Regardless of how much pressure I apply, the wedge doesn’t get in deep enough to make a hole for the poker. The first sign of an issue has my brain firing off catastrophe thoughts. I grit my teeth and will myself to stop, but they’re so goddamn loud.
I press my hand to the car, taking in the heat it’s absorbed. I have to stay on the task at hand. I have to stay out of my head.
But then I see inside the van.
And there’s Ivy’s hiking backpack, still sitting in the driver’s seat. My heart drops to my stomach.
She hasn’t gone out to hike. She must’ve left to go to the bathroom or to grab something in town.
She could be back any minute.
And I can’t get this wedge in. “Help with this! I don’t think Ivy’s gone into the woods.”
Beck’s expression falls. “Fuck.”
Beck shoves the wedge in like a roided-up man. I scan the area, but there’s no sign of Ivy.
The wedge sticks.
“Alright,” Beck says, her voice barely coming out as she catches her breath. “Go get ’em.”
I hold the wedge in one hand and insert the skewer with the other.
It’s too short.
I try to take a breath, but I can’t get enough air in.
“Shit,” I say. “It can’t reach.”
“Get it down into the tips of your fingers.”
I slide it down, millimeter by millimeter.
It’s still not enough.
Beck’s gaze on me, I slide it down so much it’s digging under my short nails. My fingers tremble as the skewer just brushes the unlock button but doesn’t apply enough pressure. My finger muscles suddenly ache like they’re ready to snap from the position they’re in.
I force a spasm of movement down, though.
And the skewer slips out of my fingers, into the car. The air rushes out of my lungs as it settles on the driver’s seat, the burnt end making a black mark on the cream interior.
“Oh my god,” I say. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.”
“What?”
But Beck doesn’t have to wait long to get it.
How could I have been so stupid? I should’ve let Beck jimmy the skewer down. Shit, now we need a new skewer. And Ivy could be back any second. If she’s the killer, if she was willing to kill Paisley, Harlow, and Opal, she’d have no hesitation when it came to us. I wish we knew what they did that made someone want to murder them. I wish—
“Get out of the way, Emma!”
When I look back, Beck’s got a rock in her hands.
Beck’s got awhat—?
Beck shoves me aside, just forceful enough to get me out of her swing range.
She winds back and slams the rock against the window.
