Page 82 of Tracking Wolfe

“There are more clouds than yesterday, though,” I pointed out. “Seems like rain’s moving in.”

Jake turned to look at me from where he was lying on the other half of the towel. We’d already put the remains of the food back in his pack and set both packs off to the side. “Were you out here yesterday?”

I shook my head. “Not here. But same sky, you know?”

He sat up, pulling his knees to his chest, and went quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice had gone flat. “Wolfe. I’m going to need your help. With Shay.”

“I told you⁠—”

“You blew me off. But I need you to take this seriously.”

“I am taking it⁠—”

“No.” He rubbed the back of his neck, almost like he was embarrassed. “I don’t think you are. Because if you were, you’d understand that I’m not exactly… asking.”

I glanced over at him so quickly I got a head rush, making everything look blurry and strange. “What does that mean?”

My mouth was dry and strange, so I reached for the water bottle Jake had given me with lunch. It was almost empty now, but I was too lazy to get up and grab the one I’d brought from my pack.

Jake looked out at the horizon for a long moment, like he was deciding something. Then he said, very quietly, “I know about Fletcher Coe. The music.”

The water bottle nearly fell out of my oddly numb fingers.

Jake finally met my eyes, and what I saw there wasn’t cruelty—it was something more unsettling. He looked tired. Almost sorry. Like a man who’d taken a wrong turn a while back and had only just realized how far from the road he’d wandered.

But he also looked determined.

“I went back through your social media to confirm it,” he said, like he needed to explain himself. “I didn’t want to use it. I want you to know that.”

“Then don’t. Please,” I said quickly, as if I could convince him by asking nicely.

He shook his head. “I’ve got the mortgage company breathing down my neck and a sister to worry about.” He ran a hand over his mouth. “I need you to help Shay. A duet video. You post it as yourself—as Fletcher—and suddenly, she’s got a shot. It’s five minutes of your time, and I’ll keep your secrets.”

He stopped. His voice cracked slightly. “I’m not asking you to ruin your life. It’s one video. One post. And then Shay has a shot, and I can breathe again, and you go back to California, and none of this ever—” He stopped and closed his eyes. “I just need you to say yes.”

I didn’t believe that for a second. But my brain was having trouble deciding what was real. Was he truly saying this? Was it a true threat? Why couldn’t I figure it out?

“Did Shay ask you to do this?” It was hard to believe, but how else did Jake know about Fletcher Coe?

He waved his arm. “No, Jesus. She doesn’t know anything about this.”

“But… but she’s the one who took the journal.”

Jake looked at me like I was stupid. “I’m the one who took the journal. Stop blaming shit on my sister.”

My head felt like it was floating away, like every thought was impossible to keep hold of. “You’re the one who said she⁠—”

“Because if I told you I took it, you never would have gotten in the fucking truck!”

The first drop of rain fell. For a minute, I thought it was a tear falling from my own face. Or wet paint. Or bird shit. Or a flick from a water bottle. The sky had been blue just minutes ago. Now it was a strange rainbow of grays and greens.

“We should go before the weather gets worse,” I said quickly, pushing myself up and reaching for my daypack to put on my rain jacket.

Another wave of dizziness nearly brought me to my knees, but I forced myself upright, lurching a little before getting my balance.

Jake pushed to his feet, too. “I need you to agree, Wolfe.”

He reached for his own pack, grabbing up the towel and shoving it inside without shaking it off. He retrieved his phone and shoved that in, too.