.”

Her phone vibrates in her pocket; she pulls it out, sees a text from Bailey. Busted. Wrap it up. They’re onto him.

“Shit,” Noah whispers in her ear. “Later, Charley.”

What she hears next sounds like a flurry of movement, followed by a door being thrown open so hard it bangs into the wall behind it. Noah Turlington shouts a word or two of what sounds like an overly cheerful greeting to whoever’s just burst into his room, then the connection goes dead.