Page 4 of We Are All Guilty Here

Madison was momentarily blind, but she could still see Cheyenne in the trunk. Trapped under the bike. Eyes wide. Terrified. There was no time to think, only to act. Madison wrenched out the bike, tossed it onto the ground, grabbed Cheyenne’s arm, tried to help her out.

Another low whistle. Another trail of fire. Another explosion of stunning light.

Madison froze, her hand still wrapped around Cheyenne’s arm, as the truth revealed itself in terrifying color. Bright red slash marks. Rusty dried blood. Pink pinpricks peppering the whites of Cheyenne’s eyes. Her mouth was taped shut. Her nose looked broken. Her shirt was torn. More blood streaked down her chest, pooled into the top of her bra. Her wrists were tied together. Her legs were drawn up. Her ankles were tied. She was screaming behind the tape, wriggling to get out, urging Madison to hurry, to please help.

It was in this moment—not an interlude so much as an echo—when Madison remembered what Emmy had told her before.

Don’t miss the forest for the trees.

Don’t worry about Cheyenne being tied up in the trunk.

Worry about the man who put her there.

The next explosion was so loud that Madison’s teeth ached. She felt a tightening of her jaw, a contraction of her muscles, a sense of fear coursing through her body. The burning bright flares of a chrysanthemum set the sky on fire.

Madison turned. She saw the man’s face, then—

Darkness.

CHAPTER TWO

Emmy pushed open the door to the Porta Potty and sucked in a mouthful of hot, humid air. Her ears were still ringing. The fireworks display had ended with enough explosions to fill a war zone. She could smell the gunpowder and sulfur mingling with the stench of acrid sweat and stale alcohol as the revelers began the slow process of gathering blankets and coolers and searching for toddlers and trying to remember where they’d parked. Flashlights came out. The overhead lights started popping on. First at the parking lots down by the ballfields. Then the parking lot at the top of the hill. Then the lights behind the bleachers. Then down by the lake. Then the mood shifted as people realized that the Fourth of July falling on a Wednesday meant they all had to get up and go to work tomorrow morning.

“’Night, Emmy,” someone called.

“You take care,” another said.

Emmy forced herself to smile as she snapped the door closed behind her. In retrospect, hiding out in a piss- and shit-filled plastic box that had baked under a hateful sun for twelve hours hadn’t been one of her better ideas. It was still better than her idea to trust Jonah Lang to do something as simple as watch their eleven-year-old child.

“I know that look.” Brett Temple was grinning as he twirled his hat between his hands. The back of his neck had pinked up into a classic redneck tan. “What’d he do now?”

“Said he wasn’t gonnababysitCole.” Brett looked clueless, so she clarified, “It’s not babysitting when it’s your own kid.”

“Seriously.” Vanna, Brett’s smugly pregnant wife, insertedherself into the conversation. Her sweat-stained purple dress sagged across her belly like a fitted sheet at a whorehouse. “You won’t be like that, will you baby?”

Brett looked down at Vanna and lied through his teeth. “’Course not, honey.”

Emmy had to look away while they kissed. She studied the crowd. She felt a niggling guilt for blowing off Madison earlier. The girl had clearly wanted to talk. “Have either of you seen Madison Dalrymple?”

Brett asked, “Which one is she?”

Vanna supplied, “The fat one.”

Emmy felt her jaw set. “She’s not fat.”

“Well, nobody would call her skinny.” Vanna laughed as she ogled Brett like a lovestruck basset hound. “Madison runs around with that filthy-mouthed little hellion, Cheyenne Baker. Remember, you dragged her into the station last week.”

“Cheyenne Baker.” Brett started nodding. “Stole a bag of Hershey’s Kisses from the Good Dollar. She ditched ’em before I got to her, though.”

“Little psychopath was probably lacing them with fentanyl,” Vanna said with great authority. “Might as well send her to prison now. She’s gonna end up there anyway.”

“Hey.” Emmy tried to keep her tone even. “She’s still a kid.”

“A kid with the evil already baked in,” Vanna said. “I’ll tell you another thing, Hannah’s a saint for putting up with Madison. She oughtta send her to one of those schools where they snatch the kid in the middle of the night and drop them in a desert somewhere in Utah. Get her out from under the sphere of dark influences.”

Emmy was stunned by the casual cruelty. “Hannah loves Madison like a daughter.”

“Which is why she should do it. Tough love.” Vanna rubbed her round belly likeher childwould never cause trouble. “Lord, I’m about to pop. Emmy, were Cole’s last few weeks this trying for you?”

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