I’d really come unprepared for this entire adventure, an adventure that so far was leaving me with more questions than answers. After learning that Alcott Wolfe, an extremely frightening looking man, had taken the newspaper about my dad’s death, I’d decided that Jem’s dark warnings about this town were not to be ignored.

After our tense encounter in the lunchroom, I had no idea what to think about Jem. He seemed genuinely shocked, almost to the point that he looked sick from it, when I told him his dad had taken the newspaper. My first few impressions of him had been sugarcoated because he’d saved my guitar and then he’d saved a man from death, while putting himself in harm’s way. But, like Everly had been telling me all along, it seemed Jem Wolfe was pure trouble.

The early evening breeze came down off the mountain and brought with it a fresh scent of pine that could nearly overwhelm the senses. All day, the scent of wood and evergreen hovered over the yard, but it was the bitter, dying smell of trees giving off their last oily breath. The fragrance from the live trees above on the ridge was far more pleasant, reminding me of Christmas in The Grog where a live tree was always propped up in the middle of the commune to decorate. It produced a nostalgic tug in my chest, a feeling of homesickness for my aunt.

As I headed across the yard, a small whimpering sound came from the building that housed the carriage for the first cut. Occasionally, when he had a free moment, Hal would walk me around the place and explain everything that was going on. I found it all quite interesting and was learning a surprising amount about the mill process.

I continued on toward the trail that led to the highway and my bus bench, deciding I’d only imagined the sound. Then I heard it again. It sounded like a small dog. Impossible. Still, the thought of a dog stuck down here all alone in the cold night was enough to make me turn around.

In the shadows of the brick and steel building, the giant carriage and blades looked like a monster with hooked claws and teeth. It somehow looked more terrifying sitting dead still with no steam engine to give it life. An almost imperceptible sound caught my attention, and I walked around to the far side of the carriage. I glanced under the metal cradle where the logs were positioned for trimming. The cement floor had a thin layer of sawdust that had not been swept clear, but the only footprints were human. No paw prints. No more dog sounds.

I straightened and something caught my eye. It was small and insignificant, a tiny speck in the vast building, and it was completely out of place. I leaned closer to get a better look. The insignificant speck became something much more. Dangling from a thin piece of leather was an ivory white tooth, a wide, flat shark’s tooth that had been carefully mounted in a gold cap like a charm. My head felt light. I blinked at the object and reached for the empty gold chain around my neck. The empty circle of gold was still there, dangling like an unfinished story in the center of the necklace. But there it was, dangling in front of me on a strip of leather, the ending to the story. Only all the middle chapters were still missing.

My hand shook fiercely as I reached for it. It was too far. My mind raced with possible explanations for why the shark’s tooth, a beloved token my dad had bought me on a trip to Florida, was hanging in the middle of a sawmill. I’d been so shocked at seeing it, at having the memory of the shark’s tooth come back to me like a solid slap to the face, that I hadn’t given thought to the notion that it was being used as a lure.

I stepped up on the ledge that ran parallel with the massive carriage table. I hoisted myself up and knelt along the metal rim of the table. I braced one hand against the hooked arm, the mechanism used to guide the logs through the machine, and sucked in a breath, blinking back tears as I reached for the tooth. Up close, it looked so familiar, it sent a flurry of disjointed images through my head, all of them leaving behind a somber, hopeless feeling.

As my fingers closed around the necklace, I heard feet shuffling behind me. Before I could turn around, big hands seized me. “Thought you might follow a puppy, pussycat,” the voice growled in my ear.

I struggled to free myself from his grasp. But his hold was iron tight. I opened my mouth to scream, but a sharp pain on my head knocked the sound from me. The carriage machine blurred. The shark’s tooth disappeared into the blackness that followed.

A haunting image of a hand reaching into a dark hole to yank the tooth from my necklace splintered away. The present returned as I was snapped back into consciousness by the jarring movement beneath me. I was sure I hadn’t been out for long, but the man was gone and I was on the conveyor belt moving toward the ravenous blades.

My head was swimming with pain as I tried to sit up. My sleeve had been ripped and wound tightly around the hooked arm of the cradle. For a brief, hysterical second I told myself to wake up. I had to be sleeping. This was a scenario that only happened in horror movies. It couldn’t be real. But the earsplitting hiss of the blades brought me to the horrifying conclusion that I was wide awake and heading for a violent death.

My feet were just inches from the mouth of the saw. I yanked them back toward my body. My screams echoed off the metal doors of the building. I was on my side curled tightly in a ball as I tried to slip out of my sweatshirt. The cradle arm’s grip on my torn sleeve seemed to tighten as if it was the giant hand of a clawed monster. It pulled so tight, my arm tingled. It was impossible to get my arm out of the torn sleeve.

I screamed as loud as I could. My arm was being wrenched in an unnatural position as I tried to swing off the conveyor belt. My legs dropped over the side, but my upper body and twisted arm were still heading for the blades.

The teeth of the saw snipped hungrily at the air, waiting for its meal. The blow to my head, and the terrifying prospect of being cut in half made everything blur. My head felt heavy on my neck, and I was suddenly hopeful that I’d pass out before my body hit the saw.

Solid hands grabbed me again. I screamed out thinking I was going to be pushed straight into the blades. Gears squeaked as the conveyor belt came to an abrupt halt. A ripping sound followed, and my arm popped off the cradle hook.

“I’ve got you, Tash. You’re safe now.” Jem’s deep, calming tone drifted to me through the haze in my head. I felt my nearly limp body being lifted away from the carriage and the blades.

I cried into his shirt as his arms held me against his hard body.

“Please, Jem, get me out of here,” I choked out between gulps of air.

He carried me out into the brisk air. It revived me some, and the sobs slowly subsided. And the entire time, Jem held me as if he never planned to release me, as if he would keep me safe forever if I just asked. It was that other side of him that I’d seen before, the side that helped me forget that he was trouble, that he was a Wolfe.

“You can put me down,” I said, but in truth I could have stayed in his arms all damn night.

Reluctantly, he lowered my feet to the ground. It rolled beneath me. The spinning in my head hadn’t stopped completely. I held onto Jems’ shirt for support, even though his hands were still firmly on my waist keeping me upright.

The sky had faded to a chalky gray, and the first stars were winking down at the planet. I finally found the strength to look up at him. His nearness and his hold on my waist made me sway on my feet.

My fingers curled tighter around his flannel shirt. He freed a hand from my waist and used his thumb to wipe the tears from my cheek.

I looked around. We were the only two people in the yard. “Where did you come from?” My voice was weak and shaky.