He led me to a black Escalade and held the door open, dropping the shovel at my feet before closing the door behind him. I picked it up and waited for him to be properly seat belted it in before he turned on the vehicle and pulled out of the driveway.
“Where did you get a shovel?” I asked. “And an Escalade.”
Corbin laughed. “Drake is a man of many talents.”
“Who exactly is Drake, and what are his talents?” I asked, amending my question.
I’d seen the man more than once. He was around and always had a gun in his hand. But he didn’t act like a bodyguard since he wasn’t always in Corbin’s presence. Like currently. He also had more muscle than a person needed combined with a scary death glare.
Corbin definitely went to the gym. He probably had a personal trainer and did enough to make himself attractive and muscular, but not like he wanted to win a bodybuilding competition. Drake probably ate fifteen eggs for breakfast and was best friends with Gaston. Every time he wore a shirt, it looked like he was ten seconds from ripping out the seams.
I preferred Corbin’s look. Roid rage was a thing, and I did not want to mess with it.
“He’s someone Cyrus and I pay to help us out occasionally. He’s good at acquiring things and shooting people.”
My eyes grew wide. “Does he shoot people often?”
If he needed a body guard with a good aim, maybe all these problems were because of Corbin and not me.
He shook his head. “Never seen it in action, but he listed it on his résumé.”
What the hell kind of résumé included good at shooting people? I missed quiet Bangor.
“And the new car?” I asked, laying my hand on the black dashboard of the Escalade, which wasn’t parked in the driveway yesterday.
“Loaner,” he said, glancing at the steering wheel in disgust as if being forced to drive the big black vehicle upset his stomach.
Corbin sped through town. I’d never understood the saying “A town the size of a postage stamp” until Pelican Bay. We made it from one end of town to the other in under ten minutes. The church loomed ahead as he parked the car. It felt like I’d last been there a hundred years earlier, but really less than twenty-four hours passed.
I jumped out of the Escalade before Corbin made it to my side. He scowled at me and took the small shovel from my hands. At the trailhead, three different paths shot off from each other. Each one had a number and a small map on the wooden marker of their direction and length.
We stood in front of marker number one and I swallowed loudly, hoping Corbin didn’t hear. My fingers fidgeted. I looked at the trees, not at the map, because that only caused me to panic. I did everything in such a hurry yesterday I couldn’t remember which trail I took. The thumb drive was burning a hole in my pocket and I just wanted to get rid of it. I didn’t care where.
I studied a piece of grass and tried to remember my thought process yesterday. All the damn trails looked the same. The trees were bushy and green with no identifying markers at all besides the trailheads. I definitely didn’t use trail number one because that would be too obvious. And I didn’t go down trail number three for the same logic. Although, going right down the middle might have been too easy as well.
“Please tell me you didn’t forget which trail you used,” Corbin said, looking at me with his eyes the size of saucers.
Earlier when he’d worn the expression, I thought he wanted to kiss me, but this time I figured he’d prefer to be the one to kill me.
I rolled my eyes dramatically, making sure he saw. “Of course not. I was under extreme stress and in a hurry because my only hope had just told me he wouldn’t help me, but no, I didn’t forget which trail. It’s this one,” I said, stomping onto the middle trail.
The middle trail seemed like an obvious answer since it lay straight-ahead, but I’d hoped it meant people wouldn’t expect me to use it. Yes, my logic was faulty, but it was still mine and I ran with it.
Unfortunately, just because I figured out which trail did not mean my panic subsided as we walked the paved trail. It all looked the same. Trees everywhere. Trees. Trees.
Why the heck did the forest have to have so many stupid trees? And why did they look the same? Couldn’t they have a little variety?
I panicked, my breathing coming in smaller and closer pants as I scanned the horizon in front of us and then the small bushes closer, looking for anything to spark a memory.
Finally, I found it. Fifty feet ahead, a fallen tree blocked a small foot of the path as it rotted from the inside out.
I released a deep breath and turned, following the line of the fallen tree into the woods. Another thirty feet past the trees, two bushes had deep purple flowers. They were easy to remember because I thought they’d look gorgeous in someone’s front yard. I circled the bushes twice, looking for a fresh hole and then found it squarely in between them and another tree.
I stop triumphantly next to where I buried the disk and pointed to the ground. “Here.”
Corbin didn’t move. Was he waiting for me to take the shovel?
He had a nice hold on it. If he liked it that much, he should dig. I’d already gotten one pair of pants dirty.