you.” Her harsh breathing was audible over the rumblings of the departing passengers as we shuffled to the exit. “Whoever’s been watching me, I think they got in my condo. You know that itch you talk about? Yeah, well it’s graduated to hives.” Her voice became muffled, and then cleared, “…not

comfortable sharing over the phone, so just hurry the hell up and get here, okay?”

The next message came from the same area code so I didn’t bother listening.

I hit speed dial, praying Kelsey would pick up. Her phone rang and went to voicemail. “Kels, it’s me. I’m on my way. Call me back.” I checked to see when

she called. Forty-five minutes ago.

Stuck in the exit shuffle, I hit the oven masquerading as the jetway at a stuttering run. Once there was room, I dodged through the zombie-like crowd of

departing passengers, ignoring the muttered complaints trailing in my wake.

Like I gave a shit right now.

Kelsey was an up-and-coming corporate lawyer in a Phoenix law firm and

the last person to panic. The underlying fear in her message scared the bejesus

out of me because we had both navigated the wonderfully warped world of

foster care with guts and bravado. That was until the Ardens took us in as teenagers.

My bags thumped against my shoulders and hips as my booted feet pounded

down the seemingly never-ending airport corridors. Exiting through the

automated doors, the sucking wall of a hundred-plus degrees of Phoenix summer

put a hitch in my step. I hopped on the shuttle for long-term parking.

As it made its way to where I parked my Jeep two and a half weeks ago, I

tried Kelsey’s number again. No answer. Next call was to my cabin up north.

The stupid machine picked up. “Kels? Are you there?” I waited, trying not to pant like a racehorse. Nothing. Sickening dread tightened my stomach muscles.

Third call was her condo in Tempe. Nothing.

The shuttle lurched to a stop at the curb in a cloud of exhaust. I ran, weaving

my way through the blistering metal of parked cars under the relentless

afternoon sun, my T-shirt sticking to my back like a leech.

Finding my Jeep, I threw my backpack in the back and, with a little more care, set my padded camera bag on the passenger floorboard. Habit had me plugging in my phone before I settled behind the wheel. Not waiting for my poor

air conditioner to beat back the searing heat, I started the engine, navigated out

of the lot, and hit the freeway.

My fingers danced on the steering wheel with frenetic worry and my left leg

bounced like a piston. My body got busy stressing out, while my mind remained

startlingly clear. The dichotomy felt all too familiar. Lessons learned during my

stint with the U.S. Marine’s Intelligence Unit stuck like glue. Logic took center

stage, shoving my emotions to the side, and survival became the name of the

game.

Kelsey would head north to the cabin we inherited in Sedona from our foster

parents. The one I called home when I bothered to stick around. A little haven of

security tucked away from the world. It was listed under our foster mother’s maiden name and known only to us, which made it a perfect hideout.

A glance at the Jeep’s dash confirmed there was enough gas to get me there.

If I followed the speed limit, I should hit Sedona in little over two hours. I sent a quick prayer to whatever deities were listening and pressed my foot on the gas.

Speed limits be damned.

BY THE TIME the exit for Sedona appeared, my raging emotions had crowded out

logic, insisting on mentally torturing me with scenarios more in line with those

slasher films Kelsey loved so much. It left my stomach and head a mess.

Regardless of Sedona’s beauty, the towering, red rock cliff faces weren’t

doing a thing for my photographer’s heart. My jaw ached, and it’d be a miracle if

I didn’t crack a tooth. With one main road in and out of town, traffic was a meandering crawl.

Fifteen of the longest minutes of my life passed before I turned onto the semi-paved road winding up Oak Creek Canyon. Taking it faster than normal, I

bounced along the rough road, trailing a cloud of dust and marking my passage

through every turn.

My home came into view as I cleared the last bend. Kelsey’s older model Lexus sat to the side of the cabin and the tight bands across my chest began to

loosen in relief.