Chapter 68

68

Dylan hated driving down the stretch of highway called Wreck Curve Road. The highway wound all around the north and west side of the county. Couldn't drive a straight line around here. Nope. Not in Masterson County. The road had to weave around the "important people" ranches. Even if that meant everyone had to hug the center of the road and pray until they made it safely to the other side. Nope. Not around here.

She'd already had one hold-your-breath-hope-you-don't-pee-your-pants moment with an old brown truck on this road just five minutes ago.

Dylan's little car, complete with band-aid decals over the body damage those buttheads had done to her car back when they'd kidnapped her sister Devaney, was just not made for mountain roads. Or, well, anything that passed as a road around here, really. It was more of a stay-in-town-forever kind of a car.

But, well, her car. Her matter of pride.

Her father had promised to get her a new car—now that he had access to all of his savings from before she was even born. But that just wasn't going to happen.

Her dad had put far too many conditions on everything. Just like he always did. Well, Dylan Geraldine Brown-slash-Talley didn't roll like that. He wasn't going to buy her .

He sure was trying to, though. He'd picked a fight with her just that morning. Right in the middle of the inn. So fun, so fun.

Dylan rounded the bend, holding her breath and telling herself she was a strong, brave, independent woman—she could make it down the mountain. She could do it. It wasn't even snowing that hard or anything. And it was still daylight out.

She was going to find Meyra and get the full scoop. That cousin of hers had most certainly spent the night with the most delicious Brandt Barratt. All night. And had been with him all day today, too. That was serious relationship time now.

And Dylan wanted details. She kept that thought to herself, though—Dorie was beside her, and, well, her sister was young and innocent. Dylan was planning to keep Dorie that way as long as possible, too.

"I don't like this road," Dorie said, echoing Dylan's thoughts. "It almost feels haunted."

Dylan hadn't missed the wooden crosses next to the road, either. She shivered.

Now she was going to see ghosts in the twilight every single time she drove through here. Thanks, Dorie, for that.

Dylan was the big sister—she wasn't allowed to be the scaredy cat.

Well unless Darcey, Dixie, Dusty, or Daisy were around. Then Dylan got to be the scared baby sister and everything.

She was still getting used to that part.

She was almost down to the bottom of the curve-of-doom when the trucks came right at her. Dylan swerved, aiming for the opposite ditch from Wreck Curve Road.

Thankfully her little car was small enough to slide right between the two dumbasses—yes, she could say that word at her age—who had been barreling down the road side-by-side.

They all could have been killed.

Dylan threw her car into park and just sat there shaking, one hand wrapped around Dorie's. This was bringing back some bad memories here. Devaney had been abducted out of her car just like this. Dylan had been run off the road, and that monster had just taken her little sister.

Someone climbed out of that van really fast.

The van took off, with the driver of the truck inside, too, sending mud and snow everywhere. Splattering against the windshield.

They disappeared around the curve, leaving Dylan just staring. Not believing what she was seeing at all.

"Meyra!"

She threw open her door and jumped out. "Dorie, stay in the car! Mey! What happened? You're bleeding? OMG. Mey, tell me what happened." Dylan studied her cousin. What was going on? "Mey, talk to me, please talk to me."

Then Dorie was there. That baby sister did not listen very well. Dylan was going to have to retrain her, apparently. "I don't have any signal, Dyl. Meyra, how badly are you hurt?"

"Brandt, they have him. They took us off the road. To set him up for what happened in Finley Creek. He's hurt or drugged or something. Back there. And?—"

Meyra was freaking. Dylan knew that. She had seen Dahlia freak out enough times to recognize the signs.

"Brandt's in trouble." Meyra was shaking, rocking. Doing that hand thing she did sometimes. Dahlia used to stand up and down on her tiptoes and drum her fingers when she'd get overwhelmed and freaked. Meyra twisted her hands and flapped her fingers.

Dylan grabbed her cousin's arms and tried to turn her. Until Meyra was looking right into her eyes. "Where? Where is Brandt? Who shot him?"

Meyra pulled in a deep breath. "I can't freak, I can't freak."

"No, you can't. But you're not alone. I promise." That was Dahlia's big thing. When she was having a Dahlia meltdown. She was afraid she would be alone and something bad would happen that she couldn't handle. "Tell me what happened."

"Those men—Kurt and Ashton and Judge Fisher. It was Judge Fisher. Sierra's dad. They took us off the road and drugged Brandt and put me in a closet. They were going to kill us all and set us up. To make it look like Brandt is the one behind all the bad stuff happening here and in Finley Creek. And they killed her dad. The guy. At the inn. The one with?—"

Meyra looked down. "Her. With her."

Dylan looked down. And literally almost peed her pants.

There was a baby tucked inside her cousin's hoodie—a really young baby. And she was covered with blood.

Dylan looked closer. At the sweet, sweet face she had seen before.

"Is that…is that Katie?"