Taylor Adams

And behind it, another sign.

rest area ahead.

Darby had passed dozens of rest areas since Boulder. Some bigger, most better, all less isolated. But this one, apparently, was the one fate had chosen for her.

And a newer one, stamped with the Bush-era Homeland Security eagle: see something? say something.

but nuzzled Blue in beside a windowless gray van.

On her way, she chose to circle through the parking lot, around this small collection of trapped cars. No reason, really. She would later look back on this mindless decision many times, and wonder how differently her night might’ve played out if she’d merely retraced Ashley’s footprints instead.

A hand.

A tiny, doll-like hand.

She stepped away, leaving a handprint on the door

There’s a child locked inside this van.

That man is going to murder me tonight.

Darby grinned, too, all teeth: “If you help bludgeon the shit out of a complete stranger with a rock for me, I might just marry you.”