Chapter 2: Robyn

It’s after midnight, and I’m driving along a deserted highway when my ’94 Honda Civic starts to shudder and shake. I smell something burning and I hear grinding noises coming from underneath the hood. This can’t be good. My fears are confirmed when the car abruptly loses power and begins to slow. I have just enough time to pull onto the shoulder before the vehicle rolls to a complete stop. The engine’s still running, but when I press the gas pedal, it just revs. There’s no forward motion.

I smack my palms on the steering wheel. Shit!

With a sigh, I put the vehicle in park, turn off the engine, and lean back in my seat.

I’m screwed.

I haven’t even made it out of Colorado, and I’m stranded.

It’s pitch black outside, no moon whatsoever. I look around and see nothing but ominous shadows where huge pine trees line both sides of the road. I’m in the middle of nowhere. I had a vague plan to head west, to get away from Denver, and then turn south and drive to somewhere warmer. Arizona maybe? I’m playing this by ear.

My stomach is in knots. How could Ricky do this to me after everything we’ve been through? I didn’t even recognize the guy I saw tonight. That wasn’t my friend talking. That was a stranger. An addict. A desperate one.

When I pick up my phone, I see I have no signal. I’m in the middle of nowhere Colorado surrounded by trees and mountains. Of course there’s no signal. I couldn’t call for help even if I could afford to.

My stomach growls, reminding me I didn’t have time to grab anything to eat before I took off. And I didn’t think to bring a water bottle with me. I have no food, no water. Nothing. And to top it off, I need to pee, badly.

My heart nearly stops when a dark SUV pulls up behind me, headlights flooding the interior of my car, blinding me. There’s no way they followed me. It’s impossible. I’m on the verge of a full-blown panic attack when the vehicle behind me starts flashing red and blue lights.

It’s just a cop.

A man wearing a tan uniform and a dark brown cowboy hat exits his vehicle, approaches my window, and knocks.

I roll down my window. “Good evening, officer.” I smile up at him and try to act natural.

He shines his flashlight into my vehicle, quickly sweeping the front and back seats. He looks surprisingly young. Maybe he’s in his late twenties, not that much older than I am. He’s got dark blond hair peeking out from underneath his hat, and a trim beard covers a square jawline. His name tag says Sheriff C. Nelson .

“Good evening, miss. What seems to be the trouble here?” His tone is surprisingly friendly.

“I don’t know. It just died on me. The engine started grinding and then I lost power and coasted to a stop.” I pick up my phone. “And there’s no cell service out here.” Not that I can actually afford to call for help.

“Yeah, sorry. You won’t get a signal out here. Closer to town, yes, but not here. This late at night, the auto repair center is closed, but I can radio the owner and see if he can come out here anyway and tow you to his shop.”

I wince, thinking about the late hour. But more importantly, how much will a tow cost? “You don’t think he’ll mind?”

“Nah. He’s a night owl.” The man presses a button on the radio clipped to his shoulder.

There’s a loud squawk, and then a woman answers. “Whatcha need, Sheriff?”

“Hey, Regina. I’m out on the state route about five miles north of Bryce, with a young lady whose car is broken down on the side of the road. Would you see if you can reach Micah and ask him to come tow her to his shop?”

“Will do,” the woman says. “Just a sec.”

The sheriff gazes down at me. “While we’re waiting, can I please see your license, registration, and proof of insurance?”

“Sure.” My hands are shaking as I reach into my purse for my wallet. Cops make me nervous. I hand him my driver’s license.

He shines his light on it. “You’re from Denver, huh?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What brings you all the way out here in the middle of the night?”

“I prefer traveling at night. Less traffic. I’m headed to Estes Park on a sight-seeing trip.”

He frowns. “Alone?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How about that registration and proof of insurance?”

“Oh, right.” I pull a folded sheet of paper out of the glove box and hand it to him. Then I grab my phone and show him my digital insurance card.

He looks over my insurance card and nods. “Thanks. I’ll be right back.”

I know it’s protocol for him to call in my license and vehicle registration to make sure I don’t have any outstanding warrants, but still it makes me nervous. I keep reminding myself to calm down— I haven’t broken any laws. In fact, I’m running away from people who want me to break the law.

After a few minutes, the sheriff returns to my window and hands me my documents. “Tow truck’s on its way. We’ll have you off this road and somewhere safe in no time.”

“Did they happen to mention how much the tow costs?” I’m betting I don’t have enough to cover it. In fact, I’m sure I don’t.

The sheriff studies me a moment. “I’m afraid not. But don’t worry. We’ll work something out. For now, just hang tight while we wait.”

My jaw tightens. Yeah, I’m sure we can work something out. If not with him, then with the tow truck driver, I’ll bet.

How much does a tow cost? A blow job? Two?

This is what they mean when they talk about jumping from the frying pan into the fire. My pulse picks up again. I did not run away from Ricky and his drug dealer just to end up a victim to small-town corruption.

The sheriff goes back to his SUV to wait for the tow truck, leaving me alone to worry about how I’m going to get out of this. I can’t afford a tow, but I can’t sit out here on the highway forever. And I have no money for repairs. What if it’s not something simple? What then?

My mind churns through a variety of scenarios, everything from a minor repair to something major. Whatever the problem is, I’ll figure it out. I have to. And then I’ll get back on the road. The sooner I put Denver a thousand miles behind me, the better.

Not ten minutes later, bright lights practically blind me as a monster tow truck pulls up alongside my car. I catch sight of the logo— Jackson Auto Repair .

The driver’s window comes down, and I glimpse a tall, dark-haired man seated behind the wheel. I can hardly make him out as he’s sitting in the shadows.

The sheriff comes to stand between our two vehicles. “Thanks for coming out so late, Micah,” he says to the driver. “I owe you one.”

“It’s no problem.” The man’s voice is deep. “Just let me get this thing turned around.” He drives forward a short distance, performs an impressive multi-point turn, and then pulls up on the shoulder in front of me. The tow truck beeps loudly as it backs up until there’s just a few feet between us.

The driver’s door opens, and a tall man with a long black braid jumps down from the cab. “Evenin’, Sheriff,” he says as he approaches.

The sheriff shakes his hand. “Sorry to bother you so late, but as you can see—”

“It’s fine. I was still up.” The man heads toward my open window and stops, his hands on his hips. He’s dressed in blue jeans and a navy blue sweatshirt and is holding a heavy-duty black flashlight.

I gaze up at him—at his high cheekbones, warm brown skin, and dark eyes. There’s a thin, brown leather choker around his neck holding a single turquoise pendant. Native American.

“Mind popping the hood for me, miss?” he asks.

I reach down to release the latch, and the man—Micah—lifts the hood and peers down at the engine, using his high-powered flashlight to see by. The sheriff moves to stand beside him, and I can hear the two men chatting.

“Try starting the engine,” Micah calls to me.

I turn the key, and the engine starts right up. Surely that’s a good sign.

“Well, it’s not the battery,” Micah says. “I was hoping for something easy.”

The two men step away from the car.

“Try pulling forward a few inches,” Micah says.

I put the car in drive and press lightly on the gas pedal. Just like before, the engine revs, but the car doesn’t move.

The tow truck driver returns to my window. “Did you try to move forward?”

“Yes.” I try again. “Nothing.”

He frowns as he looks toward the sheriff. “I’ll tow it to my shop and do a thorough inspection in the morning. There’s not much I can do out here in the dark.”

The sheriff opens my door. “Step on out, miss, while Micah hooks your car up to the truck.”

I grab my phone and purse and step out onto the road. The temperature has dropped, and I’m not dressed for it. A breeze blows right through my jean jacket, and I shiver.

Two things strike me at once. This guy is big—the tow truck driver. I’m guessing he’s a couple inches over six feet tall, and he’s built. Like really muscular. He’s also younger than I expected. I was expecting some beer-bellied, middle-aged old guy, but no. He’s probably not even thirty yet. I glance up into his face and my breath is knocked right out of me. He’s the most strikingly handsome man I’ve seen in person.

Micah holds out his hand and gazes down at me expectantly. “Your key?” he finally asks when I stand there staring at him like an idiot.

“Oh, right. Sorry.” Flustered, I hand him my key chain.

He nods toward the cab of his truck. “If you like, you can climb up into the front passenger seat and wait while I hook up your car. The heat’s on. You’ll be warmer in there.”

“I can’t stay in my car?” I really don’t like the idea of climbing into a complete stranger’s truck.

He shakes his head. “Sorry, no. It’s not safe.”

“It’s okay, Robyn,” the sheriff says. “I’ll follow you to the auto shop. Or, if you prefer, you can ride in my vehicle.”

I’m wondering how he knows my name, but then I remember he looked at my driver’s license.

Do I ride with the sheriff or with the tow truck driver? I look from one man to the other. Which is the lesser of two evils? They’re both complete strangers, but I’m out here on a deserted road in the middle of the night. I can’t afford to be too picky. Not unless I want to walk in the dark and freeze my ass off.

“I’ll make it easy on you,” the tow truck driver says, as if he can read my mind. He nods to the SUV. “Ride with Chris.”

Chris?

Frowning, I glance at the sheriff. His name tag says C. Nelson . Oh. Chris. Apparently these two know each other pretty well if he’s calling the sheriff by his first name.

As I shiver violently, the sheriff motions to his vehicle. “Come on. Let’s get you out of this night air. Have you got a heavier coat in your car?”

“No. Just this.”

The sheriff motions toward his vehicle. “Shall we?”

I follow him, and he opens the rear passenger door for me. His engine’s still running, and the heat is on. I hear intermittent voices coming over his radio.

“I’m sorry to be a bother,” I say as he slips into the driver’s seat.

“It’s no trouble.” He meets my gaze in the rear view mirror. “That’s what I’m here for. To help folks. Protect and serve.” He pauses a moment before he adds, “Micah may look intimidating, but trust me, he’s one of the good guys.”

“I didn’t mean to imply—”

“I know. And it’s okay. Trust me, we get it. You can’t be too careful these days, can you?”

It’s not long before the tow truck pulls away, taking my car with it. We follow in the SUV. It’s about a 10-minute drive until we reach a small town—Bryce, Colorado, according to the welcome sign, population 812. Another mile down the road, the tow truck pulls into an auto repair shop on the left-hand side of the road.

There are several buildings, the biggest one in the center, and two smaller ones alongside it. The place is dark, which is to be expected. The parking lot is lit up by streetlights.

Micah pulls close to one of the garage bay doors and lowers my car to the ground.

The sheriff parks in front of the shop and turns to face me. “It’s too late for Micah to do anything with your car tonight. What do you want to—”

I jump at the sound of knuckles rapping on the sheriff’s window. He rolls it down.

“What do you want to do with her tonight?” Micah asks as he nods in my direction. “The motel’s closed.”

The two men eye each other.

The sheriff says, “I could drive over there and see if I can get them to open up.”

I can’t afford a motel. I don’t even have enough to pay for the tow. I lean forward and peer out the driver’s window. “That’s okay. I can sleep in my car.”

Micah glances at me, and then back at the sheriff, and shakes his head. “Don’t bother with the motel. She can sleep in my office.” He opens my door. “There’s a comfortable sofa in there, plus a kitchen and a bathroom with a shower. You’ll have everything you need.”

My heart starts pounding. But when I look at the sheriff, he nods to me, as if to say, It’s okay. It’s safe.

Micah stands by my door patiently, waiting for me to make up my mind.

Beggars can’t be choosers, so I step out of the SUV. “Thanks for the ride,” I tell the sheriff.

He gives me a salute. “No problem, young lady. Try to get some sleep. I’ll come back to check on you in the morning.” And then he pulls out of the parking lot and turns left, his tail lights quickly disappearing from sight, leaving me alone with Micah.

I shudder visibly, but whether it’s from the cold or from nerves, I don’t know.

Micah gestures toward the big, darkened building. “Come on. I’ll show you where you can sleep tonight.”

“I really don’t mind sleeping in my car.”

He frowns. “I’m not about to let you sleep out here. The office is heated. You’ll be comfortable—” He pauses. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“It’s Robyn, with a y . Robyn O’Neil.”

“Look, Robyn with a y , in case you haven’t noticed, it’s late and it’s cold out. You need a warm, safe place to sleep tonight.” He sighs. “I promise you I’m not a serial killer. I’m just an auto mechanic.”

As he cracks a smile, I feel my guard dropping. I’m not getting any red flag vibes from Micah. He seems like a decent guy. And, more importantly, I don’t think the sheriff would have left me here alone with this guy if there was a chance he might murder me in my sleep. “I guess I don’t have any other option. So, thanks.”

“No problem,” he says as he offers me my key chain. “Is there anything you need to get out of your car?”

I take it. “Yes, my backpack.” I grab my backpack from the back seat, lock up my car, and follow Micah inside the auto shop.

He turns on a desk lamp. “This is the front office. My office is this way.”

I follow him into a room off the main office. He switches on a light, revealing a comfortable space. There’s a computer desk and chair at the back of the room. Up front is a long, black leather sofa with a coffee table and two end tables holding lamps. On the walls are a variety of framed photographs, some landscapes and some family shots.

There’s one of him, much younger, standing next to a stunning woman with dark eyes and a long black braid, an older white guy, and an even older white couple.

He notices me looking at the photo. “That’s my sister, Ruth, and me with our dad and grandparents.”

“Is your dad around?”

“He lives in Vancouver. He’s an architect, and he travels a lot for work.”

“And your mom?”

“She died when I was a toddler.”

I feel a stabbing pain in my chest. We both lost our moms way too early.

Micah points to a photo on his desk—it’s a much younger version of his father standing with his arm around a beautiful, young Native American woman. “My parents shortly after they got married.”

“She’s beautiful.”

He nods. “Yeah. Ruth looks so much like her.”

“And this one?” I point to a framed photo on the wall of him standing beside a helicopter, dressed in military garb.

“I served as a medevac pilot in the Army. That’s me in Afghanistan.”

Micah opens up a metal cabinet and pulls out a stack of bedding and a pillow. “These are clean,” he says. “In case you were wondering.”

I smile. “Thanks.”

He lays the bedding and pillow on the coffee table and proceeds to make up the bed. He even puts a fresh pillowcase on the pillow before he props it against one arm of the sofa. “If you get cold, there’s an extra blanket in the cabinet.” He moves toward the door, motioning for me to follow. “Come. The bathroom’s right next door, and there’s a kitchen off the front office with plenty of snacks and drinks. Help yourself to anything you want.”

“Thanks.”

When we return to his office, he points to the doorknob. “There’s a lock on the door. Feel free to use it. I want you to feel comfortable.”

The knot in my stomach loosens a bit more. “Thanks.”

He grabs a piece of paper off his desk and jots something down. “Here’s my number. Call or text if you need anything tonight. I won’t be far.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, where do you live?”

“I have a cabin out back behind the auto shop. Do you have everything you need?”

“Yes, thanks.”

“Okay. Call me if you need anything. When I leave, I’ll set the security alarm. No one can enter the building without you knowing it. I’ll see you in the morning. I’m usually the first one here, but I do have three employees, so don’t freak out if someone gets in before me.”

And then he’s gone, leaving me alone in a silent, unfamiliar space.

I make a beeline for the bathroom because my bladder’s about to burst. I wash my hands afterward and then go looking around in the kitchen. It’s surprisingly just like a home kitchen, with home appliances and a fully-stocked refrigerator. I grab a glass from an overhead cupboard and pour myself a glass of water. I down the entire thing, and I’m still so thirsty I end up drinking a second glass. Now I’ll surely have to pee again in the night, but it can’t be helped.

I find a box of peanut butter crackers and devour one of the packages, and then I eat a banana.

After a quick stop in the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth, I return to Micah’s office and lock myself in. I plug my phone in to charge and check my messages. There are ten new messages from Ricky, each one more disturbing than the one before. They become downright threatening. He sounds desperate, scared even. Drugs and desperation are a bad combination. I’ve seen it destroy too many people.

I don’t bother replying to any of his messages. I keep my phone on do not disturb and let it charge.

Micah was right when he said the sofa was comfortable. I sink into the well-worn cushions with a sigh and will my body to relax.

I’m okay.

I’m in a safe place.

And most importantly, no one knows where I am.

I close my eyes and count slowly to twenty—something that always helps me unwind. I don’t even make it to ten before I lose track and my thoughts start drifting.

My mom always told me things always look brighter in the morning. My throat tightens, like it always does when I think of her. The last time I saw her alive, she was getting dressed up to go on a date night with my dad. He was going to take her out for dinner, and then they were going to see a movie. I was ten. I put myself to bed before they got home late that night. When I woke up, she was dead on the living room floor of a drug overdose. My dad must have panicked, because he was nowhere to be found. Two days later, he was arrested and charged with drug trafficking. He was the one who’d given her the cocaine tainted with fentanyl.

As an orphan, with no other family, I’d been placed in the foster care system. And that’s where I met Ricky. Ricky and Robyn. I used to pretend we were twins. We were the same age, the same height. We both had blue eyes. His hair was blond, though, and mine is auburn. He protected me. I helped him with his school work. We were a team. And finally, I had family again.

And now, even that’s been taken from me.

The last thing I do is send text messages to my bosses back home, explaining that I had to leave town suddenly and that I don’t plan on returning.

I pull the bedding up to my chin and snuggle into the pillow. Tomorrow’s another day, and I’ll face whatever challenges come my way then.