11Maggie eased herself up, grateful that Cunningham didn’t offer to help. He was pretending this was no big deal, and yet, she could see concern in his furrowed brow.
She waited until her back was turned to the storm cellar. Waited for Cunningham’s eyes to meet hers. Then she said as quietly and slowly as she could, “We’re being watched.”
He didn’t flinch. Kept his eyes on hers. Slowly he shifted his weight, spreading his feet a little farther apart. All of this done casually as though they were simply chatting. He crossed his arms and she saw his fingers tuck in close to his shoulder holster.
Maggie’s mind was racing, trying to remember if she had noticed another door to the trailer. There had to be one. The clothesline was in the backyard. She remembered a small utility room—sink, was
