Every Girl Needs a Hero

by Debra Kayn

  There was one more thing he needed to rectify tonight, and then he'd let her rest. "You mentioned the trailer is stolen. I'm going to need to get rid of it."

  "Oh, God." She blew out her breath.

  He understood the snowball effect overwhelming her. There were fingerprints, sightings, and a past linking her and Miller together.

  "The only way this is going to work is if everyone who has knowledge of you living with Miller believes you've left him." He ran his fingers through his beard.

  Her frown deepened. "I have nowhere to go. He took all my money, burned my clothes, and smashed my laptop and phone. I have about five dollars' worth of gas left in the truck."

  "Then, you'll stay here." He sprawled his fingers and held up his hand when she opened her mouth. "It'll work with your story in case anyone questions you, and they will when someone notices Miller is missing. You can tell law enforcement when they show up that you have no idea where he is, because you left him a few weeks ago and, in that time, you and I got together."

  "I don't know...maybe I should confess to killing him." She seemed to shrink under the blanket. "Except, you've already—"

  "He's buried." He stood. "Take the rest of the night to think. There's food in the fridge and pantry. I have an extra bedroom down the hall you can stay in. Then, tomorrow, I'll need an answer on what you want to do."

  He walked toward the door and grabbed his jacket. Unable to unwind after burying Miller, he needed to get outside and have a smoke.

  Katelynn remained quietly observing him. He left, shutting the door behind him. If he returned and found her gone, he'd have one more crime chasing him.

  He could already feel the heat against his back.

  Starting the ATV, he flipped on the headlights and instead of going back to the campground, he rode around his cabin and took the trail up the mountain.

  Twenty minutes and two peaks later, he pulled to a stop from the rough ride. The lights lit the two rugged crosses at the edge of the mountaintop.

  He'd spent his whole adult life talking to Joney about his worries and his fears. He gazed at the newest cross marking Two-crow's resting spot. All six of them that bonded together in Mexico as children had hoped escaping the dogs and the men holding them captive would eliminate the danger in their lives.

  They'd been wrong.

  He pulled out his pack of smokes and lit a cigarette. The crimes kept coming. Their enemies grew in number.

  Chapter 7

  The smoky aroma of fried bacon infused Katelynn's nostrils. She walked down the hallway into the main room and found Quint cooking in the kitchen.

  He looked up from the skillet, his gaze raking over her body before landing on her eyes. "I'm going to be taking off for work and figured I'd whip you up some food before I take off for the day. I thought you'd sleep longer."

  Her stomach turned. Though the smell enticed her and the only thing she'd eaten in three days were some stale Pringles, the idea of putting anything inside her stomach nauseated her.

  "Thank you," she said, her voice cracking.

  He lifted the skillet off the burner and picked the bacon out with a fork, putting each strip on a folded piece of paper towel. Then, he scooped the scrambled eggs into a bowl. "There are English muffins on the counter and cheese in the fridge."

  She remained standing halfway between the living room and the kitchen. The long, sleepless night failed to help her make sense of the last twelve hours. She'd murdered Cord, and Quint buried him.

  He acted as if today was a typical workday and he was busy with his morning routine. She studied him for any sign of what he'd done last night bothering him. His non-reaction concerned her.

  He'd put a man deep in the ground and hid the activity from law enforcement. A normal person wouldn't do such a thing.

  As fast as the thought came to her, her stomach rebelled, and she rushed to the bathroom, afraid of throwing up. Alone in the little room, she leaned against the door and inhaled through her nose. There was nothing in her stomach. She'd end up dry heaving until exhausted and she needed to stay alert.

  She closed her eyes. It wasn't Quint that irritated her. It was Cord.

  Why couldn't he have let her go when she told him the first time she wanted to leave and go back home? Why had he taken everything away from her and forced her to stay in his house?

  Why had she raised her hand and stabbed him with the knife she'd taken from his kitchen before she'd left?

  The door rattled behind her and knocking filled her ears. She couldn't be around someone like Quint, even though she was just as evil as him.

  She was a murderer.

  She covered her mouth, holding her breath. Until she could make sense of what she'd done, how was she supposed to decide on what to do?

  "Katelynn?" said Quint from the other side of the door. "I need to go open up the campground. If you need anything during the day, I left my number on the fridge. There's a phone on the counter you can use. If you feel like getting out of the cabin later, you can walk the gravel driveway about a half mile, and you'll see the campground. I'll be back around noon for lunch."

  She clung to all the privileges he handed her. For six months, she'd been shut inside a house, not permitted to go anywhere. Every time she tried to walk away from Cord, she'd gone miles through the forest, getting nowhere.

  "Katelynn? Are you okay?"

  She grimaced. Why was he nice? Why would he protect her from being arrested? Why did she believe he had ulterior plans and he was just like Cord?

  "Th-thanks." She hated the weakness in her voice. "For making breakfast and...and I'll call if I need anything."

  She should get in her truck and leave. Even ten miles would get her away from the scene of the crime.

  "Hey, uh, I'm going to get rid of the trailer this morning. It'll only take me a couple of hours, so I'll be out of cell service, but someone will be at headquarters to help you," he said.

  Oh, God. The trailer.

  Suffocating under the awful things she'd done, she cleared her throat. "Okay."

  Several minutes later, a door on the other end of the house closed. She let her sock covered feet slide along the floor until she sat and pressed her back against the door.

  Tears rolled down her cheeks. She'd struggled her whole life on her own. There wasn't a year that hadn't knocked her down, forcing her to pull herself back up again. Just when she started to believe things were looking up, she'd made the mistake of answering Cord Miller's private Facebook message.

  There was no fixing stupid. She couldn't go back a day—or six months— and change what she'd done.

  She'd killed a man. Right, wrong, or questionable, murder was murder. She'd taken another person's life.

  A phone rang in the cabin. Unaware of how long she'd sat on the bathroom floor, she pushed to her feet and walked into the kitchen. She barely caught the name Quint Mathews on the screen when the ringing stopped.

  Unsure of what to do with herself, she stood in the middle of the kitchen and gazed around. Every bit of sense inside her head told her to walk out the door and keep going. The man who claimed he wanted to help her also buried a dead man, hid a crime, and wanted her to stay here and lie to the police.

  That made him a billion times worse than Cord, who never killed her. Yet, she had a hard time believing Quint was a bad person. He owned a campground and dealt with people from all over the world staying on his property.

  In his own way, he'd helped her. She sighed. At least, he protected her from instantly getting arrested. At this point, she wasn't sure he was doing her any favors.

  The phone rang for the second time. She stepped closer. Quint called again.

  She should ignore him. He wasn't keeping her under lock and key. She stared at the plate of bacon. He had fixed her breakfast.

  Hurrying to answer the phone before Quint hung up, she said, "Hello?"

  "One of my employees is going to be stopping by. His name's Jared. He's probably around your age
. He's going to leave a few pairs of shoes on the porch. Go ahead and see if one of them fits. There weren’t any shoes in the container in my closet, so I looked in the current Lost and Found box in the office," he said as a way of explanation.

  She looked down at her toes. The thought of shoes on her feet. The thought of him giving her shoes. The thought that he would put her comfort as a priority in his life when he'd already covered her crime and let her stay in his house blurred her vision.

  "Thank you," she said, blinking furiously.

  "Stop saying thanks, Katelynn. I'm only doing what needs to be done."

  The call disconnected. She set the receiver back in the charger. Unable to wrap her head around him taking responsibility for her, the knock at the door startled her.

  She walked over to the window and spotted a man riding out of the yard on an ATV. Still, she stayed inside. Going outside at Cord's house had meant wild animals, endless miles of trees and boobytraps, and the possibility of getting lost.

  Back home in the city, having people around her brought her comfort and security. There was always someone close by if she needed help. A big believer that there was safety in numbers, she was never alone, even when realistically, she was by herself the majority of the time.

  But, she wasn't at home. She wasn't at Cords. She was at Quint's cabin. Outside on the mountain, anything could happen. From her experience, the woods became a maze of trees, streams, and unfamiliar sounds the moment she walked away from the house. If she screamed, nobody would hear her.

  Not to mention bears, wolves, and all kinds of animals that would view her as prey.

  She cupped her hand against the window and tried to look down on the porch. The sun hadn't hit the shadows yet, and she couldn't see if there were shoes outside.

  Wiggling her toes, she stopped. Her feet were sore, and the soles were swollen from the abuse she'd put them through.

  Deciding shoes were a necessity, she unlocked the door and found a pile of sneakers all tied together by the shoelaces.

  She picked up the gift and carried them into the house, shutting and locking herself inside. Having found a pair of Quint's socks on the end of the bed this morning, she'd put them on, knowing they helped pad her feet.

  Her hands stilled undoing the knots on the laces. Quint had been in the room.

  She'd closed the door last night before he'd returned to the cabin. Then, she'd stayed up for hours listening to him and the house settle. He must've come in the room while she'd slept.

  Shivering at the dangerous position she'd once again put herself into, she picked out a pair that looked as if they'd fit and tried them on. They were a little big, but not sloppy, thanks to the thicker socks.

  She strolled around the room, surprisingly happy wearing second-hand shoes. Because her discomfort eased, she put away the breakfast Quint made in case he wanted to eat the food later.

  Then, because it bothered her that she was once again having a man take care of her, she opened the door and stepped out onto the porch to test her independence. Quint mentioned it was only a half mile walk down the gravel driveway to the campground. It wasn't impossible to leave, unlike when she stayed with Cord.

  Even going out to the porch might make her feel better.

  She rubbed her hands together, still feeling the solid, thick barrier the knife went through in her palms. For the first time in her life, she thought about calling her mom and stepdad. And then, quickly shook off that option.

  It'd been hell growing up in the house with a depressed mother who drank until she passed out every evening and a stepdad who not only shared his love of drinking with his wife but also thought it was okay for Katelynn's mom to verbally abuse and manipulate her.

  It'd be wiser for her to go to a shelter. Somewhere to start over, get a job, save enough money to live find a new place to live. It wouldn't have to be in Vancouver. Maybe Portland or in one of the coastal towns.

  The grinding of gravel invaded the birds chirping. She looked up and found an ATV heading toward the house. Staying by the railing, she recognized Quint with his beard and longer hair.

  It must be lunchtime.

  He parked by the steps and was beside her as she noticed the police car coming toward the house. She panted, unable to draw in enough air.

  "Remember, I'll protect you. You need to protect me," whispered Quint, barely moving his lips.

  Her heart pounded. Law enforcement found her.

  Quint gathered her hand in his and squeezed. She held on tight. And, through the fear of being caught, of being taken away in handcuffs, and being sent to prison for murder, she took comfort in the shoes that hid her curled toes, ready to run.

  Chapter 8

  The police car slowly rolled around the bend in the driveway. Quint held on to Katelynn and took her into the cabin, supporting her all the way to the couch.

  She sagged onto the cushion. He studied her. She'd held steady through the official questions surrounding Cord Miller's disappearance.

  When Katelynn opened her mouth and had gone along with the bogus story about starting a relationship with him, he'd chosen that moment to step into the questioning and validate her statement by confessing he'd fallen in love with her and helped move her into his cabin over two weeks ago.

  She leaned over, bracing her elbows on her knees, and cradled her head in her hands. "Do you think they believed me?"

  "I think they listened." He walked over and took the whiskey out of the cabinet, poured two glasses, and returned to her. "Drink this. It'll help."

  He tipped back the glass, letting the warmth slide down his throat and take the edge off. Any number of things could've gone wrong as the police officer asked them question after question regarding Cord Miller's disappearance.

  His chest tightened. He'd learned Gil Miller reported Cord missing earlier that morning. Cord's brother hadn't even waited twenty-four hours.

  "When's the last time you seen Gil Miller?" He sat down on the couch beside her.

  "I don't know." She rubbed her eyes. "He lives...lived with Cord, but he was gone a lot, too. He always seemed to pop in at the house, stay a few days, and then leave for a couple days to a week before coming back. Most of the time if he was there, I stayed in the spare bedroom because there was a lock on the door. If I was in the kitchen and he came home, I ignored him."

  "You left Cord and came here three days ago." He exhaled. "There are two days that you were gone when Cord could've told Gil you'd stolen the trailer and left him. Gil probably helped Cord search for you during that time."

  "Oh, God." She turned her head without letting go of the hair she fisted. "I told the policeman it'd been almost three weeks since I'd seen Cord."

  "Don't panic yet." Quint pulled out his phone.

  She sat straighter. "What are you doing?"

  "Texting some friends to come here to help me." He sent the non-descript message to Will, Mark, and Anders, knowing they'd come without reason.

  "More people know what I've done?" She picked up the drink off the coffee table and drank.

  He grabbed her wrist and removed the tumbler at the same time she coughed and bent over trying to catch her breath.

  "Breathe through it." He rubbed her back, knowing the discomfort would be eased by the alcohol.

  Whether she'd been aware he'd handed her whiskey or she'd never had it before, she drank enough to make her head spin.

  "Oh, God." She exhaled harshly, coughing again. "What was that?"

  "Whiskey." He stopped touching her. "Trust me, it'll help you in the long run. Next time, sip it."

  He lifted his glass and not taking his own advice, downed two swallows. The warmth eased the pressure in his chest and the pounding in his head. During the interrogation, he realized he needed someone to back up their story. It was Gil Miller's word against theirs, and if it went further, he'd need the others to come up with a valid story confirming his statement their relationship began before Cord Miller disappeared. Since Cord wasn't aro
und to give his side, the police would have to validate their stories.

  He needed witnesses who would lie, if questioned, and tell the authorities he and Katelynn were in a relationship for three weeks.

  "It's going to be all right. We just need to lay low and let the police believe we're together." He tilted his head, looking at her face. "I've parked your truck behind headquarters, so the story is authentic."

  She no longer shook and stared glossy eyed at the drink in her hand. Thankfully, he'd dealt with the stolen trailer before the cops came to the campground and had returned only moments before the patrol car rolled in.

  "Did you eat breakfast?" He had a feeling she hadn't consumed any food during the two days she spent in the trailer after finding expired food and no garbage.

  She shook her head. "I can't."

  Can't or won't, she needed to keep up her strength. He walked into the kitchen area and found she'd put the food he'd fixed earlier away. Quickly heating a homemade breakfast sandwich with egg, bacon, and muffin, in the microwave, he carried the plate to her.

  "Eat up." He sat beside her and took the whiskey away from her.

  She hadn't consumed anymore after the initial drink. Compared to him, she was a tiny thing. It wouldn't take much alcohol to lay her out.

  "I'm not hungry." She looked up at him. "My stomach is warm."

  "Yeah, that's the whiskey. Put some food in it before you find out what it feels like when the whiskey comes out." He nodded at the plate. "Go on."

  "I don't drink." She stuck out her lower lip. "Ever. Even though I'm twenty-five years old."

  "Okay." He pushed the plate toward her, not caring what her age had to do with anything. "I'm going to need to get back to the campground, and I want to make sure you've had food in your stomach, so take a bite."

  She attacked the filled muffin, ripping a bite out of it as if to spite him.

  He needed to take off and wanted to make sure she wasn't going to get sick when he was gone. The more vulnerable she became, the less he trusted her judgment. She'd kept her head earlier while the policeman was here, but lying hadn't come easily to her. He didn't want her going off half-cocked or feeling sorry for herself and doing something stupid like calling 911 and confessing to a crime while he was away.