make anyone move faster. I felt like I was crawling out of my own skin. I watched my phone, willing it to ring. For Cassidy to call back and say Callie had turned up. It was all a big misunderstanding and she was fine.
But the call didn’t come.
And what was I supposed to do? Tell my siblings they had to get home so I could look for her? How would I explain that? If word got out that I’d been hanging out with her—in secret, no less—nothing good would come of it. I’d just get her in trouble with her parents, not to mention what the rest of the town would think. Her daddy was a judge, and he didn’t seem like the kind of man you wanted to cross. Especially not where his sixteen-year-old daughter was concerned.
So I waited, feeling like a tornado raged inside me, until Bowie took Jameson and Scarlett home. As soon as Bow drove out of sight, I hopped in my pickup. I knew where I’d look first. I had no idea why she’d have gone out there last night, or why she’d still be there now if she had, but I hoped to god I’d find her.
I drove out of town and turned onto a dirt road. I parked in the usual place and rushed out to our spot, desperately hoping I’d find her curled up in a sleeping bag or sitting in front of a little campfire. Maybe she’d had a fight with her parents and spent the night out here. She didn’t talk about her family—and I didn’t talk about mine—so who knew. It could explain why she hadn’t gone home.
But if she was in trouble, why hadn’t she come to me? She had to know I’d help her. I’d do just about anything for that girl.
Debris crunched under my shoes as I ran. I burst into the clearing, but it was empty. Silent. No sign of a fire. Just the log she and I always sat on.
“Callie?” I called, turning in a slow circle. “Callie, you out here?”
I spent an hour searching the woods, tracing the route she usually took. I walked toward her parents’ house, calling her name. Maybe she’d been out here last night and fallen. Hurt herself and couldn’t get home.
I didn’t find anything but trees.
By the time I drove back into town, I knew it was serious. She hadn’t been found. She hadn’t slept over with a friend and carelessly forgotten to check in. I could tell without even stopping to ask. Knots of people stood on the street, talking to each other, their faces etched with concern. A deputy cruised past, his window rolled down, like he was making the rounds, searching.
And there wasn’t a single kid to be seen. The sun shone bright and the air was warm, but no scabby-kneed Bootleg kids ran down the sidewalk with lemonade or ice cream cones. No packs of teenagers strolled to the lake with beach blankets slung over their arms. I did a loop past the beach and it was almost empty. Looked like a few summertimers had set up a picnic, but there was no one I recognized.
I circled the town in my truck, driving past Callie’s house about a dozen times. Sheriff Tucker’s car was there at first. When I passed again, maybe ten minutes later, it was gone. I slowed down, staring at the big front door. It was like that driveway led to another world, with judges and money and important people. A world I couldn’t reach. As much as I wanted to go in there—talk to her parents and offer to help—I couldn’t.
So I kept driving. I took the highway out toward Perrinville. Stopped along the way and checked the trails. My mind raced, coming up with explanations, each one worse than the last. Had she hurt herself on the way home and couldn’t get help? She walked everywhere. Had she been hit by a car? The cops had to be checking local hospitals.
But what if she got hit and whoever did it tried to hide it? Dumped her body in the lake?
Or what if someone took her? She wasn’t stupid enough to get in a car with a stranger offering a ride. Unless it wasn’t a stranger. But why would someone she knew kidnap her?
I didn’t have a single answer. The day wore on, the sun moving relentlessly toward the horizon. I only stopped searching to make a pit stop at