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The tires flicked gravel and cracked over the dirt. The engine on my Dodge purred, and the wheel twitched under my hands when I hit potholes.
Zara started talking slowly then rattled onward, telling me about how when she was two, this had happened, when five she’d helped with the chickens and sat on an egg and smashed it, when seven...
The girl with a childhood that wouldn’t let her forget.
I figured this alleged kidnapping had become an obsession. Alleged?
No. She didn’t seem crazy. I wanted to laugh at that because crazy had become real. But when it came to Zara’s story, I figured it must have happened.
It didn’t matter to me. It wasn’t why I was here.
When we reached fields where crops should be growing, she quieted.
We passed acres more on our way down to the creek. The fields had been planted sporadically or not at all.
“I half expected us to be heard by a farm dog and for it to bark like mad. This time of year the corn stalks should be way high. Harvest is in September. It’s too late to plant now.” She turned to me and her eyes seemed wide and black. “Something’s wrong.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“We’re here. We should keep looking,” she whispered as she sat back, folding her arms and rubbing them as if the summer heat had turned cold.
“Might as well.”
I drew the car to a halt where she indicated. There was only one flashlight between the two of us, so I handed it to her. “Use the first click, it’s dim.”
The grass here was only ankle high, and it whispered at my heels.
“I’m starting to see better in the dark than a man should.”
Zara sighed. “Me too. Except make that woman.” She clicked off the flashlight.
Knife in one hand, my heavy flashlight in the other, and those long, fine legs—real fine. The cheeks of her ass showed just a little when she walked. With the knife sheath strapped on and the broad belt she looked like a gunslinger chick from a fantasy magazine.
Dayum.
“Shouldn’t you be wearing jeans? You’re lucky the grass isn’t longer.”
“Pfft. I’m fine. ’Sides, it’s too hot for jeans.”
“Suit yourself.”
Why was I trying to get her into jeans anyway?
Something in leather and spikes will do.
A STRING OF WOMEN TETHERED UPSIDE DOWN TO A STONE CEILING, SWINGING GENTLY. THERE WAS LEATHER, AND THERE WERE SPIKES…
I shook my head and bit the inside of my cheek. It worked to get my concentration straight, most of the time, and made the thing retreat. I was beginning to suspect the thing didn’t sleep.
Zara made small talk as we walked down the mild slope and I guessed she was looking for distraction, even when the small talk turned to focus on me.
“You ever wondered if that vroom-vroom vehicle you drive isn’t too flashy for an agent like you?”
“It’s black.” The police used them.
“Yeah, but a black Dodge Charger? Still flashy. I thought the government would get you to drive quiet lil’ granny cars?”
I halted. So did she. I stared until a part of her had surely withered and died. “Best way to avoid attention is to look like you want it.”
