My brows raise. Well, hot damn, Mrs. Wilson has a potty mouth. I never would’ve expected that out of the little churchgoing quilter. I guess you really never know what goes on behind closed doors.
“Okay, I’m giving up.” She lets out a light laugh. “I’ll set your milk on the porch.”
I wait for her footsteps to clear, before I start moving. But as soon as they do, I start gathering up my things pronto. I have no idea what time it is, no idea how long I passed out in the old barn, but I do know it’s time for me to get out for a while. I figured the place was abandoned.
But I guess Sammy lives here now.
I shove what leftover food and clothes I have into the backpack, my heart strangely steady. I know this is what the rest of my life is going to look like—unless I go back. But going back means catching a charge for escape.
And I can say goodbye to that level two status I earned.
Maybe I should’ve just fucking stayed.
“They’ll never find you guilty of first-degree,”my defense attorney’s voice echoes in my head.“You were there to collect a debt.”
I was such an idiot to believe him.
You know what I got, Rue? Fucking life without the possibility of parole.
I shake my head as I pull the zipper around the top of the backpack, and then attach the bedroll to the top. Now, I look like a regular ole hiker, not an escapee.
Maybe today I’ll confront Rue. Or maybe I should wait until I have an actual plan.
I slide my arms through the straps, and then ease to the edge of the loft, peering over just to see.
Oh fuck.
I’m met with a pair of horrified hazel irises, wild gray hair, and a blood curdling scream. Mrs. Wilson looks like she might fucking keel over right then and there.
That could be bad.
“Whoareyou?” she manages to wail, stumbling backwards in her little pioneer floral dress. “What are you doing in my barn?”
I raise my hands in a low show of surrender, though she still startles backward more, running violently into the sliding barn door.
“Easy,” I mutter, my voice coming out so groggy it might be confused with a growl—only further serving to terrify the old lady.
Good fucking gracious.
“I’m gonna call the cops,” she starts patting around on her skirt, like she might have a phone stashed away. “You better not come down from there!”
Too bad.
I throw my body over the edge of the loft, landing on my feet. “Sorry,” I mumble in her direction as she nearly falls right over, her face growing ghastly white. I bolt through the gap in the door, sprinting right out into the morning mist.
And I can already hear her voice.
“There’s someone in my barn,” she says, her voice trembling. “I don’t—I don’t know who it is, but he’s not supposed to be here!”
Well, at least she didn’t notice I was wearing her dead husband’s clothes.I gulp in air as the mist turns to a downpour, the exact opposite of what I need right now.Unless they bring in the dogs.
Fuck. I need to run faster.
My calves start to burn as I tear through the woods, I know I have a solid thirty minutes before the cops probably show up. Drifters come through here occasionally, and honestly, other than trespassing, they won’t be thinking about it too seriously.
Until they connect me to the inmate that walked away.
I’m sure it’s out on the news by now, but I push it away as I stumble through the thick brush, eventually breaking out of the trees to the bluff that overlooks the lake—and consequently the dock that I watched Rue shove Matthew from…
