We leave town. I peek up periodically to get my bearings. I’ve been to Dawson a half dozen times since I arrived in Rockton, and I know the surrounding land well enough. We’re heading south. We pass the road leading to the Midnight Dome—one of our favorite spots—and take the next left.
We’re rolling over rough road for a couple of minutes. When it smooths out, a sudden “Bingo!” startles me. Then I realize it’s the guy talking on the phone with his window down.
“I see him right up ahead. His tire just blew. Very conveniently.” The guy’s braying laugh drifts back to me. “Okay, I’ll take this. I’ll pull up—”
A pause.
“Hell, no, I’m right here. I don’t even see you. I’m—”
Pause.
“Fine. Fuck you, but fine.” The pickup swings a sharp right onto an adjoining road. “There. I’ll park right here, and you’d damn well better come pick me up or…”
I don’t hear the rest. The moment the pickup stops, I’m vaulting over the tailgate. I’m sure he’ll see me but he’s too wrapped up in his phone call.
I run into the forest. Before we turned that last corner, the guy said he could see their target at the side of the road, fixing a flat tire. Their target is Dalton. I’m sure of that. The guy’s partner must have tampered with Dalton’s tires while he’d been out of the truck, in the expectation that one would blow on these empty roads, stranding Dalton.
I make it to that intersection. When I look out, I expect to see Dalton’s truck just ahead. I’ll zip to him, and we’ll work out a plan.
Instead the truck is a dot at least a kilometer away. I’m going to need to hoof it there before—
Tires rumble along the dirt road. I look right to see an SUV. It pulls up across from my fake admirer’s pickup. A woman leans from the driver’s seat and calls something to the guy, who’s already getting out. He jogs to the passenger side.
I need to warn Dalton, but I can’t even cross the road right now, not without them spotting me. Before I can make a decision, the SUV is moving again. As soon as it’s through the intersection, I cross to Dalton’s side, but I’m still a kilometer away.
I run. I don’t care how much noise I make. The two in the SUV won’t hear me over the rumble of their tires. If Dalton does, all the better. But that’s overly optimistic, given the distance and the fact that I’m not an Olympic sprinter. The SUV reaches Dalton before I’m even halfway.
I slow. Now is not the time to startle him. The SUV crosses the road and stops in front of Dalton’s truck. I jog, straining to hear the conversation.
“Lost a tire, huh?” the woman calls. Her door clicks as she gets out.
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“Yeah,” Dalton says. “Must have run over something.”
“My husband’s a mechanic. Let me give him a shout.” A pause. “Damn. No phone signal. Typical. Been up here two years, and I’m still not used to that. Let me give you lift to town.”
“Thanks, but I have a spare.”
“I see that,” she says as she walks toward him. “The question is whether you know how to change it. And, if you don’t mind me saying so, it doesn’t seem as if you do.”
“I’ll figure it out.”
She snorts. “Men. It’s not a black mark on your masculinity if you can’t fix a flat tire.”
Dalton says something I don’t catch, his voice muffled, as if he’s under the vehicle.
The woman laughs. “All right. I won’t give you a hard time. But at least let me drive you into cell range, and you can call someone yourself.”
There’s silence as I creep closer. I pass the SUV, and I glance at it, but I can’t see through the tinted glass. I do have a sight line to Dalton’s truck. The flat is on this side, and the woman stands by the passenger door. Dalton is indeed bent on one knee. He’s rising slowly, gaze on the woman, and I’m close enough to see his expression. It looks calm, blank even, but there’s a slight squint that I know well. He’s realized this woman is pushing the Good Samaritan routine too hard, and he’s wondering what the hell she’s up to.
I’ve given Dalton shit for being overly protective, but I can be the same. Yes, he lacks experience when it comes to the real world, but that’s no reason to presume he’s going to blithely stumble into this trap. He’s cautious by nature. Very, very cautious, and also very aware of his lack of experience out here.
It’s true that he’ll be struggling to fix a truck tire, but he’ll figure it out, being our main mechanic for the plane and ATV. If he can’t, he’d rather walk an hour to get cell service than hop into a stranger’s SUV in the middle of nowhere. Now that he’s suspicious, his guard rises as he gets to his feet.
“I appreciate the offer,” he says. “But I’m fine, and I’m sure you have other things to do.”
“Not really,” she says with a chuckle. “And I do hate leaving anyone stranded on this road. Stop being stubborn. We all need a helping hand now and then. If you feel guilty, you can buy me a coffee.”