9. Ridley

9

RIDLEY

Pressure built behind my eyes as the wind whipped against my cheeks. But there were no tracks of wetness for the wind to find, no evidence of my grief for them to grab hold of in a stinging slap. My thighs burned as I climbed the hill on my bike, but I relished the pain, the proof I was alive.

I’d opted not to use the bike’s electric aid, simply tearing out of Emerson’s drive and heading for my temporary home. I knew I’d need the bite of discomfort to reel in my rioting emotions.

Colt’s words echoed in my head. You’re scum.

Maybe I was. Maybe I was worse than that. The lowest of the low. And not just for reminding Emerson of the worst moments of her life but for abandoning my sister when she’d needed me most.

My lungs burned as I pulled up to my campsite and slowed my bike to a stop. I simply stood there for a moment, just breathing. Breathing for her and for me—just like always.

I fished in my pack, pulling out my keys. The silver key ring glinted in the sunlight. I traced the lacrosse sticks with my fingertip as they rested in my palm. “I’m so sorry, Avs. You’ll never know how much.”

My phone dinged in my bag, and I tugged it free of its pocket. A new text flashed on the screen.

Marsha

On to a new one, I see. Hope they know how lucky they are to have you working it. Be careful but get it done.

That pressure behind my eyes intensified, the tornado of emotions dying to break free. That single kindness in the wake of all the ugly swirling was the thing that nearly broke me. But I didn’t let it.

Me

Not the warmest welcome I’ve ever had.

Three dots appeared for a few seconds.

Marsha

If I remember correctly, I wasn’t too pleased when John brought you home that day.

A laugh bubbled out of me as the memory of her creative cursing floated to the surface of my mind, along with her promise to make her husband sleep in the literal doghouse for promising to do an interview with me.

But when I’d told Marsha Ross a little of my story, she’d softened, tears filling her eyes at my loss. And when I was done sharing, done telling her how much I wanted her to find justice for her daughter, who’d gone missing from a local college campus, she’d agreed to an interview.

It was the first case I broke. The first where I’d helped put a monster away. One that gave me hope I could make a difference.

A new text filled the chat, pulling me out of the swirl of memory.

Marsha

If you let them know that beautiful heart of yours, that warrior spirit, there’s no way they won’t be on your side. And they are so damn lucky to have you as their champion.

The pressure was back, digging in, demanding release. I shoved back just as hard, trying to bury it deep. I didn’t typically share my own story with the people I interviewed, only if I sensed they needed it. To know that they were in the hands of someone who had walked the path too. But there was always a cost to it. A price. But I’d pay it every time if it helped someone else.

Only, I wasn’t sure Colter Brooks was open to hearing it. He’d painted me in his mind already. Looking only for the ugly and evil, not any possible good.

That was fine. He could think what he wanted to. I was going to find him closure all the same.

Not for him. For Emerson. And for so many more.

Me

Thanks for the reminder. Grateful for you. Hug Lucy and John for me.

Marsha

Will do. Send me a snail mail address if you can. I’ll stick a dozen mint chip cookies in the post for you.

I smiled down at my phone. Of course she would. She’d become a second mom along the way. Following my every move and cheering me on. In the face of my own mother never acknowledging what I did, it was a balm. She’d never know just how much.

Grabbing my bag, I shifted off the bike and headed for my van. As I approached, a prickle skated over my skin, the kind I’d learned not to ignore. My gaze swept the surrounding campground. Nothing out of place. The only other sign of life was a tent set up at least two hundred yards away, but there was no car present with it.

I slid a hand into my pack and pulled out my Taser. My fingers curled around it, holding tight as I flipped up the safety. I crossed to my van and froze. There were scratch marks on the door, right around the lock.

Someone had tried to get in.

I didn’t think they’d succeeded. They likely would’ve left the van door open if they had. For a fleeting moment, I thought about calling the sheriff’s department. But somehow I didn’t think Colt and his team would be too keen on riding out to a call from me.

Taking a deep breath, I slid my key into the lock, thankful I’d upgraded the system when I’d had it customized. I twisted the key and gripped my Taser tighter. Sliding the door open, I held my breath.

Nothing moved.

But the door to my narrow closet was slightly ajar. I let my bag fall to the ground so I was ready to fight. Stepping into the van, my pulse thrummed in my neck. I held my breath and counted to three.

One.

Two.

Three.

I jerked open the closet. A figure flashed in my vision, and then something hit me full force, and I was falling.