This was his forty days in the desert. This was his fight against the darkness. This was his faith being held to the fire and his will being forged in the flames.
This was his moment to rise above.
Ten Days Earlier
Cait heard something crack in her neck as she climbed out of the Jeep. She’d spent the past ten hours slinging Natty Ices and overfried cheese sticks at college kids watching the Longhorns get the tar beaten out of them. The football shifts were always rough—people got too drunk too early, and there was always at least one asshole to cut off and at least one smear of vomit to mop up—but it was particularly bad when the hometown team was losing. People got mean drunk, the kind of drunk that made them take a swing at a guy for looking at somebody funny or call the girl at the table next to them a bitch. It made people stop tipping their friendly neighborhood bartender, too. Cait had walked out that evening with a measly forty-three dollars in tips and a throbbing lower back.
So her heart sank a little when she saw her neighbor open his door and wave for her to stop. Adam was a nice enough guy—dragged her empty garbage bin back from the curb, reminded her to move the Jeep on the days the street sweepers were due—but he had a tendency to appear at exactly the wrong moment. This was a perfect example. “Hey,” she called as she strode toward her front door. “I’m kind of in a rush, so—”
“Somebody was looking for you.”
Her heart seized. “What do you mean?”
“A guy came by the apartment earlier. I saw him drive by a couple of times, and he kept slowing down when he got to your house. I thought maybe he was lost or something, but then he pulled up to the curb and just sat there with the engine running. He was there for like twenty minutes.”
“How do you know he was looking for me?” Of course he was looking for me, Cait thought.
“I went up to the truck and asked him if he needed anything.”
“You did?” Cait felt a clutch of fear. “You shouldn’t have done that. He could have been a nutcase.” Of course he was a nutcase. The question was: which nutcase? There were so many of them at the moment, spilling out bile on 4chan and onto her phone, sending threats in the mail. One of them had even sent her a pig’s head. There was no note attached, which somehow made it worse. Most nights, she crashed at friends’ apartments or stayed late at the Dark Horse, sinking free beers with the barbacks and waiting for the sun to come up. If she had to sleep in her own bed, she kept a knife under her pillow, one hand resting on the hilt.
“It wasn’t a big deal.” Adam shrugged, oblivious. “I didn’t like him hanging around like that.”
“Did the guy say anything?”
“He asked when you’d be home.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him it was none of his business.”
“Did he leave after that?”
“Yeah, after a while. I watched out the window until he drove away.”
Cait thought she was going to be sick right there on the sidewalk. “Thanks, Adam. Look, if that happens again, call the police. Have you got my number?”
He shook his head. She wrote it down on an old receipt and handed it to him. “I’m serious, okay? Don’t try to talk to the guy. He could be dangerous.”
He nodded. “Are you okay? Do you want to sit down or something?”
Cait shook her head. “I’m fine, thanks. I’m going to head inside now. Have a good night, and thanks for scaring off whoever that guy was.” She worked up a smile. “My hero.”
She closed the door behind her and double-checked the locks.
Outskirts of Santa Rosa, New Mexico—120 Miles to Albuquerque
The atmosphere in the Jeep was flayed and red-raw. Neither woman had said much since the confrontation out in the desert, both of them locked tight in their own thoughts, stewing.
Ten miles, fifteen. Twenty. And then suddenly, a billboard rising up from the side of the road, announcing a BBQ joint up ahead. Cait thought it was a mirage at first, it had been so long since she’d seen one. She guessed there wasn’t much call for advertising on these highways. Too few eyes, not worth the marketing spend.