Obsession Falls by Christina Dodd

In severe conditions, it was never going to keep her warm, but she would take it until she found something better.
    Although Taylor assured herself Cissie wouldn’t get in trouble for the missing items, she still felt guilty, so she removed and cleaned the three milk glasses with mold in the bottom and the bowl of rotting green food matter. She refilled a glass with mints and stashed it in the bookcase headboard. She discovered and again covered the well-read copy of Twilight hidden under a pile of dirty clothes. No point in betraying the girl’s secret obsession with the ultimate teen romance, or the passionate, scribbled love notes in the margins.
    Taylor packed her extra clothing acquisitions into the backpack and turned away from Cissie’s room. And on second thought, turned back.
    The kid had something Taylor might need.
    At the back of Cissie’s suspiciously well-kept sock drawer, she found what she wanted: a clear baggie filled with weed, two rolled joints, papers, and a lighter. Taylor had first thought to let the kid keep her stash. After all, how much trouble could the girl get into up here where no one but the stars could see her smoke it?
    But no matter how desperately Taylor wanted to avoid the idea, she knew that up there, in the mountains, she might hurt herself. She might need a painkiller, and aspirin wouldn’t cut it.
    So she stole Cissie’s marijuana, knowing full-well Cissie would wonder if her brother had taken it, or her parents, and were tormenting her by saying nothing … or whether an intruder had sneaked in through the broken window and stolen only things from Cissie’s room. In any case, Taylor figured Cissie couldn’t complain.
    Now Taylor searched for camping gear. What she really needed, and did not find, was dried rations, a rated-for-cold sleeping bag, and a handheld can opener. But this family was into skiing and snowshoeing, not camping. So from the linen closet, she took a down blanket. From the pantry she chose fruit roll-ups, whole grain crackers, and pop-top cans of tuna. From the package kept in the file drawer in the desk, she took one unlined legal-sized tablet.
    She had managed to hang on to her drawing pencils and sharpener in her waist pack. She could make lists, jot down her thoughts, maybe take a few minutes to draw something …
    Immediately, the memory of Dash and Hernandez pulling that child out of the trunk slammed into her mind, and she doubled over in fear. When she opened her eyes, she had to bring her racing heart under control, had to unclench her fists, had to bring herself back up into sitting position. No matter how well she pretended she was dealing with her trauma, the truth was … she was ruled by terror. The memory of Dash chasing her, shooting at her, dominated her nightmares. At night, the fall into the midnight cave replayed again and again.
    She wiped tears from her eyes. She had no time for a breakdown. She had to care for herself. No one else would do so.
    When she had obtained all she dared, she stashed Cissie’s backpack by the French doors in the master bedroom—if necessary, she would escape that way with her hard-won supplies—and returned to the Internet for some hint of Dash’s employer. She looked for men with the first name of Jimmy or Jim or James who were associated with Dash, and found two—his uncle, James Roberts, and the football player Jimmy Baldwin. Roberts was retired military, living in Chicago with his wife of thirty years. Baldwin was fervently Christian. Neither of them seemed likely to employ a hit man, or to inspire the kind of awe and fear Jimmy inspired in both Dash and Hernandez. But what did she know? What kind of man would employ a hit man? She’d seen the movies. She’d read the books. But in real life? She had absolutely no idea.
    She researched Kennedy McManus and found quite a lot … and yet so little.
    He was a media darling: tall, handsome, square-jawed, unsmiling. Yet although speculation ran rampant,