WEDNESDAY, 2:32 P.M.
GRAYBACK, WYOMING
Even though the town square boardwalk under her feet brought a sense of rightness, Charlie Clemmons could never be too careful. She had to be quick. In and out. Get what she needed in town and leave. Life was always like this now. She hoped it wouldn’t stay that way forever. She couldn’t keep this up for an extended amount of time. If she could stay under the radar and off the grid until she learned the truth, that would be long enough.
Except today she’d taken a risk. A detour. She’d strayed from her tried and true routine. What did one deviation from her plan hurt?
Maybe she should have run from all of it. Fled to the other side of the country. But he would expect that.
By staying here, Charlie was doing the unexpected.
She credited the weather for her decision. In Jackson Hole—the small valley carved out of the Teton and Gross Ventre mountain ranges where she grew up—she might dress for a sunny day in the midseventies, like today. But in mid-September, the weather could shift by the afternoon and turn cold, making her wish for her fringe leather jacket and Double D cowgirl boots Momma had given her five years ago when she’d turned sixteen. Silver studded. Turquoise and coffee leather. In fact, she wished for them now.
Except she couldn’t wear them. They would be a dead giveaway.
She walked along the boardwalk until the smell of leather wafted out of a western wear shop and her feet slowed. As if conjured by her thoughts, cowboy boots filled the window display. A whole rack of them were on clearance. The reflection in the glass gave her pause. Who was that looking at her? Fear smothered her. Her heart pounded.
Realization dawned. Oxygen flooded her lungs, calming her heart. She was the stranger in the reflection. She hadn’t recognized herself. Good. That was exactly what she was going for with her closely cropped bleached hair, spiked at the top, but not too much—the complete opposite of the thick brown mane she’d had her entire life. Sneakers instead of boots. A plain gray hoodie and faded jeans completed the costume.
Though she’d stood staring for far too long, others walked by or stopped to admire the western wear in the window, apparently unaware that Charlie had been staring at herself. She should be grateful the tourists had thinned out by this time of year. The way Grayback had been growing—adding art galleries, eateries, and all manner of gift shops—the town was modeling itself after Jackson.
Even so, she couldn’t linger too long or she would draw unwanted attention to herself. She forced her sneakered feet along the boardwalk, past the thirteen-foot-tall grizzly bear carved out of lodgepole pine, taking in the aroma of barbecue pulled pork and the sounds of boots clomping along the boardwalk and traffic on the square. Charlie wasn’t sure why she’d taken this detour today, but sometimes a girl had to window-shop. This reminded her of her sweet Momma and the day she bought her those particular boots. Momma loved shoes and lavished Charlie with more than she had a need for.
Charlie regretted coming. Wished she had someone else to share her secret with besides Mack.
No offense, Mack.
A cool mountain breeze drifting off the Teton Range wrapped around her, bringing the promise of a change, a shift in the atmosphere. A shudder ran over her. She hoped she hadn’t exposed herself today by coming here. She shouldn’t have taken the risk of walking beyond the stores where she bought much-needed supplies and groceries. Mack had assured her he would do it for her, but she couldn’t ask more of him. Holding her sack of groceries, she pulled her gray hoodie over her head until it hung forward like she was a devoted monk on the way to evening prayers. She wished she could lift her head high and let the sun warm her cheeks. Maybe someday soon, but not today.
A sheriff’s department vehicle eased down the street until it became stuck in traffic and came to a stop right next to Charlie.
Steady, now . . . act normal.
The hoodie hid her face, but it could also make her stand out as someone who didn’t want to be identified.
Her breathing spiked. Sweat beaded on her neck and dripped down her back. The world around her disappeared as her vision tunneled and her pulse roared in her ears.
Fall apart now and it’s all over.
One . . . foot . . . in front . . . of the other . . .
One foot . . . in front of the . . . other.
One foot in front of the other . . .
The world around her normalized. She breathed easier now. Heard soft conversations as couples and families passed by. Charlie would be okay. She had to make it back to freedom, if she could call hiding in a cabin freedom. She would make sure to kick herself for good measure when she got there. Not nearly soon enough she approached her indistinguishable junker truck she called Bronc and climbed in with her groceries.
After the panic attack, her purchases and going to town to be around others hardly seemed worth it.
If only the masked man hadn’t said he would kill her that night.
Right after he’d shot and killed her mother.