He didn’t call me Crystal.
“Jade,” Dex said.
I stepped onto the running board and got in before I could change my mind.
Dex closed the door, rounded the hood, and slid behind the wheel. He started the engine. Headlights cut low across the dirt track, picking out needles, ruts, and the first pale breath of morning between the trees.
Crystal stayed low in the back.
Dex kept both hands on the wheel.
I watched the side mirror until the cabin disappeared behind the pines.
At the county road, Crystal leaned forward between the seats. “Left.”
Dex turned left.
The cuffs were under Dex’s jacket. Crystal’s key was under her sweater. I kept my eyes on the road ahead, because the next locked door we opened would either set my sister free or make sure none of us got out alive.
Chapter Six
THE STORAGE FACILITYcame into view before the sun cleared the ridge.
One buzzing security lamp burned over the chain-link gate, throwing pale light across gravel, keypad post, and the low office window. Beyond it, rows of metal doors lined the lanes in dull gray strips, each unit marked with black numbers and dust gathered along the roll-up seams.
I slowed the truck before the entrance and checked the road behind us.
The road behind us stayed empty, at least for now.
My jaw tightened anyway. I eased it loose and kept both hands on the wheel while the old crucifix pressed warm against my chest under my shirt. The cross had weight this morning. So did the silence in the cab.
Jade sat beside me with her body angled toward the passenger window, one boot braced lightly against the floorboard, eyes moving between the side mirror and the road behind us. She’d braided her pale hair back at the cabin with shaking fingers and a rubber band Crystal had found in the bottom of a duffel. The braid left the small black ink drop behind her right ear visible every time she turned her head.
I turned back to the windshield before memory took my hands off the wheel.
Behind us, Crystal stayed low behind the front seats, folded into the cramped floor space with her arms wrapped around her knees. Her soft green sweater made her look younger than the warrant photo and more breakable than either sister would tolerate hearing.
“You still good back there?” I asked.
“No,” Crystal said from the floor. “But I’m still back here.”
A smile almost broke through. “That’s the Kemp family motto.”
“Terrible motto,” I said.
“You’re welcome to design us a better one after nobody murders us before breakfast.”
My grip tightened once on the wheel, then eased.
I rolled closer to the gate.
“Unit number,” I said.
Crystal swallowed behind me.
“B-19,” she said. “Gate code is four-one-seven-nine.”
I punched the sequence into the keypad. It gave one weak beep, and the chain-link gate shuddered aside on a rusty track that sounded too loud in the empty morning.
