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“Yes?”

My insides knotted just thinking about asking Cas what I wanted to ask him, but I couldn’t help it. He knew Sam better than Nick and Trev. They were closer. So if anyone knew the answer to my question, Cas would.

“Does Sam… ah… does he—” The words didn’t want to come out.

“Does he like you?” Cas filled in.

I cringed, completely mortified. “Um… yes?”

In the glow of a streetlight, Cas’s expression blanked, and he cocked his head to the side. “Do you really want to know the answer to that? At a time like this?”

Did I? When we reached the end of this, whatever it was, I couldn’t stay with Sam. He’d move on to his new life, wherever that might be, and I’d return to mine. I couldn’t have him in the way I wanted. And that killed me.

“In the immortal words of the Magic 8 Ball,” Cas continued, the wind flattening his blond hair to his forehead, “ ‘Ask again later.’ ”

But I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. If Sam had no feelings for me, I didn’t want to know.

20

“I GOT A NAME,” NICK SAID WHEN WE met up. “And an address.”

“Where?” In the darkness, Sam looked impatient, as if being in one spot for too long had already gotten to him.

Nick sunk his hands into the pockets of his new black fleece, which he’d either bought or stolen at the mall. It wasn’t what I would have pictured him in, but then again, I didn’t think he cared what he wore as long as it functioned properly. He had specific tastes when it came to specific things, but clothing apparently wasn’t one of them.

“Ten miles east of town on a dirt road: 2757 Ax Lane,” Nick said.

Cas snorted. “Well, that’s pleasant.”

Sam shifted, the glow from the street lamp highlighting the planes of his face. “What’s the contact’s name?”

“Tommy. That’s all I got. No last name.”

“Tommy sounds like the name of an illegal arms dealer to me,” Trev said.

“Sure does.” Cas nodded.

My teeth chattered as we slid back into the Jeep. I held my hands in front of the vent after Sam started the engine, wishing I had grabbed a pair of gloves at the mall. I would have loved to have the scarf, too. It might have been in my possession for all of ten minutes, but in that amount of time I’d come to think of it as an extension of my mother. Like owning that scarf would somehow bring me closer to her.

But maybe I wouldn’t even need it. Maybe the miles were bringing me closer to her.

I grabbed her journal and flipped to the very back, to her recipe for garlic mashed potatoes. In red pen, she’d drawn a heart at the top of the page and scribbled a message below.
Arthur’s favorite
, it read. I couldn’t help but analyze everything now, looking for hidden meanings.

What I really wanted to find was an answer. Why she left. If she thought about me.

If she is even alive
, I reminded myself.

With Nick navigating, Sam drove. The vehicle jolted as we exited the highway and turned onto Ax Lane, the pavement giving way to dirt. A truck passed us on the opposite side, shooting gravel into the driver’s door.

“Damn rednecks,” Nick grunted in the back.

“Keep that kind of thing to yourself when we get there, all right?” Sam said and Nick went quiet.

Number 2757 was a mobile home, the white sheeting on the outside sliding off in places like loose window shutters. Several cars and trucks filled the front yard. Farther back, taking up most of the lot, was a garage twice the size of the trailer. Smoke curled from a stack jutting out through the roof.

Sam parked alongside a black truck.

“We all going in?” Trev asked, eyeing me. I appreciated his concern, but I was not staying in the vehicle. Not in the middle of nowhere.

“Since we have no idea what we’re dealing with,” Sam answered, “it’s probably best if we stick together.”

The trailer in front was dark, but music pumped from the garage, so we went straight there. Sam knocked on the metal access door. I counted the seconds it took for someone to answer, hoping that the classic rock blasting inside had drowned out the sound of the knock. I started to fidget.

Sam was reaching to knock again when the door opened. A man in his late forties peered out at us, scraggly gray hair hanging in a ponytail over one shoulder. His bloodshot eyes lingered far too long on me. I should have felt uncomfortable under his stare. Old Me would have. New Me just felt angry. I straightened my shoulders and held my chin high.

Look confident.
That’s what my instructor used to say.
Predators prey on the weak.

“Yeah?” the guy spit out. “What can I do for ya?”

“Are you Tommy?” Sam asked.

The man’s brows knitted together in suspicion. “Maybe. Why?”

“We need guns.”

He snickered. “Kid, I ain’t got no guns. Now run home to Mommy.” The man, obviously Tommy, started to shut the door, but Sam blocked it with his foot.

I braced myself for a fight.

“What the hell do you—”

“See that Jeep out there?” Sam said.

Tommy craned his neck. “Yeah, what about it?”

“It’s stolen.” Sam pulled the cell phone from the inner pocket of his jacket. “Not only do I think you’re an illegal arms dealer, I think you’re also a drug dealer. Is that weed I smell?” Sam gave the air a sniff. “What else will the police find if I call to report a sighting of that stolen vehicle?”

Tommy jabbed his finger in Sam’s direction. “Now listen here, you little punk—”

“We just want a few guns.”

By the look of his trailer, Tommy needed money, and he certainly didn’t want the police prowling around this place. He readjusted his hold on the door. “Well, you got any cash?”

Sam pulled a clip of money from his pocket and held it up.

Tommy snorted. “Fine. This better not bite me in the ass.”

Permitted entrance, we filed in. I counted a total of ten people inside, including Tommy. A few guys stood around a computer watching Internet videos. Another group played poker at a foldout table. Two of them were women, somewhere in their thirties. The one on the left hunched forward, allowing her cleavage to spill out of her low-cut shirt. The other woman flung a hank of kinky brown hair off her shoulder, catching a few wisps of it in the big hoop earrings dangling from her ears.

They studied the boys—
my boys
—then settled their attention on me.

“Tommy!” one of the guys at the computer said. “Hurry up. You got to watch this.”

“Later,” Tommy said.

The guy turned around. “Oh,” he said when he saw us. “Didn’t know we had company. You need me?”

“Yeah, get your pansy ass over here.”

Tommy’s friend joined us as we approached a closed door in the back. His eyes landed on me. “So, what’s your name?”

“Anna.”

“Name’s Pitch. And it’s a fine pleasure to meet you.”

Pitch was younger than Tommy by about ten years. He shared Tommy’s long, thin nose and pronounced chin, but his hair was some shade between brown and red, cropped in a short shag around his face.

In another life, Pitch might have been cute, but in this garage, he gave off a sordid vibe that made my insides scuttle. With Sam’s earlier suggestion running through my head, I stayed close to him and pretended to be flattered by Pitch’s attention, wanting no hard feelings or trouble.

Tommy unlocked the closed door with a ring of keys attached to his belt loop and pushed through, flicking on an overhead light. The room looked like a library, which seemed so out of place here that it was obvious it was a cover. Three bookcases lined the walls. Car manuals took up most of the shelf space.

Tommy shoved aside a manual on Ford Mustangs and revealed a silver lock embedded in the back of the bookcase. He pulled out the same ring of keys, undid the lock, and swung the bookcase out.

Behind it was an entire rack of weapons. Handguns, shotguns, knives, brass knuckles.

“So what can I do you boys for?” Tommy said, revealing the weapons like a street dealer holding out his suit coat, showing off a load of watches pinned to the inside.

“Browning Hi Power?” Sam said.

Tommy pulled a sleek black pistol from two pegs on the pegboard and handed it to Sam. “How’s that?”

Sam nodded at a little folding table open against the far wall. “May I?”

Tommy shrugged. “Be my guest.”

Sam removed the clip and set it on the table. Next he pulled back
and locked the slide, checked for bullets. He wiggled something and a piece popped out.

Even though he’d told me he remembered using guns, it still amazed me to watch him dismantle this one like it was something he could do in his sleep.

He pulled out a spring, then the barrel, and inspected the pieces with the keen eye of someone who knew exactly what to look for.

“Hasn’t been cleaned in a while,” he concluded.

Tommy snorted again. “This isn’t fuckin’ Martha Stewart.”

“Any gun owner would know that cleaning a gun ensures its accuracy and gives it longevity.”

Pitch stepped up. “Do you want it or not, Cupcake?”

The boys and I shifted closer to Sam. “How much?”

“Nine hundred.”

Sam reassembled the gun and fired a dry shot, making sure to point it at the ground. “I can buy a brand-new one for a thousand.”

“Then go buy a brand-new one.” Tommy hitched up his pants. “Something tells me you need that gun tonight, or you know you’ll fail the background check. Whichever it is, it means you ain’t getting a brand-new one, now are ya?”

“Four hundred,” Sam said, ignoring the goading, even though Tommy was right.

“Seven,” Tommy countered.

“Five apiece. I’ll take four.”

“I ain’t got four the same, but I can give you something close to it for twenty-two. That a deal?”

Twenty-two hundred dollars for guns?

“Ammunition included?” Sam asked.

Tommy shrugged. “Sure.”

“Deal.” Sam handed over the money.

Pitch selected three other guns and a few boxes of ammunition. He passed one of each to Trev, Cas, and Nick.

“Pleasure doing business with you, boys,” Tommy said.

I let out a breath once the bookcases were locked behind us, the guns put away. I wanted out of there. The whole place felt off, and a discomforting sensation crept along my skin like spider legs.

We passed Tommy, Cas leading the way. I stayed in the back, close to Sam, but we had to go single file through the door and Pitch came up behind me, slinging an arm around my shoulders.

“So… Anna… you staying close by here? Can I get your number?”

I tensed beneath his touch, assaulted with the smell of cheap cologne and stale cigarette smoke. Pitch’s flannel shirt rasped against the back of my neck and I moved to shove him off.

“Pitch!” one of the girls called. “Keep your goddamn hands to yourself, and try to remember who you’re engaged to.”

The bottle-blond woman stood next to the card table, cigarette smoke curling around her face, her mouth tense with fury. My hands started to sweat.

“Shut up, Debbie!” Pitch yelled.

Sam hung back. “Anna.”

Pitch cocked his chin. “Is she your girlfriend or something? I don’t see your name on her.”

“Pitch,” Tommy said, the warning ringing out loud and clear.

“Pitch, goddamn it!” Debbie said again.

“You broke up with me last night,” Pitch shouted. “Far as I’m concerned, I’m a free man.”

Debbie gave her metal folding chair a shove. She dropped her cigarette, ground it out with the toe of her boot, and stormed in our direction.

“You little piece of shit,” she said, slamming Pitch in the chest. Pitch stumbled back. She turned to me.

“Get your people in line,” Sam said to Tommy.

“Don’t tell me what to do, kid.” Tommy flicked his ponytail off his shoulder. “Maybe if your girlfriend wasn’t a whore—”

In one quick move, Sam slammed the bigger man to the floor, getting in a punch before one of Tommy’s friends jumped between them.

I backpedaled and held my hands up. “I’m not going to steal your boyfriend!”

“You’re damn right you’re not!” Debbie slapped me across the face. The shock hit before the heat did, and I went motionless.

Nick reached for me, but a burly blond guy grabbed him by the forearm and swung him around. Pitch sidestepped us and dove for Sam. Tommy’s other men swooped in. They cornered Cas
near the poker table and slammed Trev up against a freestanding toolbox.

Debbie hooked a leg around mine and pushed, slamming me to the floor. The air rushed from my lungs and I gasped to get it back.

“Anna!” Sam yelled.

Debbie climbed on top of me, pinning me. Her eyes were bloodshot, like she was drunk or high or both. Air trickled into my lungs. I gritted my teeth. I was not going to be bested by a sleazy hick.

I bucked, dislodging her, and got to my feet. She wrapped her arms around my legs and my knees hit the concrete. I threw back an elbow, cracking her in the sternum. I found my footing again, twisted, grabbed a hunk of frizzled blond hair and rammed her face into my knee. Something snapped. Debbie screeched as blood poured from her nose.

“I don’t want your stupid boyfriend!” I yelled.

“Anna?”

I whirled around.

Tommy and Pitch and all the others lay scattered, unconscious. The boys were bloodied and bruised, but looked all right.

“That was effing hot,” Cas said. “Didn’t know you had it in you, Anna.”

I looked at Debbie, who was curled in the fetal position, her friend cooing at her side.

I didn’t know I had it in me, either. I knew the moves, I knew how to defend myself, but I never thought it’d feel so… satisfying.

Sam was staring at me when I turned back to him. There was a slant to his green eyes, a question on his face. Like he was finding it difficult to read me. Little Anna, so predictable. Until now.

“It might be best if we’re gone when they wake,” Trev said.

I wiped the blood from my face with the sleeve of my coat and led the way out the door.

21

WITH EVERYTHING THAT’D HAPPENED, Sam decided it’d be best if we ditched the Jeep and stole something new. Cas was the one who was good with hot-wiring, or whatever it was he had to do to start a vehicle without keys. He, Trev, and Nick dropped Sam and me at the cabin first.