Page 7 of Trapper Road

I know the moment he gets to the part about the Lost Angels and his role in their formation because his lips tighten. It’s a sore subject for both of us. After Sam learned Melvin had murdered his sister, he was overwhelmed with grief and the only way he knew to deal with it was to turn it into anger. Unfortunately, he then directed that anger at me and my family.

I don’t blame him. He’d just lost his sister in the most horrific, brutal way possible. Instead, I blame Melvin. Another example of how his victims weren’t just the women he strung up in his garage torture chamber. Their loved ones suffered too.

When he finishes, he sets the page on the desk and sighs. It hurts him that something he created continues to cause such grief and threat for our family.

“Do you know this Leonard Varrus guy?” I finally ask. “Should we be worried about him?”

“Not well. He wasn’t very active on the message boards. At least not the ones focused on you and your family. It never seemed like revenge was his thing. I always got the impression he joined the Lost Angels because he was looking for people who understood what he was going through and could empathize.”

“Then why the sudden shift to me?”

He taps his fingers against the printout, thinking. “Not sure. You want me to look into him? See what I can find?”

“May as well,” I tell him. “I’ll do the same on my end. See if anything comes up running him through J.B.’s software. But, Sam,” I reach across the desk to take his hand in mine. “No risk taking. It’s not worth getting hurt over this.”

His eyes meet mine, serious and sincere. “I’ll take any risk I have to to protect our family.” He then stands, pulling me to my feet as well. He steps closer and cups my cheek with his palm. “You and the kids are everything to me.”

He kisses me, and it’s sweet and full of love at first, but then grows heated. I think about asking him to lock the door so we can take things further, but my phone buzzes on the desk, interrupting us.

I’d created different buzz patterns for each of my kids, so I know right away that it’s Lanny. Sam knows I can’t ignore her. He pulls back, letting me reach for my phone. I groan when I read the text.

Lanny: what’s for dinner?

Sam reads over my shoulder and chuckles. “Whatever happened to the good old days when you’d just shout down the hall?”

I just shake my head. Sam presses his lips against my temple then murmurs in my ear, “We’ll finish this later.” It’s a promise that sends a warmth of anticipation through me.

“Was Connor back yet when you came home from the store?”

“Not that I saw,” he says.

I frown, frustrated, and glance at my phone. He hasn’t responded to my earlier text either. He’s always been such good kid — a rule follower. Lately, however, he’s been pushing the envelope. I know it’s normal for a kid his age to want to exert some measure of independence and I’ve been trying to give him space, but we’re not like other families. The threats against us are all too real.

“I’ll text him again.” My agitation is clear in my voice.

Sam already has his phone out. “Let me. Sometimes he gets back to me faster,” he says.

That stings a little, but yeah, he’s right; Connor’s gravitated more and more to Sam since Sam adopted both the kids, and I try not to let myself feel hurt by that. It’s good. Connor needs a father figure, and Sam’s the best there could be—a good man, through and through, with a core of strength that awes me because it’s usually so invisible. I watch Sam text, and sure enough, half a minute later he gets a response. “Okay, he’s coming home.”

“Not walking.” It’s not far, but I don’t like the idea of him alone after dark.

“Kevin’s mom is bringing him. He wants to know what’s for dinner.”

“You decide,” I say, and rub my forehead, as I think about the printout still sitting on the desk and the threat it represents. Even though we have a game plan on how to address it, it still feels unresolved. A bomb waiting to explode. A part of me wants to sit down, start researching, and find answers. Eliminate the risk. But if I gave into that impulse every time, I would spend my life in front of the computer.

The reality is that there’s no way to fully eliminate the risk. There will always be trolls out there on some sort of misguided quest to exact revenge on me and my family. We have to find a way to live our lives despite that.

Sam understands without me having to say a word. He extends a hand. “Come on. Burritos aren’t going to make themselves.”

“Burritos? Adventurous.”

“I have range.”

* * *

When Connor arrives home, my fears are confirmed. He’s quietly surly, tension cabling his shoulders and back into a stiff, unyielding frame. It says, louder than words, leave me alone. He’s waiting for me to bring up him not responding to my earlier text, and it’s pretty clear he’s ready for it to turn into a fight.

Sometimes I wonder if Connor’s deteriorating attitude has anything to do with Kevin’s influence. He always seems to be a bit more surly after hanging out with the other boy, but that could just as easily be chalked up to typical teenage hormones. Being fifteen isn’t easy, especially when you add in everything else this family has been through over the past few years.

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