“Wherearewe going?” Juni asked, the faintest edge of whining in her voice, and Maren couldn’t blame her. She’d been as good as gold for the entire trip—not complaining, not begging for things at the stations. She hadn’t even asked for Snoopy. Instead, her brave little Juni, who not twenty-four hours ago expected to come home from school to her aunt and her toys and a bowl of ice cream for dessert had lost everything, and now her crazy aunt was driving them across the country without telling her anything.
“Juniper…”
“Am I in trouble?”
“No. Oh, gosh no, sweetie. You are the best. Why would you ask that?” If she hadn’t been worried about going off the road, she would have reached behind her for Juni’s hand.
“You call me Juniper when I’m in trouble or something bad is happening. I know something bad is happening but I don’t want to be in trouble, too.”
Okay, do not tear up. You need to see to drive.
“You are so far from being in trouble it’s not even funny,” Maren told her, which was a lie. They were both in trouble. “You are the best road trip buddy anyone could hope for.” She checked the next road marker—she didn’t dare use the navigator and she’d ditched her phone for a burner in Vegas. If she’d had the chance, she would have rented a car and ditched hers, but her choices were limited that late at night. God, that soundedso much like something someone would do in one of the crime shows she loved to watch.
Watch, not live in.
The Eisenhower Tunnel was twenty miles away, according to the trucker’s atlas. They’d get to it in about fifteen minutes unless traffic slowed.
“We’re about to go into a great big tunnel. Once we’re past that, if the weather lets up, I can explain where we’re going. Right now, I have to concentrate on the road, okay?”
“Okay,” Juni immediately agreed, and Maren let out her breath. Raising Juni, she’d tried not to use “because I said so.” Nothing made Mira rebel harder as a girl than hearing those words, and Juni had inherited that gene.
She’d heard of the Eisenhower Tunnel but had no idea how long it was, and when they came out the other side after several minutes under all that rock, the weather was completely different. No falling snow, no gray overcast—just puffy clouds and the bluest sky Maren had ever seen. The bright snow on the mountains was almost painful to look at.
“Wow,” Juni said, echoing Maren’s thoughts. “It’s like magic.”
“Sure is.” She remembered from checking the map at breakfast that Georgetown was next, then Idaho Springs about half an hour down the road from the tunnel. It felt strange but good to be relying on her memory instead of a navigator, plus it kept her mind off worrying. So did the scenery. They were very close to where the finale for season two ofBattleLorehad been filmed last winter. She shivered, looking at the snow-capped mountains and remembering the avalanche she’d read about.
“The weather’s better now…” Juni trailed off.
“It is.” Maren took a deep breath. “Junip—Juni. I’m taking you to meet your dad’s family in a place called Lyons, Colorado.”
At least I hope so. Because if this didn’t work, Maren had no idea what to do.
She glanced in the rearview to see Juni’s reaction. The little girl’s silver-gray eyes rounded, but in surprise or alarm, Maren couldn’t tell.
“My…dad? He lives here? I’m going to meet him?”
“You’re going to meet his family. I…don’t know much more than that, sweetie. I’m sorry.”
Juni looked out the window. She lifted her stuffed animals to her mouth and whispered something to them. Then she met Maren’s gaze in the rearview.
“Is he in heaven like Mom?”
Maren blew out a breath. “I…” And now she was about to go back on her own principles and fib to Juni, but she didn’t want to upset the girl any further. “I’m…not sure.”
God, those words hurt to say.
Mira, if you’re up there listening, please, we need your help.
Then she added,And Sean Volker, if you’re there, too, please help me keep your daughter safe.
FOUR
Gate duty wasn’tanybody’s favorite assignment, but somebody had to do it, and today that somebody was Colin Hale.
Truth be told, he didn’t mind it as much as some of the others did. He liked the quiet of the gatehouse, the pine shadows across the road that curved up toward the offices, the peaceful stillness of a mountain morning with nothing to do but watch the camera feeds tick through forest views.
He’d had worse jobs. He’d had jobs where boredom was a luxury he couldn’t afford. And he liked boring because boring meant no one was bleeding, screaming, lying, or making him deal with a child.
