Wildwood Road Read Online Free

away, but around here most towns had the kids trick-or-treat the Saturday night before to make it easier on parents who commuted. She must have been out for Halloween, trick-or-treating, and somehow . . .
    Michael found himself staring at the stiff cuffs of his D' Artagnan shirt. The hat was on the passenger's seat in the car—or probably on the floor now, he hadn't noticed—but the shirt was enough to jar the realization. The girl had not been out trick-or-treating, not without a costume.
    “I'm so cold,” she said, her voice stronger now.
    “Are you lost?” he asked again. “Do you know where you belong?”
    The question seemed to surprise her and she blinked several times, focusing on his face once more. Slowly, she shook her head.
    “Do you know your phone number?”
    Again, the shake of her head.
    A hundred thoughts went through his mind. He couldn't call her parents and get their address. The logical next step was to put her in the car and take her to the police station. But Michael could still feel the flush of alcohol in his cheeks, the way in which he was not quite steady, even kneeling on the pavement. How the hell could he walk into the police station and tell the cops he had just driven the lost girl to them when they were sure to notice he had been drinking?
    I could just call the police. Tell them she's here. Where to find her.
    But as soon as this option occurred to him, Michael dismissed it. There was no specific code he lived by—he didn't take himself that seriously—but he knew without doubt that he was not the kind of man who would leave a shivering little girl on the side of the road to save his own ass. There was no way to know what might happen. She could wander off again.
    He hung his head a moment and when he looked back up at her, there was something imploring in her eyes, as though she wanted to ask him something but could not speak the words. She hugged herself and shivered from the cold. Though she did not seem quite as shaken as she originally had, she was still a bit dreamy, disoriented, and he knew she needed to be looked at by a doctor.
    Since the early days of their relationship, he had consulted Jillian on every important decision he had ever made. But Jillian was out cold in the backseat of the car. There would be no smile from her now, no brightly sparkling eyes, no wisdom.
    Michael put an arm around the girl as he stood up. “You're going to be all right,” he promised. “I'm going to get you home. Back where you belong.”
    He would take her to the police. It occurred to him that showing up with a missing girl in his car could be disastrously misconstrued, but Michael wasn't concerned. He had been at the party until a short time ago. No one could suggest he had done anything but try to help the girl. He hoped the cops would take that into consideration if they smelled Guinness on his breath.
    Stop thinking about it. Just do what's right.
    “Here. Hop in and let me get the heat cranking. It'll warm you right up.”
    Michael got the girl into the passenger's seat. His D'Artagnan hat was indeed on the floor, and just before he could retrieve it, she shifted in the seat, using one foot for leverage, and crushed it. He said nothing, but for the first time since he had fallen asleep at the wheel, a smile flickered across his face. As he shut the door, he glanced at Jillian again in the back and wished she were awake.
    Shaking his head in disbelief at the strange turns the night had taken, he opened the back door and rearranged Jillian more comfortably. She was probably too drunk to be disturbed, even if she had flown right off the seat and onto the floor, but he didn't like to see her that way, twisted around like a rag doll.
    His keys jangled as he got into the car again and started up the Volvo. The lights came on instantly, casting a jaundiced light into the woods just ahead. The little girl had not put on her seat belt. He had asked her several times, but she had drifted into