Page 162 of Peaks and Promises

“Let’s go.”

CHAPTER 39

Reese

We crossed a river just outside town and headed north on a two-lane highway. Farms and fields dotted with sparse trees stretched out on either side, and hills scorched brown by the summer heat rose in the distance.

A concrete truck lumbered along, driving well below the speed limit. I checked for oncoming traffic, then passed on the left.

“There they are,” Summer said.

Ahead of us, the club members drove in a loose formation. The highway curved and they momentarily disappeared from sight.

“They definitely know where they’re going,” I said.

“And as soon as we take the turn off the highway, they’re going to know we’re following them.”

I didn’t know if it was possible to avoid a confrontation with Mayhem, but we had to try. “Are there any other roads that lead in the right direction?”

She zoomed out on the map on my phone. “Maybe. There’s a road that cuts west. It’s a dead end, and I can’t tell for sure where Sam Fogel’s property line would be. But there seem to be a bunch of outbuildings. It looks like this road would get us close.”

“If they don’t take it, I will.”

The highway curved again, and we caught sight of Mayhem passing an old pickup truck.

“The turn is up ahead of them,” she said.

I watched through narrowed eyes, waiting to see if they’d take the left. They didn’t—drove right by.

A moment later, we approached the same spot. A dirt road with no sign led across the field and into a long thicket of trees. The green stood out against the dried grass surrounding it.

Slowing, I turned, hoping against hope this would get us where we needed to go.

“There must be water up ahead.”

“It’s a creek,” she said. “The map makes it look like there’s a bridge.”

She was right. An old bridge crossed the wide creek and the dirt road continued out of the trees and into another brown field beyond.

“This should curve north and then fork. Take the right one.”

“Got it,” I said.

We passed a farmhouse, and a few horses lifted their heads as we drove by. Dust billowed in our wake, and I pressed on the gas, driving as fast as I dared on the uneven road.

The right fork led us to a winding road that snaked through low hills. There were only a few signs of habitation. An old house and a dilapidated barn stood in the distance, and some of the road was lined with livestock fencing.

“The road will turn again up ahead, just before it ends.” She pointed to the right. “Sam Fogel’s property is that way.”

I came to a stop. A wire fence with wood posts lined the road as far as I could see.

“We’ll have to go on foot from here.” I looked at the map, judging the distance. “But that building isn’t far. The driveway is over there, so I bet this is all Sam’s property. Or close to it, at least. But this is good. We’ll be able to approach from the back.”

After turning off the engine, I took my gun and holster out of the glove box and gave it a quick check. I hoped I wouldn’t need it—I wanted to get in and out of there without a confrontation—but I knew what I was up against. Better to be prepared.

We got out and I put on the holster, then tucked the gun inside. Fortunately, the fence wire wasn’t barbed, and we were able to clear it without any problems. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much cover—only a few small trees reached up from the dry grassy field.

Since we could see ahead of us, I led her in a straight line in the direction of where we’d seen the nearest outbuilding on the map. The sun beat down on us, and it didn’t take long before sweat trickled down my back.