Chapter 3

I waited until the plow's headlights swung away from the trailer. The lock was cheap. The door was cheap. The window in the bathroom was small, but I was small enough if I turned sideways. I wrapped my coat around my belly and pushed.

The cold took my breath. I crawled through the snow to the equipment shed, then along the fence line to the snowmobile lean-to. My boots were gone, so my feet were wrapped in wool socks and plastic feed sacks. Every step burned.

Cody was there, standing by the snowmobile with a wrench in his hand. He jumped when he saw me.

"Tessa? Boone said you were sick."

"I'm not sick. I need the backup handheld. The one in the glovebox."

His face closed. "I can't."

"Cody, please. He's going to blame me for the bus. He's going to take my baby."

"He wouldn't."

"He would. You know he would."

Cody looked at the snowmobile. He looked at the camp. The plow was a quarter mile down the road, its amber light spinning. He bit his lip. Then he opened the glovebox and handed me the handheld. It was cold and heavy.

"Just take it," he said. "Go to the gravel pit. You get signal up there."

"Thank you."

I turned. Then Boone's voice came over the snowmobile radio. "Cody. You there?"

Cody froze. His hand went to the handheld in my grip. "I-"

"Cody," Boone said. "You seen Tessa?"

Cody's eyes filled. He was seventeen. He had lived with Boone since his mother died. Boone had taught him to run a chain saw, to drive the plow, to keep his mouth shut. He didn't know how to choose me over that.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. He took the handheld from my hands. I tried to hold on, but my fingers were numb.

"Cody, no-"

He stepped back. "I have to."

Boone's plow turned around at the end of the road. Its headlights swept the lean-to. Cody walked out to meet it, holding the backup handheld like a peace offering.

I ran. I didn't get far. Boone caught me by the collar of my coat and dragged me back to the trailer. He threw me inside. I landed on my hip. The baby kicked hard.

"You think I'm stupid?" he said. He held up the backup handheld. "You think Cody wouldn't tell me?"

"He didn't tell you. You asked."

He hit me again. Then he went out. I heard the chain this time. It rattled through the door handle, around the frame, and snapped shut with a padlock.

The trailer went dark. The plow engine revved. I lay on the floor with my hand on my belly and the hidden handheld still warm against my ribs. The red light was still on. Marnie was still there.

"I heard that," she said. "Tessa, I heard all of it."

"Then you know," I said. "You know what he is."

"I know."

"Play the recording."

"I can't. Not yet."

The plow roared away. I was chained in a trailer in the middle of eight miles of private road, with no boots, no keys, no main radio, and a backup handheld in Boone's pocket. But I had one thing he didn't know about.

I had Marnie.

And Marnie had the truth.