21
“Here, turn off here,” Liv said, pointing toward a track on the left.
Following her directive, I indicated and slowed for the turn, spinning us onto the rough gravel once close enough.
The place seemed to be some kind of tree-enshrouded car park, a rural picnic stop, with public footpath signs pointing off into the trees. The retreat even had public toilets, and probably because of those, a handful of jazzed up cars sat in a semicircle deeper in, young males and a few females lounging over the bonnets beneath the shelter of the leafy canopy, scattered cans on the cracked tarmac. Likely the locals’ idea of a cheap night out with friends.
Swerving away from them, I headed for the farthest and quietest corner, away from them, away from where I could see Ethan and Kyle parking up in my
