By morning, I am high on love. I could hardly sleep for it. Outside these walls, uncertainty prowls, but here in this bed, reassurance reigns. My sleep was restful, but then I woke up.

I stare at the ceiling and listen to Dane’s steady breathing, his legs heavy where they’re entwined with mine. There’s nothing I regret about the words I said last night or the realizations I made. I wouldn’t allow those four letters to be tarnished by regret. It’s just that when my thoughts provide the loudest noise in this quiet morning, they remind me of how much I don’t know about Dane. How much we have left to figure out. We’re living in the now, but we’ve done nothing to plan for tomorrow. Beyond this situation, I don’t know where that leaves us.

Will we stay or leave? And if we leave, would we just keep living together like we’ve been forced to now? We’ve only known each other a couple of months, and not all of those were spent actively dating. In fact, most of them were spent actively avoiding, on my part. All this thinking is making my head hurt, and I haven’t even gotten out of bed yet.

I slip out from beneath the covers and grab a shirt from the floor, dragging it over my head. After I’ve washed my face and brushed my teeth, Dane’s propped up on his forearms, the covers pooled at his waist.

“What are you doing up already?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” I say. I don’t think the discussion brewing in my mind is best suited for the morning.

“Come sit with me.”

I can’t help it. His mussed hair and sleepy smile makes me grin and blurs my worries until they’re hazy and undefined. I perch on the edge of the bed and let him take my hand. He holds it up as if he’s inspecting it, tracing his fingers over mine.

“What are you thinking about?”

When I look over at him, he’s scrutinizing my expression. “Nothing we have to talk about now.”

“If you’re worried about something, you don’t need to wait to bring it up.” Dane pushes himself up into a sitting position.

“I don’t want to assume anything, or think that after last night we have to make any life-altering decisions. I’m just not sure what to expect. There will be a time when we don’t have to lay low here, and I’m not sure where that leaves us.”

Dane is contemplative for just a few seconds before he speaks. “Okay. Good question. First of all, when this is over, I want to take you on a date. Something normal, like dinner and a movie. No hiking, no shooting. Although you do look pretty damn sexy holding a gun.” I look up at him, and his mischievous smirk makes me flush. “It’s always been my goal to leave, but I won’t make you follow me. It wouldn’t be fair. But, if you’re not completely in love with this place, I’d like you to come with me.”

“But where will you go when all this ends?”

He lifts the covers and pulls me between his legs so my back is against his chest. “There’s this place my parents used to take us when we were young, on Lake Glenville in North Carolina. An old cabin. We used to fish and explore, and my mom would cook what we caught for dinner every night. I remember there being so many fireflies there. I haven’t been to many places outside of Heronwood, but I’ve seen plenty on TV, and nothing compares to that little cabin. I guess I’ve just always dreamed of going back.”

“Sounds like heaven,” I muse. His reverent tone tugs at my heartstrings. “My sister and her husband are at Fort Bragg.”

“Well, Glenville is closer to that than Heronwood is. We could work something out. Then I could date you normally, for once.” His palm finds its way beneath my shirt, up my side, and he absentmindedly rubs his thumb over my ribs.

“No guns and no safe-houses?”

He chuckles. “Maybe a few guns. You can take the boy out of Tennessee, but you can’t take Tennessee out of the boy.”

I roll my eyes at that lame joke, and just as I go to get out of bed, Dane catches me by the hip and drags me back to him, covering us both with the sheets so it’s like we’re inside a makeshift tent. We kiss a little bit, we touch a little bit, and the morning slides by slowly and sweetly.

 

 

Dane leaves for work later—after I reassure him a hundred times that I’ll be fine—promising he’ll have someone drive by to check on things every so often. Vicente Santos, I surmise. I’ll admit, the guy was definitely rough around the edges, but he proved his loyalty to Dane by looking out for me, at the risk of being exposed as Dane’s ally. That decision couldn’t have been an easy one to make, but, as Dane explained, the Santoses look after their own and they never back down from a fight. Dane did them a huge favor back when his moral lines were hazier and situations like these weren’t such a rarity. He didn’t explain what it was, but I get the impression that one of the Santoses owes Dane a lot. Maybe even his life.

I laze around with Gulliver for a while before I get restless. I need to get out of this house, but I don’t want to risk being followed again. We make laps around the weedy yard until that gets boring, too, then we explore the woods a bit. The trees form a horseshoe around the house, a border of oaks to the back that curves around the east side to the front, extending to the farm road. Trees completely block the view from the road, so it’s become the perfect hideaway for us.

Gulliver and I can’t go far, though, because the underbrush is too thick, and I don’t want to chance being seen by passersby. So we head back to the house, and I heat a TV dinner in the microwave and resort to checking my emails for entertainment. Scrolling past the coupon offers and sale announcements, I spot one from Serena titled Lynn’s Designs Concept. I click on it, my excitement bubbling.

Serena’s sent attachments of what she’s been working on, as well as a short explanation as to why she chose the design elements that she did. As usual, she’s succinct and to the point, offering no backup plan in case Lynn is dissatisfied. She’s confident in her designs, and she has a right to be. They’re nothing like I expected. They’re better. But I’m not the one she needs to impress.

I could send these over to Lynn, but I’d rather pitch them to her in person. These ideas are modern and fresh and, frankly, a little intimidating. Nothing like what she’s used in the past. But I think they’re unique and different enough to set her apart. I give Dane a call to see what he thinks about me just going straight over to Lynn’s and back, but he doesn’t answer. He’s busy, and I don’t want to bother him with it. Besides, I doubt the ink-scaled man, whoever he is, has enough free time in the day to skim Heronwood’s backstreets for me. Even criminals have day jobs.

Gulliver watches me morosely as I grab my purse and go to walk out the door, so I give him a pat and a kiss on the head before locking up. I then call Lynn to let her know I have a surprise for her. She sounds wary and sour, and she tells me she hates surprises, but I don’t let that bring me down. I have a feeling these mock-ups are going to turn her mood right around.

I’m careful as I’m driving, at least I think I am, glancing up and down the roads before I turn onto them and keeping an eye on my rearview mirror. There’s no white truck in sight, and that fills me with relief. Then I remember the tatted stranger could be driving literally anything—my imagination is running away with me now—and my anxiety climbs a little more. Every car and hatchback and John Deere tractor earns a scrutinizing look from me, but I see no one on the road who resembles my attacker.

Once I turn into the safety of Lynn’s driveway, I’m full to bursting, my anticipation and excitement nearly boiling over. The only thing I know for sure is she’s going to either hate the ideas or love them. There’s no in between, especially with Lynn. When I don’t find her in the barn, I go to the house, and a very grumpy Lynn opens the door.

“I only have one rule for you being here—do not judge me. You gave me hardly any notice, and I’m in the middle of a mac-n-cheese binge.”

My gaze skips over her frizzed hair and torn pajama shirt, landing on spotted cow slippers. “Pregnancy looks good on you,” I crack, and she pretends to shut the door in my face.

“All right, come in. But this better be good, you betch. You’re interrupting cheese, for god’s sake.”

I follow her inside to the kitchen, where there is, indeed, a pot of mac-n-cheese. The good, homemade kind, not the stuff from a box. Although I’m not one to judge when it comes to macaroni. “Oh, it’s good, but I’m gonna need you to keep an open mind.”

Lynn freezes, her spoon poised above the pot. “Oh, god. What? Did you see Adam with another girl? That one from Speed-E Mart?”

“No! What the hell?”

“What? I hear suspicion is normal when you’re pregnant. I’m growing a basketball in my belly, and every time we have sex, for the next five months, it’s going to be there. Between us. Just getting larger and larger.”

“Okay, no. Let’s not . . .” I wave my hands in the air and take out my phone. She needs a distraction from this fictional dilemma she’s fixed on, and I’m just the one to give it to her. “So, Serena emailed me some concepts for your marketing materials. And they’re good, Lynn. They’re really good.” I smile to myself, pulling up the email.

“Like I said, keep an open mind,” I remind her before clicking on the photo of the proof for a new entry sign. The modern lettering is silver, crisp against a rustic wood background, and instead of keeping the original name, Serena chose one word: Reclaim.

Lynn leans in over my shoulder, and I watch as her expression changes from curiosity to . . . anger? Her forehead creases and her lips form a thin line.

She hates it.

“It’s . . . nothing like I expected. It’s not what I wanted!” Her hand drops to her side. I bite my lip in anticipation of her next words.

“It’s kick ass! Simple. Clean. It catches the eye. This is exactly what I need!” Finally, her voice reaches the pitch I was hoping to hear from the beginning. “Reclaim. Why didn’t I ever think of that? Your sister is a genius. Oh, sorry, we’re not supposed to like her. Right?”

I roll my eyes. “We can like her a little bit. So you love it?”

“Yes!” In a rare display of affection, she throws an arm around my shoulder and pulls me close, and I slump with relief.

“I could punch you right now, but you’re pregnant. You had me so worried!” I exclaim. “Come on, there’s a lot more. Business cards, advertising ideas, the works.”

We take over the couch in Lynn’s living room, and I show her everything Serena sent me. Her excitement grows with every concept photo, and it’s distracted her from the macaroni. That in itself is probably a win. Adam is working, so our little celebration is only interrupted when Dane calls. Lynn sees the name on my phone and raises her eyebrows, making suggestive eyes at me.

“I’ll explain later,” I promise her. “But right now, I need to take this outside.”

I feel the heat of her suspicious gaze all the way across the room and to the front door. Once I’m outside on the porch, I bring the phone to my ear. “Hey, I’m sorry, I tried calling you earlier.”

“It’s okay. You made it to Lynn’s all right?”

“Yes, no issues.” I glance back at the door, then amble further from the house. “Serena sent over Lynn’s business stuff, so I wanted to show it to her in person. She’s really excited.”

“I’m glad. Listen, I might be back late, so it’s probably better you’re there, anyway. I got a tip from one of my old buddies. It’s big. I need to check around to get the details, but . . . I might have a way to end this.”

It’s good news, but there’s a current of tension beneath his words that makes me freeze. I know enough from what he’s told me thus far, and from my limited personal experience, to assume that nothing involving Trey and the guys he runs with ends positively.

Catching my silence, Dane’s voice lowers. “Hey, I’ve got you, okay? We’re going to get through this, and then we’re going to get the hell out of here. We have plans, you and me.”

I nod to nobody, rubbing the hem of my shirt between my fingers. “Yeah. Okay. Be careful.”

“I will. I definitely love you.”

“I definitely love you,” I respond automatically. Then I hang up, and fear creeps through me like fog. Gripping the porch railing, I tell myself that Dane will be okay. He’ll figure out a way to get Trey off our backs, and then we’ll be free.

I have no qualms about leaving this town, now. It’s the place where I finally took a leap and lived by myself for the first time. It’s been the site of realizations and the birthplace of a few fond memories. Aside from those things, and finding friendship in Lynn, I don’t have much tying me here.

“You guys are screwing, aren’t you?” It’s my greeting as soon as I rearrange my expression and walk in the door. And just like that, my mask of indifference is replaced by a blank face and a slackened jaw.

“Well damn, it’s not the end of the world, Raven, I’m just calling it like I see it,” Lynn admonishes me with a scowl. The pot of macaroni is in her lap, and she’s got cheese on her forearms.

I look down at the phone in my hand, then back up at her, giggles rising within me until I can’t help it anymore and they just spill out. I flop down beside her and lean my head back, allowing myself a good long laugh until tears stream from the corners of my eyes. It sounds so no-nonsense coming from her mouth, and maybe it is. Maybe when you take away all the other stuff, it could be that simple.

Once the last dregs of laughter have left me, I take the spoon from Lynn, digging out my own bite of mac-n-cheese.

“You’re lucky I’m more curious than hormonal right now, or you might’ve lost that hand,” she cracks, though she keeps a sharp eye on the spoon. “All right, spill it all. I want to know everything. Last I checked, you couldn’t care less about Dane Cross. Then he was fawning all over you at the carnival all of a sudden—don’t think I didn’t notice—and you had that shit-eating grin on your face the rest of the day. What am I missing?”

“Where do I even begin?” I say slowly, buying time. I guess there’s not much use hiding it, now that Trey’s found out.

“Well, talk fast, and don’t you dare leave anything out. I’m getting pregnant-er by the second and I don’t have the patience to pry the facts out of you.”

I take a deep breath and prepare to launch into the story of us. “Well, I guess it all started when Trey made me a gin and tonic at a house party, that I suspected might be roofied . . .”

 

 

We end up talking for hours; searching for commercial spaces for rent, debating the merits of bassinets, and discussing my budding love life. I could do without that last part, but Lynn is surprisingly supportive. I guess I had no reason to doubt her after she deflected the rampant rumors during our girls’ night.

I don’t notice how late it is until my phone chimes with a text message from Dane and I notice the time.

 

Dane: I found the guy. Headed back home now. Meet me there?

 

I glance up at Lynn, who has an expectant look already in place.

“Go on. Get it with your bad self,” she says, shooing me away. “We have all the time in the world to plan my entrepreneurial takeover.”

I give her a hug to hide the doubt on my face.

Outside, the air is thick with humidity. The drive home is pitch black, with clouds obscuring the moon, and strong winds make it difficult to stay in my lane. All is silent except for the noise in my head. I wonder if Dane found out anything useful, and what that might mean for us.

Is this the first domino in a row of decisions that will lead us out of here? Out into normalcy?

My imagination fills all the unknowns in my mind with thoughts of the future. It felt dangerous before, but now, I think I deserve to indulge in a little daydreaming. I’ll be starting over again, on a new adventure, but this time I won’t be alone. This is the last place I expected to be, but it feels right, and I cling to that to keep me afloat.

At first it just looks like the orange glow of someone’s outdoor light on the horizon, through my windshield. My preoccupied mind dismisses the sight instantly.

Then I make the final turn onto the farm road leading to Dane’s house, and a ball of unease crashes in the pit of my stomach. I recognize the distinct hue that’s only intensifying the closer I get. If it were daytime, I’d see a column of smoke rising into the sky. That color, the one that seems to undulate and come alive, is like something out of my worst nightmares.

But I don’t have to rely on nightmares to experience the raw fear seeing that bloom of orange against the night sky makes me feel. I’ve lived it already—nearly a year ago, when my world went up in smoke.

It’s reality. It’s chaos, danger, and destruction. And once again, I’m rushing toward it.

I jam my foot down on the gas, trees whipping past my windows at speeds that are beyond illegal for this narrow road, but that’s the least of my concerns. All that’s registering in my mind is Dane and how sick I feel that this might be happening again.

But maybe he isn’t home. Maybe he had farther to drive than I thought and he hasn’t yet arrived. In that case, everything else can be replaced. It won’t be the end of the world; we hardly have any possessions there. Just . . . Gulliver. I grip the steering wheel and focus everything I have on getting to the house as quickly as I can in one piece. God, Gulliver. I can’t imagine the confusion he must feel, wondering what’s happening and where Dane and I are.

The partially-concealed driveway comes up way too fast, and I stomp on the brake pedal while turning, tires squealing on asphalt, then spitting gravel when they hit the driveway.

Please be a brush fire. Please be a brush fire. Please be a brush fire.

I burst into the clearing, and my heart leaps into my throat, choking me. It’s the house. Angry flames can be seen through the upper-story windows, and thick smoke unfurls into the sky. The déjà vu is dizzying, only this time, the song of sirens is noticeably absent. I’ve beaten the fire trucks here, if they’re coming at all. At least now, there’s a good chance nobody’s inside. I grab my cellphone out of my purse as I drive around the edge of the house, but the sight of the maroon truck in the driveway stills my hand.

In less than a second, my fear is magnified and worry grips tighter, clutching my gut and making it hard to breathe.

It’s Dane’s truck.

I skid to a stop and throw my car in park, leaping out without switching off the ignition. The cab of his truck is empty. “Dane!” I scream, the name clawing my throat.

No answer.

My vision narrows, and I scan the expanse of front lawn, as well as what side-yard I can see from where I stand. But he isn’t here. He isn’t waiting out front in an ambulance, safe and sound.

I can hardly focus on calling emergency responders as something instinctual takes over. Swallowing the bile that rises in my throat, I put the phone to my ear and run toward the house. Toward the flames. I don’t even think twice about it. I just hop up the uneven front steps and cross the porch to the front door, yanking it open. Without hearing or seeing him, I know he’s inside. And I have to get to him.

There’s nothing like the sound of fire. It has a rumble to it, as if it’s a living, breathing beast. It crackles and pops and roars with intensity. I hear glass shatter from somewhere above me, and I flinch as heat billows from the staircase. More smoke pours from the upper floor.

“Dane?” I call again, though it’s strangled and weak. The amount of smoke is unimaginable, and I receive no answer. Provoking my panic is the beep of my phone announcing I have no service.

Shoving down fear, I keep low, making my way to the storage space beneath the stairs that Gulliver’s recently taken over. It’s empty.

“Dane!”

I’m rewarded by a few rhythmic thumps. Footsteps. Above me.

I grip the banister and narrow my eyes, trying to see something, anything that would give me a clue as to whether it’s Dane up there. Just as I’m about to set foot on the stairs, a pair of boots emerges. My breath whooshes out of me when Dane comes into view, carrying a frightened Gulliver over his shoulders.

I go to speak, but I’m overcome by the violent urge to cough.

Dane’s eyes, though narrowed against the smoke and the heat, widen when they land on me. “Let’s get out of here,” he calls hoarsely, as if I needed the encouragement. I follow he and Gulliver’s massive forms out the front door and down the steps to the grass, sucking in the clean night air. It’s so much quieter out here on the lawn.

Dane sets Gulliver down, and I don’t waste another second to wrap my arms around him. He’s sweaty and smells of smoke and burnt hair, but he’s here, and he’s whole, and he’s alive. The sight of him makes me shake with relief. He pulls back to look at me, sweat coating his forehead and dripping off his temples.

“I have to go back,” he says, taking my face in his hands and giving me a rough kiss. It’s abrupt and nothing like I expected after finding him in a burning house. It has the same effect as being doused in ice water.

“What? No! We have all we need!”

Dane shakes his head, resolve in his eyes. “I left something. It’s irreplaceable. Take Gulliver, get in the car, and get away from here. I’ll catch up to you.” He turns back to the house before I grip his arm with all my might, tugging him to me.

“And leave you? What are you talking about?”

“I don’t have time to explain. This wasn’t an accident. Go!” Then he wrenches his arm from my grasp, and he’s gone, sprinting back into the house.

It wasn’t an accident? What is that supposed to . . .? Cold dread seeps into my bones, despite the heat. Snapping my head around, my eyes skate over the border of the woods, but I see no one. Still, that means very little when it’s the dead of night. They could be anywhere. Trey could be anywhere.

When Gulliver whines from beside me, I lean down and take hold of his collar. He’s shaking, but with a little coaxing, I get him to follow me. I reach my car and pull the passenger door open, ready to toss him in, no matter how much he weighs. I’m bending down when I notice it. My tires, both that I can see from this side of the car, are flat. How in the hell?

Though it’s a longshot, I peek up at the steering column and see that my car has been turned completely off and the keys are missing. Someone’s been here, right where I’m standing, within the past few minutes.

My fear mounts. I feel dangerously exposed, and I can’t very well go back to hide in the burning house. The arsonist could be lying in wait, biding his time to pick off anyone who survives the hot ball of destruction before me. The feeling of helplessness is crushing, but it’ll escalate to complete failure if I don’t succeed in doing the one thing I can do to help Dane. I click the button on my phone to light up the screen again. No service. I groan, but fight the urge to kick the side of my car. I need to keep my cool, and I need cover if I’m going to call the police. Remembering that cell reception is better near the main road, I begin to drag Gulliver toward the tree line at the front of the house. When he sees we’re traveling away from the fire, he comes along willingly, and I’m able to break into a run with him loping beside me.

Mid-dash, I jab at my phone to make the call. It takes three attempts, but I’m finally successful on the fourth try. I huff and puff as I run, entering the woods and plowing forward, not sparing any extra time to worry about twisting my ankle. I’ll think about the consequences of that when it happens.

I’m near the road when a pop alarmingly close to my left ear makes me scream and drop the phone, cowering away from the explosive noise. I may not have a lot of experience with guns, but I don’t need any more to recognize that sound.

Someone’s shooting at me.

I drop to the ground on my hands and knees, scrambling for any cover I can find. The trunks of the trees are thinner here and offer little in the way of concealment, but I take my chances. I can’t see or hear anything. My ears are ringing from the shot, and Gulliver is nowhere in sight. He must’ve taken off when he heard it.

Then I hear leaves crunching underfoot and a familiar voice.

“Raven? It’s all right. It’s just me, Sheriff Branson.”

It’s Mike. I know it is. I slump in relief, gripping the bark of the tree with shaking hands as I try to stand.

“I’m over here, Sheriff,” I call weakly, rounding the tree.

“I can’t see you. Follow my voice.”

I walk, fumbling through the trees and scrub. There are no clear-cut trails, and I vaguely feel the thorny brush scraping my legs with every step. “There’s a fire, is someone . . . is anyone coming to help?”

“Don’t you worry, I’ve already called it in.”

When I stumble through a particularly nasty thicket, I see him. He’s holding a gun by his side, something white wrapped around the handle. And then I see the body on the ground.

“Is that . . .” My hand goes to my mouth, clapping over it, thoughts of the fire momentarily pushed back but not forgotten. It’s Trey. I recognize his familiar profile even though he’s lifeless, his body twisted in an unnatural sprawl on the ground. “What happ . . .” Words fail me as my legs weaken and I slump against one of the tree trunks.

“I arrived barely a minute ago and saw him fleeing the scene. When I tried to confront him, he pulled his weapon. I had no choice,” Mike says methodically. The cadence of his words sounds so strange.

My breath shudders out of me as my eyes dart from the body to Mike’s calm, cool stature. “Someone already called it in?”

Mike’s eyes, black in the night, dart up to meet mine. “An anonymous caller.”

It’s only then that my gaze lands on the gun at his belt. Then the one in his hand—the one he’s holding with a rag. My body reacts before my mind can comprehend what I’m seeing, and I right myself, taking a slow step back, away from Trey’s body. Then something clicks in my mind. Seeing them both here together . . . Dane said something a few weeks ago that I thought was strange. What was it? My mind is buzzing, jumbled with information. It needs a break, I need a break, but I can’t afford one. There’s a man armed with two weapons in front of me, and something isn’t adding up. But there’s still a missing link I can’t quite identify.

Trey and Mike. Trey and Mike.

. . . and Jenson.

Dane knew Jenson had been in town—he asked me about it—and when I asked him how he knew, he said Trey mentioned it to him. But that didn’t make sense; the only person who knew about that visit was Mike because he had driven up seemingly out of the blue.

Trey and Mike.

Could they have been working together? And why and how would Mike be wiping the handle of a gun I suspect is Trey’s if everything happened as he said it did? An intrinsic warning to put as much space as possible between Mike and I grows in the forefront of my mind. And, Dane! Dane doesn’t know anything about this! I’m out here in the woods alone with someone who could be a thousand times more dangerous than the person I feared.

Just as I take another step, Mike shakes his head and raises the gun. He levels it with my head and I freeze, knowing I’m dead in his sights.