Untraceable

Survival Skill #19

A tracker must know when to trust a hunch.

~

“What the hell was that?” I break out of his mysterious hold and rush forward to scan the woods.

He stands with his hands on his hips, listening. “Maybe an engine backfired.”

“Out here? No way!” Shaking my head, I point in the direction of the noises. I brush past him and stand by the trickling river, straining to hear more. “That was gunfire.”

Little popcorn sounds drift by again.

Mo touches my arm, igniting a small fire deep in my belly, warming me from the inside out. “Maybe it’s those wankers from the other day. Drunk and shooting off firecrackers or something. Whatever it is, it’s none of our business.”

I stumble around in a circle with my hands cupped on the back of my neck. “You’re wrong. It is my business.”

He draws back and seems slightly irritated. “Really? Why?”

I’m not ready to tell him about Dad, so I focus on the trees surrounding us and avoid his prodding eyes. “Never mind. But I plan to find out.” Before he can stop me, I charge off in the direction of the noises.

Mo runs up behind me and clutches onto my wrist with a vice grip. “Bloody hell, woman. In case you forgot, we’re in the middle of nowhere and definitely don’t want to meet up with those blokes again.”

I think about Al and Billy, wondering if Les found them. “Okay, fine. Maybe you’re right.”

He tugs my shirt. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”

I can’t help but appreciate how protective he’s being. Kinda sweet. Though I would never admit it.

Reluctantly, I follow him down the path as we pass by jungles of wild rhododendron and a long parade of wildflowers. The setting sun casts shadows along the ground, breaking up the natural light. I’ve never been afraid of much, except maybe boys, dresses, and poison ivy.

Until now.

My jaws clench as my eyes shift back and forth on the lookout for anything tied to those shots. My lungs retreat into a dark corner of my body. Al’s face pops up in my mind. Suddenly, I break into a full-fledged run.

Mo calls after me, his tone a mixture of frustration and concern. “Oi! What’s the rush?”

Storming down the path, I trip on a tangled web of exposed roots and bang my knee on a log.

He rushes up and touches my arm, but I jerk away and march up the hill. “I need to get out of here. Now.”

This time, he paces himself at my heels. “Away from me?”

I speed walk and answer with a scattered breath. “Yes. I mean … no. Away from here. From these guys. From—”

“From me?”

“No.”

Mo grabs my arm and spins me around to face him. “What are you hiding?”

My arms fly out to the side. “Nothing! I’m fine.” Tears threaten to drown my eyeballs, but I pinch them back.

He searches my face for clues. “I can tell. You’re holding something back.”

My hands clench into fists as I squeeze everything back. I refuse to make eye contact for fear he’ll see right through me. “Please, I don’t want to talk about it.”

He cups my jaw and draws my chin upward to face him. “Maybe you need to.”

“I barely know you.”

“Maybe I want to change that,” he says.

Without thinking, I blurt out. “My dad’s missing.” His shoulders slump, and his arms hang down. I back away from him, awaiting his reaction.

Mo doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. Maybe he’s waiting for a translator to decipher what I said so he can fully understand. He speaks softly as if his volume’s been turned way down. “When?”

I study my watch. “Three months, eleven days, twelve hours, and forty-three minutes ago.”

He laces his fingers on top of his head, knuckles white, and tilts his head. “How?”

A sigh of frustration streams out. “I don’t know.”

Mo stiffens and shakes his head as if what I’m saying is wrong. “What do the police say?”

I scrutinize the army of trees, still feeling watched. “That he drowned. Fell into the river.” I wring my hands together. “They found some of his stuff, but his body never showed up. Everyone says he’s dead, but I refuse to believe it.”

Mo’s eyes remain fixated on mine. Shock mixed with horror distorts his angular face. He allows silence to expand the air between us, waiting for me to continue. I notice how he drums his fingers on his thigh, the thumping noise creating a galloping rhythm.

I prevent my voice from shaking. “I think those guys from the other day and these popping noises are related.”

He massages his temples with his fingers then gives me a strange look. The same one I’ve gotten from Carl, Mom, and everyone else. The look of disbelief, pity, and doubt.

The comfortable vibe once connecting us morphs into sheer awkwardness. “Look, let’s just drop it. I shouldn’t have said anything.” I pivot on one heel and march off.

Mo doesn’t say anything as he trails me several strides back.

As soon as I reach my motorcycle, I hop on and nudge the kickstand with my toe, ready to bolt. When I stomp down on the pedal, Luci coughs a few times before going back to sleep. I swear under my breath. Can’t even depend on my stupid bike. I step on the foot starter again until Luci catches her second wind. I hug my helmet like it’s a football. “Goodbye, Mo.”

He straddles my front tire and grips the bike’s handlebars so I can’t roll forward. “Why are you leaving?”

“You don’t believe me.”

He hesitates for a millisecond too long. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“I believe you.” He stops to swallow before forcing out more words. “I do.”

“You trying to convince me or yourself?”

He leans in and pecks my cheek. My body relaxes slightly. “Grace, I’m not doing anything to anybody.”

My voice comes out flat, unemotional. “I have to go.”

“Can I see you again?”

Truth is, I want nothing more than to hang out with him. But my heart can’t get a grip on that right now, not to mention I can’t afford any more distractions. Focusing on questioning these guys once they are in custody and finding Dad are my main priorities right now. I’ve wasted enough time. “I’m not ready for this.”

Mo scratches his head and wrinkles his face. “You lost me. Ready for what?”

I point between us. “This.”

Mo sighs and shifts to one side, allowing me to pass. “Meet me at Bear Creek again tomorrow. We can talk more.”

I slip on my helmet. “I don’t think I can.” As I roll away, I glance in the rearview mirror. Mo stands on the trail, watching me leave, reminding me of Humphery Bogart when he watches Ingrid Bergman walk away in Casablanca. My fleeting moment of romance.

I head home to meet my mom for our “dinner date,” yet Mo still lingers in my thoughts. I analyze every moment of the day. Remember every smile in my mind. Popping noises reverberate in my head. No way those were firecrackers.

It was gunfire.

And I’m pretty sure it came from the same gun as Al’s.