force of the truck spinning toward the cliff. Gritted my teeth and held on for dear life. For my life and my girl’s.
Especially hers. I wasn’t going to lose her now.
The tires caught traction and we jerked hard in the other direction. I heard a sickening crunch of metal and for half a second, I thought we’d hit the guardrail and were about to go over the side. Everything was dark and spinning, headlights flashing across the trees.
Finally, we stopped. My heart raced, pumping massive amounts of adrenaline through my veins. We hadn’t hit the rail. We were in the middle of the road, facing the way we’d come.
Imogen Kendall’s stolen truck was nowhere to be seen. The guardrail on the cliff-side of the highway was torn open, the metal bent and twisted.
Callie looked up at me from her spot on the floor, her eyes big and wide. She had her body wrapped around Cash, her arms out to brace herself against the cab.
Everything was eerily silent. I looked around in every direction. No sign of the truck. It was like it had been a ghost, or a figment of our imagination, vanishing without a trace.
“Are you okay?” I grabbed for Callie, helping her into the seat. Touched her face, her arms, looking for damage. “Let me look at you. Are you hurt?”
“I don’t think so.” She looked out the windows, shifting in the seat to see out the back. “Bruises, maybe. Where is she?”
Cash jumped up in the seat and licked her face. She hugged him against her.
“I don’t know. Stay here.”
I opened the door, straining to hear… anything. An engine. A voice. Some sign of where she’d gone. I was pretty sure I knew, but I didn’t want to take any chances.
Stepping out, I grabbed a flashlight I kept under the seat. Turned it on and swung the beam of light around. The other truck was gone.
There was a gaping hole in the guardrail on the side of the highway. I’d seen it look like this once before. We weren’t far from where my mother had crashed—where Imogen Kendall had driven her off the road.
Taking slow steps, my body tense, I approached the guardrail. The land sloped down dramatically, almost a sheer cliff. I swung the narrow beam from my flashlight down.
Rocky’s truck lay at the bottom, wrapped sideways around a thick tree. The driver’s side was completely caved in, the top smashed like it had rolled several times on the way down.
There was no way anyone could have survived that crash, but I searched the area anyway. A woman like that could have very well made a deal with the devil. I wasn’t taking any chances when it came to Callie.
Nothing. No sign that she’d gotten out of the truck. Besides, the cab was crushed.
I turned back and shook my head at Callie.
She got out and looked around warily.
“Truck went over the side,” I said.
“Is she…”
“I can’t see much, but I don’t think anyone could have survived.”
Cash jumped out and ran to the edge, barking a few times. Callie joined me on the side of the road and looked down at the wrecked truck.
We didn’t say anything for a long moment. I slipped her hand in mine, wanting her to know I was here. Lending her what strength I could. Hoping she knew she didn’t have to go through this alone.
She never needed to be alone again.
“It’s over,” she said, her voice almost breathless. Turning, she met my gaze. “Gibs, it’s really over.”
I brushed the hair back from her face. “Yeah, honey. It’s over.”
Tears broke free from the corners of her eyes. I pulled her against me and held her tight. Held her while she cried. While her body shuddered with relief, releasing some of the fear and anxiety she’d held onto for so long.
“Thank you,” she said into my chest. “Thank you for saving me.”
“Beautiful girl.” I kissed her head. “Thank you for coming home. You’re the one who saved me.”
43
GIBSON
For the last thirteen years, Bootleg Springs had been famous for two things: Bootlegging and the disappearance of Callie Kendall.
To those of us who lived here, it was known for a lot more. For gossip that traveled as quick as the leaves changed in fall. For nosy, meddling neighbors who were always getting in each other’s business. For resisting change, and not letting go of the past. For people who knew your name and your history.
And for people who stood up, and showed up, for each