Page 44 of Nowhere Good

What choice did Claire have now?

How could Clementine not want her to be free?

Clem was supposed to be the older sister, but at a certain point, she’d stopped protecting Claire and started protecting herself. And maybe it was selfish for Claire to wish Clementine would be on her team again. She just wished she had someone.

A sudden light behind broke her reverie. Claire turned back, terrified of the shape of a pick-up truck, but a smaller car drove in her direction. Oh God, Dillon. But as it drew closer, she squinted against the headlights till the shape of some old black car, covered in mud, pulled up next to her. The man behind the wheel rolled down the window.

Detective Winslow.

“Jesus Christ, Claire, did you not see the press release? You can’t be out alone at night, it’s too dangerous.”

Claire stopped walking, so he put the brakes on. His heart was in the right place—hell, he was just doing this job—but being told what to do at a time like this still ticked her off, childish as it was.

“I’ve lived here my whole life, Detective. I’ll be fine on my bike.” With that, she got on and started pedaling.

Winslow slowly drove alongside her. “I can fit your bike in the back of my car and drive you.”

Claire kept pedaling. She wanted to be alone. Wallow in her own self-pity in peace. “Weren’t those girls taken on foot? I know it was risky going out and all, but I’m fast as hell on this thing.”

“It’s not just risky. You are the exact profile this guy is looking for. Something happens to you, it’s on me. Please let me drive you home.”

He had a point. She was being stupid and stubborn. But everything with Dillon, with this fantasy she had of getting dirt on her father, had overshadowed the very real threat on the streets once she got back to town. Maybe this was another way for her to run from what she’d seen.

To run from Kelsey.

By what, becoming the next victim? She really did need to get her shit together.

“Come on, don’t make me beg,” Winslow said. “Please.”

Finally, Claire stopped, and Winslow did too. Although she’d been annoyed by his presence, she couldn’t help but grin. “You just did.”

With that, she got off the bike and rolled it toward the backdoor of his car. Winslow put the car in park and hurried outside.

“I got it,” he said, so she backed off, allowing him to lift the bike’s frame. She’d never seen him in a hoodie before—he’d almost look like a normal guy, if not for the gun and badge on his belt.

She stood back and watched as he opened the back door and attempted to shove the bike in, twisting the handlebars. Claire tried not to laugh at his struggle, but a snort escaped her.

“It so does not fit,” she said.

“Oh, it’ll fit.” With a grunt and a shove, he positioned the bike deeper into the backseat. Then, to her great surprise, he successfully closed the door. He stepped back with his hands on his hips like he was proud of himself. “There, see? After you.”

“All righty then,” Claire murmured. It was surreal, seeing him like this. It almost made her forget the ache of betrayal in her chest.

She went to the passenger side and got in. Last time she was in Winslow’s car, she’d been in the back as he drove her home before the search warrant. It felt weird to sit up front with him as he got behind the wheel. But just like that, they were on the road.

“I’d ask why you were out here, but you probably won’t tell me,” Winslow said.

Claire laughed, focused on the fields of corn passing by the window, topped by the sea of stars. “You really are a detective. For the record, it’s nothing too crazy. My family’s farm is down the road back there. Call it a midnight visit.”

“Huh. Back there on this road?”

“Mm-hmm.” She looked at him, studying his profile. “What were you doing out here? The outside of your car’s filthy.”

“Wasting time. You ever hear anything about a cabin in the woods back there? Near the Bursells’ fields.”

“Can’t say I have. My family used to own those fields, though. My grandfather sold them to the Bursells what, fifty years ago or something. They were Swedish immigrants. There’s your little bit of Fairview lore for the day.”

Winslow’s brows stitched as he glanced at her. “They did, huh? That is interesting.”