Diego fell into the seat across from her at the RV’s dinette table, opening his own can. Fizz erupted over its side. He licked it away and took a big gulp. “Not like we’re hurting anybody.”
“No, we’re just stealing thousand-dollar books.”
Diego eyed her. “You getting cold feet?”
She bent the silver tab of her soda can back and forth until it broke off in her fingers. A warm breeze blew through the window screen and filled her nose with the scent of dry pine needles. Could that be it? She just didn’t have the guts?
“Any idea how lucky you are?” Diego leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Nothing but the wind at our back, the open road before us . . .”
Roxi managed a smile. He was right. For the past three weeks she’d been traveling with her seventeen-year-old second cousin and his mom, Irene. The thirty-foot RV was like an apartment on wheels. She’d been to places other people only saw on the Internet, experiencing things she’d never forget. Not all of them were earth-shattering, Grand Canyon moments, either. In Flagstaff, Arizona, she’d seen her first bald eagle perched high in a rustic pine, majestic and totally unreal. She even rode in an Amish buggy in Lancaster, Pennsylvania.
“This is our life,” Diego said, raking his hands through his black hair. “And it sure beats standing in line at a book sale for three days like we used to.”
“Doesn’t it ever bother you?”
He chugged down more soda, then belched. “Nope.”
“What if we get caught?”
“Come on, Rox.”
“They’d send me back to juvie.”
Diego leaned forward, both hands holding his drink. “Listen, we’re okay. We’re not gonna be caught. Ma’s careful.”
She downed half of her Dr Pepper in one shot just to keep herself from blabbing. She didn’t want Diego to know how she really felt.
“Why the change?” he asked. “I thought you were into this.”
“I am; it’s just . . . I don’t know.”
“Well, you better get a hold of yourself before Ma comes back.”
Roxi blew air out of her mouth in frustration. Why couldn’t she be more like Diego? Hungry for adventure. Strong under pressure. More than anything she didn’t want to disappoint Irene. Because of her, Roxi had seen half the country this summer. How many sixteen-year-olds could say that?
“I’ve got a surprise for you,” Diego said.
“You’re making dinner?”
“Surprise, not shock.” He pulled a slip of paper from the back pocket of his Levis, handing it to her with a grin. “I was gonna wait till your birthday, but I think you need it now.”
“Wow. I’ve always wanted a piece of paper.”
“Just read it.”
Roxi unfolded the sheet. Marie Greeley. 1264 Poplar Lane. Amarillo, TX. She looked at Diego. “Is this supposed to mean something?”
He got serious. “Remember when we were talking about your mom? how you wished you knew where she was?”
Marie. That was Mom’s name.
“I did some searching online, and I think I found her.”
“But her last name . . . ?”
“Looks like she married a guy named Tom Greeley.”
Roxi’s mouth went dry. She hadn’t heard from her mother in eight years, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to now. Mom was married? Roxi didn’t even know who her bio dad was, and now she had a stepfather?
She got up from the table and rested her back against the fridge a few feet away. The RV was designed to utilize every inch. Even the table where Diego still sat folded down to become her bed at night.
“She ditched me. Why would I care where she is?”
“Because she’s your mom.”
“Like that meant anything to her.”
“Hey, people do dumb stuff.” Diego crumpled his empty can with one hand and pitched it into the plastic trash bag they kept rubber-banded to a cabinet knob.
Roxi crossed her arms. “Not even a phone call?”
“You don’t have to do anything with it now, Rox.” He slid out from behind the table and opened the microwave, pulling out a bag of chips. With space at a premium, they used it more for storage than for cooking. And Irene never used it. She swore microwaves were bad for their health and mutated food.
Roxi stuffed the paper into her back pocket. Sometimes Diego could be annoyingly macho and cocky, but other times he surprised her. Like now. She’d tried to dig up this information herself a few years ago and found nothing.
“Thanks,” Roxi said.
Ripping open the chips, Diego held them out to her, but she shook her head. She definitely wasn’t hungry anymore. “I’m taking a walk.”
“Ma should be back soon.”
Which meant Irene would want to talk to both of them about tomorrow’s plans, something Roxi didn’t want to think about. She’d get some fresh air. Maybe things would look better after that.
She swung open the RV’s door, bounded down the three metal stairs, and slammed the door behind her. This was one of the nicer campgrounds. No screaming kids or low-life slobs leering at her from their lounge chairs.
The Fall River was within walking distance. Up here in Rocky Mountain National Park, late August was usually the height of tourist season, but for some reason, today there weren’t many other campers. Just a few full-time RVers with satellite dishes mounted on $200,000 rigs. The place would probably be packed over the weekend.
She headed for the river and sat at the water’s edge, knees to her chest. Living with Irene and Diego was better than any of the foster homes she’d been placed in over the years. The last one had two other guys her age living in the house. One afternoon she’d come home from school to find they were the only ones home, as usual, since both parents worked. The moment she walked into the kitchen and saw their faces, she knew what they planned to do to her. That split second of intuition saved her. She dropped her backpack right there and ran away. Never went back.
Three days later the cops picked her up for shoplifting from a grocery store, and she’d spent a month in juvie. Finally her caseworker placed her in a group home. Only after she got beat up for the third time did they manage to find a relative willing to take her in. Irene Tonelli was her mom’s cousin, and Roxi thought living with the Tonellis was the best thing that ever could’ve happened to her. Diego wasn’t like those other guys, and she finally felt like she belonged somewhere.
Roxi heard the trill of a broad-tailed hummingbird’s wings, then caught sight of the bird diving toward the rushing stream. All her life she’d prayed for a family. She used to imagine she’d wake up one morning and find everything had been a dream, and she really did have a mom and dad who loved her.
Straightening her legs, she stared at the deep blue sky visible through the treetops. But no, this was her life. She shouldn’t complain. Irene needed her to be a team player.
Swallowing back her emotions, she unbuttoned the cuff of her left sleeve and slowly rolled it up. With each flip of the fabric, more of her scar came into view. From wrist to elbow, a thick purple line wormed across her arm. She’d been eight when the glass had etched her with this eternal reminder of the night she lost Mom.
The night that changed her life forever.
Bound by Guilt
Chapter 2
People always stared when Abby Dawson walked into Starbucks, but she was used to it. Something about a cop in uniform compelled people to gawk.
She ordered her usual grande red eye, coffee with a shot of espresso for an extra kick, added three Splendas, then took it back to the patrol car. Now was as good a time as any to call Kat. After that scare last week when Kat had collapsed in the middle of the school cafeteria, Abby just needed to hear her daughter’s voice.
Besides, a girl turned sixteen only once in her life. Abby had mailed a card and a crisp hundred-dollar bill. Maybe this time Kat would actually get it. Last year Michael had returned her card unopened.
 
; Abby pulled out her cell phone and held down speed dial 2.
“Hello?”
Abby tensed at the sound of Sarah’s voice. It was no surprise Michael had fallen for her. Petite, blonde, cute. Everything Abby wasn’t. Did Kat call her Mom?
“Hi, Sarah. It’s Abby. Is Kat there?”
“She’s got some friends over.”
Abby softened her voice. “I just want to talk for a few minutes.” She hesitated, then forced herself to add, “If that’s okay.”
“I can’t make her talk to you.”
“Can you just tell her it’s me?”
A pause. Sarah sighed. “Hold on.”
The phone clunked on something hard. Abby heard footsteps, then Sarah’s voice yelling, “Your mother’s on the phone!”
Would Kat pick up? She hadn’t last time.
“Mom?”
Abby’s insides melted at the sound of Kat’s voice. “Happy birthday, sweetie.”
She wanted to add “How are you feeling?” but didn’t. The doctors had concluded nothing was wrong with Kat and chalked it up to stress at school. Of course that didn’t stop Abby from worrying. Was her daughter eating enough?
“Guess what? Dad bought me a car.”
Good old Michael. “Really? What kind?”
“A red Jeep. It’s sweet.”
And what had Abby given her? A lousy hundred bucks. Somehow she had a feeling “it’s the thought that counts” would be lost on a teenager. Everything in her wanted to bad-mouth Michael and win Kat over, to somehow woo her daughter into the relationship Abby wished they had. But she held back. That would put Kat in the middle, something Abby vowed never to do.
“Where are you?” Kat asked.
As if on cue, Abby’s radio squawked to life. The dispatcher broadcast a 10-57, a hit and run, on the other side of the city. She quickly turned down the volume. Kat used to have nightmares about her getting killed in the line of duty, so she’d tried to downplay her job over the years.
“Outside Starbucks right now.”
And where was Kat? An hour and a half away in Michael and Sarah’s mansion on a hill overlooking Utah Lake, probably wishing Abby would just leave her alone. Last week when Kat collapsed, Abby hadn’t been called until they’d already released her. She hadn’t gotten to be with her daughter or kiss her forehead and tell her everything would be okay. She hadn’t been able to be her mother at all.
“Mom, I’ve gotta go.”
Abby pictured Kat glancing across the room at Sarah, who was probably monitoring every word on the other phone like she’d done before.
“Okay, honey.” She thought she heard a door slam in the background. Maybe Michael was home early. “I love—”
“Bye.”
Abby stared at the phone. Call ended.
She let out a long breath. It was so easy to blame Michael. He’d fought tooth and nail for sole custody six years ago. Not because he wanted Kat more, but because he wanted to hurt her. And thanks to his Provo law partners, he’d gotten his way. For some foul, crazy reason, her daughter was being raised by another woman.
***
Irene pulled the minivan into the parking lot of Dawson’s Book Barn, and Roxi got a clear view of the barn-turned-used-bookstore. Plaster was chipped around its windows. A mound of split wood was stacked on the porch, and a cart of books sat by the door. Probably bargain stock they were trying to move quickly.
She undid her seat belt as the van came to a stop. According to their Web site, it was one of only a few stone barns listed in Colorado’s register of historical properties, and for that alone it was a landmark. Built in 1903 and four stories tall, over 300,000 volumes called it home.
Irene twisted around in the driver’s seat. “You guys ready?”
Roxi nodded and got out, not waiting to hear Diego’s response. He was in his element and would no doubt be raring to go. Like she should be. But the apprehension was working through her stomach again, just like yesterday. This was no place for it. She had a job to do—one that required her full concentration. All it would take to be caught was one slip of the tongue or a clumsy move.
Mother and son joined her at the store’s entrance, Diego giving her an encouraging pat on the shoulder. Then it was showtime, and the familiar thrill of danger took over. If she could just feed off that, she’d be okay. After this they could go back home to Cheyenne, and she could prepare herself for school starting next week.
The first thing Roxi noticed was the mountain of books on a huge table in the middle of the room. She thought she saw Collier’s complete set of O. Henry’s works and a stack of dust-jacketed Nancy Drews just asking to topple. It struck her how silent the room was, like a library, except for the rhythmic ticking of a clock somewhere nearby. The faint odor of wood smoke drifted to her nose, mixing with the old book smell of yellowed leaves and dry leather.
A woman stood up from a laptop computer perched on the corner of the table. She was dressed casually, like many of the book dealers Roxi had met this year, in jeans and a sweatshirt.
“Oh, hello,” the clerk said to Irene with a cheerful smile. “Glad you decided to come back.”
The day before, Irene had visited the store alone to scope things out and plan their modus operandi. With a store this size, she liked to get the lay of the land.
Irene smiled back at the clerk. “I knew these guys would love it here.”
“Can I help you find anything?”
“Actually, yeah,” Diego said, giving Roxi’s arm a playful punch. “Sis here’s doing some research for a school paper. Science stuff.”
Roxi returned his punch as if she really were his sister. “And Bro’s dying for another Stephen King.”
The woman left her computer and came toward them. “Fiction’s in the first room on your left. It’s all alphabetized. But science is up on the fourth floor.”
Roxi made a practiced confused face. “Could you show me?”
“Sure.” The clerk gestured for Roxi to follow her down the low-ceilinged hallway that led to the rest of the store. “It’s a hike, but we’ve got a good selection up there.”
Actually, science was the furthest section from downstairs as possible. Which was exactly why Irene had told them to ask for it. They took turns with the diverter role, but Roxi got it more than Diego, and today they’d decided she would be the one to distract the clerk. Stores like this usually didn’t have many employees, and no one ever questioned their innocent family facade. If she could keep a clerk busy long enough, Irene and Diego would have enough time to take a valuable book or two. Just one could pay for their trip if they turned it around quickly. A lot of stores kept their most expensive titles under lock and key, but often a few rarities would be displayed within the customer’s reach. That’s what they banked on, and it’s why Irene had visited this place yesterday. They needed to know what to go for. It was the best way they could be in and out before someone noticed any books were missing. Irene’s purse was large enough to conceal a standard-size hardcover book, and Diego’s backpack could hold several more.
The clerk led Roxi up a short flight of stairs.
“So how long have you been working here?” Roxi asked. Small talk was always a good time eater.
“Six years.”
“Like it?”
“You bet. My name’s Christy, by the way. Watch your head.” Christy pointed toward the low doorframe at the top of the stairs, where a painted sign declared Duck or Grouse. She was probably in her thirties and growing out a blonde dye job by the looks of her dark roots.
Clomping up two more flights, Roxi followed Christy through room after book-lined room. All the floors were made of uneven wooden planks, some with knotholes big enough to catch a view of the floor below. So far she’d given Irene and Diego about a minute. She could only hope some other employee downstairs hadn’t shown up offering his services to them. That would throw a wrench into everything.
Christy finally reached the fourth floor. She brought Roxi to a
corner of the first room, where a wall of shelves was labeled Science & Nature.
“Here you go,” Christy said. “Looking for anything specific?”
Roxi hesitated. If she said “no” or “I’ll just browse,” that would free Christy to return to the entrance room.
“What’s your paper about?”
She hadn’t rehearsed anything with Diego, and him spouting off like that about a science paper had caught her off guard.
“Einstein.”
“Here’s a nice biography.” Christy pulled out a four-hundred-plus-page book titled simply Einstein: A Life by Denis Brian. She blew the dust from the top page edges with a poof and handed it to Roxi.
“Have you read it?” Roxi asked.
“No, but I’ve heard it’s good.”
Roxi paged through the thick book hoping to drag this out. She waved her hand toward the rest of the shelves. “These in any sort of order?”
“They should be, but sometimes things get mixed up.” Christy ran her fingers across the spines of the nearest titles. “It’s general science along here.”
Roxi spotted two copies of Cosmos by Carl Sagan—that thing was everywhere—and at least three copies of A Brief History of Time by Stephen Hawking. Both too heady for her.
“Things get more technical this way,” Christy said, following the shelf to Roxi’s right. “Different theories and stuff. Here’s Einstein’s book on the theory of relativity.” She plucked a light blue dust-jacketed book from the shelf. “Is this more what you’re looking for?”
“Uh, maybe. Yeah.”
Christy handed her that book too, smiling, which made Roxi’s insides twist with guilt. This lady believed she was just a teen girl doing research.
“Well, I’ll leave you to your browsing. I’ll be downstairs if you need any more help.”
Roxi’s pulse kicked up a notch. She couldn’t let the clerk go back too soon, but if she stopped her, wouldn’t that look suspicious? She glanced at her watch, a cheap plastic thing she’d picked up at a thrift store a couple weeks ago with Diego. Four minutes. That was enough, right?
Christy’s footsteps faded. And then it was quiet except for the hum of the fluorescent lights. Leaning her forehead against the spines of some old green McGraw-Hill textbooks with titles like Organic Chemistry and An Introduction to Physics, Roxi closed her eyes. Please be enough time.