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.
Scattered trees stood guard in the partially cleared front yard. Two old
Juniper trees flanked the raised wraparound front porch and the half-moon drive.
Various desert shrubs and flowers added a cheerful splash of color to the scene.
The Jeep came to a skidding halt on the loose gravel. Scrambling out, my weak leg threatened to fold under me, the stiff muscles a reminder that six
months was not long enough for my body to forget the damage dealt to it.
I grabbed the metal doorframe for support, and heat seared my palm. My
breath escaped in a pain-filled hiss as I readjusted my hold and studied the house. The afternoon shadows weren’t deep, but unless they were playing tricks
on me, my front door stood ajar and my relief at seeing Kelsey’s car was short-
lived.
Spurred into action, I crossed the front yard, my limp disappearing as my muscles got with the program. The loud crunch of gravel under my boots made
