Fight or Flight by Natalie J. Damschroder Page B

first, since he knew where his pickup was parked. She remained silent as they walked to the truck and exited the parking garage.
    “Do you want to go home first?” Tyler asked. She gave him a look. “No. Okay, then.” He aimed for the on ramp for the highway toward Whetstone.
    The road was just as dark and deserted as it had been when she drove it last time, in the opposite direction, after leaving Kelsey at school. Where it had been lonely but comforting then, it was sinister now.
    “Is your phone on?” she asked.
    “I think so.” He angled his hip up. “You can check.”
    Regan slid her hand into the pocket of his khakis. She had to push aside awareness of warm skin and hard muscle on the other side of the thin fabric while she pulled out the phone. It was on, but there was no signal. “Dammit.”
    He glanced down, then back at the road. “Keep an eye on it. We’re probably just in a dead spot.”
    Regan split her attention between the phone and the sparse oncoming traffic, trying to spot Kelsey and Tom, even though she had no idea what they were driving. How could she not have asked everything possible about her daughter’s boyfriend? How could she not have anticipated this?
    “Stop beating yourself up, Regan.”
    Easy for him to say. “Do you have family, Tyler?”
    “A brother. Jackson works in DC, travels a lot. We’re closer than we should be, for as little as we see each other.” He glanced at her. “I have an inkling of what you’re going through, Regan. I don’t have kids, but I do understand.”
    He sounded sincere, but she wasn’t confident of her ability to read him. “Who are you? And what do you know about these guys?”
    He shook his head slowly, not looking at her. “I can’t tell you. I’m sorry.”
    “What can you tell me?”
    “Not much you don’t already know.”
    “Let’s hear it anyway.”
    His jaw pulsed. “Fine. Your name wasn’t always Regan Miller. Before you changed it in Illinois eighteen years ago, it was Chelsea Conrad.” He stopped a second. “Why Regan, anyway? It’s not a very common name.”
    She shrugged impatiently. “I was barely nineteen. I thought ‘Jane Smith’ would be too obvious, and I wanted something I liked.” She nudged his arm to continue.
    “You went to Blaydes Academy, where you met Scott Harrison, who got you pregnant. When he went to tell his parents, some people they were working with—”
    Regan gasped. Tyler stopped talking. “Go on,” she urged.
    “Some people they were working with found out about your pregnancy. They were going to send someone to get you, and Scott tried to stop them, tried to get away.” He glanced at her. “After Kelsey was born—”
    “Wait. Who stopped him? Who was coming to get me? Why? Why did they kill him?” She turned in her seat, eager for answers she’d long abandoned hope of getting, but already frustrated at the gaps in his recitation.
    “I can’t tell you,” he repeated.
    She scowled. “Can’t, or won’t?”
    “Can’t. I don’t know.”
    “How can you know what you just said and not know the rest?”
    His jaw flexed again.
    “You recite facts like you’re reading a mission file,” she accused. “Am I your mission?”
    He didn’t answer.
    “Who assigned you?”
    No answer.
    “Who are these people?”
    His jaw unlocked. “I only know they want Kelsey. I don’t know who they are or why they want her.”
    Her soul screamed at the thought. “How do you even know that?”
    “I was told.”
    “How do I know you’re telling the truth? Maybe you led them to us. I mean, if you’ve known all along who I am…”
    “I didn’t lead them to you.” His voice rang with truth, stated with the first hint of emotion he’d displayed since he started talking.
    “Where were you all week?” To her knowledge, he’d never left his house for that long before.
    “I was called in to report.” His jaw had tightened again. He didn’t like what had happened, but she wasn’t sure why.