It was almost dark when Ransom finally turned down a gravel road. We drove on for several minutes and then eventually, he slowed and swung the bike toward the edge of the road.
What the hell was he doing?
There wasn’t anything in sight. We were totally alone and my paranoia was rearing its ugly head.
Had I made a mistake?
It was almost too much of a coincidence that Jordan had walked into the diner just a few days after Ransom.
But then I saw another gravelly roadway, this one almost hidden by the trees in the splashing light of the bike, and relaxed.
Ransom followed the trail, which wound down, and then back up, beneath the canopy of pines. After about another mile, he stopped in a small clearing and cut the engine.
“We’re almost there,” he told me. “We need to walk the rest of the
