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If I speed a little bit, I bet I can beat the forty-five minutes.
Desperate for a bed, I increase my speed enough that if I get pulled over, I can probably talk my way out of it and not get a criminal speeding ticket. Better luck would not have me getting pulled over at all — because any cop in my general vicinity makes my paranoia and fight or flight instinct take over.
As my headlights cut a swath through the dark, I let my brain play with my most recent website design as a distraction and hopefully something that will help me stay awake.
I’ve always been good with computers. An elective class in my first year of high school cemented my love. Learning to code and design was the only path for me. I make the internet just a little bit prettier, one small business owner’s website at a time.
The client wants heavy reds and pinks, so I’m working with her branding palette to create a functional website that she can use for sales and information for her customers. She’s been a dream to work with, even if she’s occasionally too friendly on calls. I still have a few weeks before the final website is due to her, so I’ll get that knocked out once I have us settled.
I can feel another yawn rising and to stave it off I reach over to grab my drink.
Should I be drinking over two hundred milligrams of caffeine at one a.m.? Probably not, but I’m bound and determined to get us to the rental tonight instead of sleeping on the side of the freeway or stopping at another rest stop for the night.
Audra’s slept in her car seat way too many nights, and while she’s less than a year old and probably doesn’t care, I don’t want the backache that comes from sleeping on the lumpy old mattress in the back.
A distracted glance away from the road as I sip the can of Rockstar is all it takes.
My eyes meet the eerie glow of an animal frozen on the freeway before my brain goes into overdrive.
Deer! Shit. Fuck.
My head goes light, and I can hear the blood rushing in my ears at the sudden burst of shocked adrenaline as my eyes tunnel vision to the animal in front of me. I yank the wheel to the left.
A shuddering pull of the camper lurching with the sudden change of direction along with the shriek of my tires on the pavement tells me that I’m about to tip this big ass camper, and I quickly pull the wheel to the left, trying to correct.
Jesus Christ. Oh my god. I’m going to roll my camper on this fucking highway.
The thought comes rapid fire as my heartbeat thunders in my ears. I manage to overcorrect the vehicle and start to skid — the back tires slipping on the damp pavement.
A loud pop accompanies a lurch from the back of the camper, and knowing I just blew a tire, I curse like a sailor and lightly pump the brakes while trying to pull to the side of the freeway.
Another loud pop jerks the steering wheel to the right and out of my hands just before I slam into the guardrail. The metal protests before giving way, and I’m driving down the embankment on the side of the freeway too fast for safety.
Audra.
My thoughts are only on my little girl in the back as the front of the vehicle slams into the other side of the ditch tipping over to the side.
We slam into the ground on the driver’s side of the rig, my seatbelt digging a burning fire into my shoulder as my head slams into the window.
The last thing that I think of before darkness overtakes my vision is of my baby girl.
Please god, let us be okay.
Chapter 2
Harlan
After spending most of the night bullshitting with my brothers over dinner, being woken in the middle of the night by dispatch relaying a report of a car accident from a witness on the interstate is not my idea of a good time — it is, however, part of my job.
You knew that you shouldn’t have stayed up late.
As the sheriff of Everette, I gambled that nothing was going to happen during the overnight shift I signed up for so my normal overnight deputy, Wayne, could have time off with his wife for their fifteenth wedding anniversary — gambled and lost.
Not a whole hell of a lot happens in Everette. Most of the time, my job is to play mediator over petty town squabbles, monitoring the tourists, and policing local kids who think they can get away with stuff their parents tried and perfected in their own youth.
I pull my cruiser over to the side of the road, the firetruck right behind me. The glow of my red and blue lights accompanies the sirens of both vehicles. There are skid marks down the highway, and it looks like the vehicle swerved a few times before going through the guardrail.
About twenty feet off the highway, there’s a camper tipped over in a ditch. Looking around, I don’t see the driver anywhere.
