That’s messed up. Why
would someone do that?”
“I have no idea. Why would someone do
that?”
He gives me a blank look like he has no idea
what I’m getting at. And I can’t flat out ask him if he was the one
who messed around with my tires. He hasn’t done anything
suspicious. Blaming him because of a ghost is going to make me sound crazy, not the other way around.
When he stands, he takes my hand so swiftly,
I don’t have time to back away. “We should tell the police.”
My mouth opens, caught off guard. “What?”
“In case someone did this on purpose. You
know, just file a report‒or tell them what happened so they know.”
He lifts his eyebrows. “Don’t you think?”
“I…” I’m confused. Why would he suggest we
tell the police if he’s involved? He wouldn’t. “Maybe we
should.”
He nods. “I think that would be best. Are you
okay?”
I frown. “Yes. Pissed off, though.”
He laughs. “I would be, too. The police
station is just down the street. Do you want me to drive?”
“Thank you.”
I get in the passenger seat, squeezing my bag
down at my feet. The car smells like Logan. Like pine and spice and
something mysterious I can’t define. Like secrets.
Logan eases into the seat next to me and
turns to me before starting the car. “Do you feel better?”
“Excuse me?”
“Earlier you said you didn’t feel well.
That’s why I came to check on you. To make sure you felt
better.”
I force a smile. “Yes. Minus the flat tires,
I’m doing fine.”
“Good to hear. The flat tires are a bitch,
though.” He starts the car and pulls away from the motel.
When he shifts to a higher gear, racing us
down Main Street, I tense in my seat. “Where’s the police
station?”
He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Back
that way.”
“I thought you said‒”
“Relax, Willow. I have something I want to
show you.”
“I don’t want to see anything. I want to go
back.”
He laughs, a low and deep chuckle that
unsettles me. “To that hole in the wall? That motel is the
shittiest place you could have picked in the whole town. Wouldn’t
you prefer something better?”
Something better? What’s he talking
about?
“I wasn’t planning on staying long,” I tell
him, reaching slowly into my purse.
“That’s not what you told me.”
“Initially, I mean. At first I wasn’t
planning on staying for long.”
“Hmm…” He reaches out fast as lightning and
whips my purse from my grasp. “What are you doing?”
“Logan,” I say, keeping my voice even. “You
need to take me back.”
“Like I said, I have something to show
you.”
“Give me my purse.”
His jaw shifts and he glances over. When he
slows down, I almost think he’s going to do what I ask. But then he
makes a turn and heads away from the main part of town, the busy
streets. Away from people.
I grip the handle on the door, my breath
starting to come faster. He’s kidnapping me. He’s not taking me
back. And I have no idea where we’re going.
“Logan, please. Tell me where we’re
going.”
“Be patient.”
“I need my phone.”
In response, he stuffs my purse between him
and the door.
The houses taper away and the trees grow
thicker. Aspens and pines line the side of the road, which has gone
down to one lane both ways. The sun shines warm through the window,
and suddenly it’s hard to breathe.
“Logan.” I watch his profile, calm and
unperturbed. “Logan, please stop. I don’t feel well.”
He barely glances at me. “That’s what you
said earlier, too. But it looks like you got over it.”
“I’m serious. I think I’m going to be
sick.”
He frowns, looks over with narrowed eyes, and
then finally slows the car. My mind races for a plan. Try to run?
Try to grab my purse and use the phone? I don’t have a weapon and I
don’t know where I am. Where’s my metal flashlight when I need
it?
The tires crunch on gravel when he stops on
the side of the road. I reach automatically for
would someone do that?”
“I have no idea. Why would someone do
that?”
He gives me a blank look like he has no idea
what I’m getting at. And I can’t flat out ask him if he was the one
who messed around with my tires. He hasn’t done anything
suspicious. Blaming him because of a ghost is going to make me sound crazy, not the other way around.
When he stands, he takes my hand so swiftly,
I don’t have time to back away. “We should tell the police.”
My mouth opens, caught off guard. “What?”
“In case someone did this on purpose. You
know, just file a report‒or tell them what happened so they know.”
He lifts his eyebrows. “Don’t you think?”
“I…” I’m confused. Why would he suggest we
tell the police if he’s involved? He wouldn’t. “Maybe we
should.”
He nods. “I think that would be best. Are you
okay?”
I frown. “Yes. Pissed off, though.”
He laughs. “I would be, too. The police
station is just down the street. Do you want me to drive?”
“Thank you.”
I get in the passenger seat, squeezing my bag
down at my feet. The car smells like Logan. Like pine and spice and
something mysterious I can’t define. Like secrets.
Logan eases into the seat next to me and
turns to me before starting the car. “Do you feel better?”
“Excuse me?”
“Earlier you said you didn’t feel well.
That’s why I came to check on you. To make sure you felt
better.”
I force a smile. “Yes. Minus the flat tires,
I’m doing fine.”
“Good to hear. The flat tires are a bitch,
though.” He starts the car and pulls away from the motel.
When he shifts to a higher gear, racing us
down Main Street, I tense in my seat. “Where’s the police
station?”
He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Back
that way.”
“I thought you said‒”
“Relax, Willow. I have something I want to
show you.”
“I don’t want to see anything. I want to go
back.”
He laughs, a low and deep chuckle that
unsettles me. “To that hole in the wall? That motel is the
shittiest place you could have picked in the whole town. Wouldn’t
you prefer something better?”
Something better? What’s he talking
about?
“I wasn’t planning on staying long,” I tell
him, reaching slowly into my purse.
“That’s not what you told me.”
“Initially, I mean. At first I wasn’t
planning on staying for long.”
“Hmm…” He reaches out fast as lightning and
whips my purse from my grasp. “What are you doing?”
“Logan,” I say, keeping my voice even. “You
need to take me back.”
“Like I said, I have something to show
you.”
“Give me my purse.”
His jaw shifts and he glances over. When he
slows down, I almost think he’s going to do what I ask. But then he
makes a turn and heads away from the main part of town, the busy
streets. Away from people.
I grip the handle on the door, my breath
starting to come faster. He’s kidnapping me. He’s not taking me
back. And I have no idea where we’re going.
“Logan, please. Tell me where we’re
going.”
“Be patient.”
“I need my phone.”
In response, he stuffs my purse between him
and the door.
The houses taper away and the trees grow
thicker. Aspens and pines line the side of the road, which has gone
down to one lane both ways. The sun shines warm through the window,
and suddenly it’s hard to breathe.
“Logan.” I watch his profile, calm and
unperturbed. “Logan, please stop. I don’t feel well.”
He barely glances at me. “That’s what you
said earlier, too. But it looks like you got over it.”
“I’m serious. I think I’m going to be
sick.”
He frowns, looks over with narrowed eyes, and
then finally slows the car. My mind races for a plan. Try to run?
Try to grab my purse and use the phone? I don’t have a weapon and I
don’t know where I am. Where’s my metal flashlight when I need
it?
The tires crunch on gravel when he stops on
the side of the road. I reach automatically for
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