Killer Summer

61

I’m not going back in the garage, Summer told herself repeatedly. But a little voice at the back of her brain told her otherwise. The woodpile would need fuel of some kind to light it, and she remembered seeing a beat-up cooking grill and a lighter wand on her way out. A row of jerrycans next to the ATVs suggested gasoline or diesel fuel. So while she had no problem connecting the dots, she just couldn’t muster the courage to go back in there and get the wand and fuel.

And, if she could, then what? What if all three men responded to the fire? Did she head for the jet and try to phone out or did she head for the lodge and look for Kevin? What if only two men responded? Or only one? What if they just let it burn?

She stood there, shivering. More than anything, she just wanted all this to go away. She’d dragged Kevin into this, taking his keys and forcing him to follow. What a jerk she’d been. And now she’d gotten him kidnapped, or worse. A big part of her just wanted to take off, to convince herself that it was in everyone’s best interest for her to save herself and somehow get word to her father.

Her father! How she had betrayed him, abused his trust. Having argued her own case so many times that she actually had come to believe it, now she saw the absurdity of her logic, the product of her mistakes. She now could see it all through her father’s eyes, could feel his anger. He wouldn’t know where she was, probably didn’t even know the jet had been stolen, and by the time he figured it out any concern he had would fester into rage. He didn’t lose his temper often-she should have been more grateful for that-but when he did she’d be on the receiving end. Dread now joined the cold, and she felt like all the life had drained out of her.