mine.”
He clears his throat, scratching the back of his neck and looking mildly shamefaced. “You’re right, it seems unlikely, even if you were drunk. But somehow you ended up in an isolated area.”
I nibble the edge of my lip. “Why do you think that?”
Dale switches the map to satellite view. “If you look at Matt’s house, it’s down a long driveway with plenty of space around it, but there are no steep embankments. I’m guessing you’re somewhere around here, maybe?” His finger glides over the screen, pointing at the outskirts of the national forest.
He zooms in closer and inspects the different routes leading away from Matt’s house. “You know, we could start there this afternoon. Let’s assume you’re within fifteen miles of Matt’s house. We could drive around and see if any of the settings stir some memories.”
I frown at the screen. “If I’m that far out, I must have gotten a ride with someone.”
“Yeah, probably.” Dale rubs his lower lip, his eyebrows bunching together.
“So, why didn’t they take me home? What the hell was I doing out on some isolated forest road?”
Dale answers with a pained look. I avert my gaze, tugging at my black skirt and running my finger along the hem. This tiny piece of fabric cost Dad over four hundred dollars and now it’s ruined.
“Are you sure you don’t remember anything else?” he asks.
“No.” I swallow the lump in my throat and look back at the screen. San Bernardino National Forest is huge. With so little to go by, this hunt could take months . . . and I don’t have that long. For the first time, I’m realizing just how high the odds are stacked against me.
“A fifteen-mile radius is pretty big, and we don’t even know if I’m there,” I say despondently.
Dale runs his fingers through his hair. “A human can survive for around four days without water. We may have a little time.” Grabbing the mouse, he opens up a new screen and does a search on the weather. “Sunny all this week. You’ve got a chance.”
“Maybe,” I say. “But it’ll be cold at night. And I’m bleeding. I might have a concussion. I’ve never been in this much pain in my entire life.”
Dale rolls his chair back and turns to face me. He’s looking at me so intently that I almost think he can see the faint outlines of my ghostly form. I wave a hand in front of him, but he doesn’t register the motion. After a minute, his expression clears. He powers down the computer and grabs his bag.
“Where are we going now?” I ask, following him out into the hallway.
“To the sheriff’s department,” he says grimly. “If we’re going to find you, we’re going to need a search party.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
WEDNESDAY, 12:30 PM
The police station buzzes with activity—low murmuring conversations, the shuffling of papers, and the phone trilling on a back desk. Dale lumbers beside me, his chin held high in spite of his blaring scar. He obviously likes the police station as much as I do. Not that I’ve ever been arrested or anything, but my friends and I constantly flirt with the lines of the law. In some ways, it’s only a matter of time.
It isn’t until Dale steps up to the shiny brown counter and the round-faced receptionist raises her head that I remember I’m invisible. My tight shoulders loosen for a second, until I notice the corkboard on the wall behind the woman. It’s covered with mug shots of petty criminals, alert posters for America’s most wanted . . . and missing persons. One of a young girl with tousled black hair and big dark eyes catches my attention. A shudder runs down my spine as I wonder how long it will take for my photo to be added to the collection.
My eyes snap back to Dale as he gives the receptionist a smile.
“Afternoon.” His voice is a little croaky. What does he have to worry about? The guy is so squeaky clean you can practically see your reflection in the whites of his teeth. I can’t understand why he’s
He clears his throat, scratching the back of his neck and looking mildly shamefaced. “You’re right, it seems unlikely, even if you were drunk. But somehow you ended up in an isolated area.”
I nibble the edge of my lip. “Why do you think that?”
Dale switches the map to satellite view. “If you look at Matt’s house, it’s down a long driveway with plenty of space around it, but there are no steep embankments. I’m guessing you’re somewhere around here, maybe?” His finger glides over the screen, pointing at the outskirts of the national forest.
He zooms in closer and inspects the different routes leading away from Matt’s house. “You know, we could start there this afternoon. Let’s assume you’re within fifteen miles of Matt’s house. We could drive around and see if any of the settings stir some memories.”
I frown at the screen. “If I’m that far out, I must have gotten a ride with someone.”
“Yeah, probably.” Dale rubs his lower lip, his eyebrows bunching together.
“So, why didn’t they take me home? What the hell was I doing out on some isolated forest road?”
Dale answers with a pained look. I avert my gaze, tugging at my black skirt and running my finger along the hem. This tiny piece of fabric cost Dad over four hundred dollars and now it’s ruined.
“Are you sure you don’t remember anything else?” he asks.
“No.” I swallow the lump in my throat and look back at the screen. San Bernardino National Forest is huge. With so little to go by, this hunt could take months . . . and I don’t have that long. For the first time, I’m realizing just how high the odds are stacked against me.
“A fifteen-mile radius is pretty big, and we don’t even know if I’m there,” I say despondently.
Dale runs his fingers through his hair. “A human can survive for around four days without water. We may have a little time.” Grabbing the mouse, he opens up a new screen and does a search on the weather. “Sunny all this week. You’ve got a chance.”
“Maybe,” I say. “But it’ll be cold at night. And I’m bleeding. I might have a concussion. I’ve never been in this much pain in my entire life.”
Dale rolls his chair back and turns to face me. He’s looking at me so intently that I almost think he can see the faint outlines of my ghostly form. I wave a hand in front of him, but he doesn’t register the motion. After a minute, his expression clears. He powers down the computer and grabs his bag.
“Where are we going now?” I ask, following him out into the hallway.
“To the sheriff’s department,” he says grimly. “If we’re going to find you, we’re going to need a search party.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
WEDNESDAY, 12:30 PM
The police station buzzes with activity—low murmuring conversations, the shuffling of papers, and the phone trilling on a back desk. Dale lumbers beside me, his chin held high in spite of his blaring scar. He obviously likes the police station as much as I do. Not that I’ve ever been arrested or anything, but my friends and I constantly flirt with the lines of the law. In some ways, it’s only a matter of time.
It isn’t until Dale steps up to the shiny brown counter and the round-faced receptionist raises her head that I remember I’m invisible. My tight shoulders loosen for a second, until I notice the corkboard on the wall behind the woman. It’s covered with mug shots of petty criminals, alert posters for America’s most wanted . . . and missing persons. One of a young girl with tousled black hair and big dark eyes catches my attention. A shudder runs down my spine as I wonder how long it will take for my photo to be added to the collection.
My eyes snap back to Dale as he gives the receptionist a smile.
“Afternoon.” His voice is a little croaky. What does he have to worry about? The guy is so squeaky clean you can practically see your reflection in the whites of his teeth. I can’t understand why he’s
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