Chapter 17
The semi-truck pulled up to the curb half a block away from the dusty Greyhound bus station in downtown Redding.
Hank kept the engine idling, looking nervously through his side mirrors for any sign of local police cruisers.
"Alright, Tessa, this is as far as I can take you without drawing attention," Hank said, turning to her with a grave expression.
"You've done more for us than anyone ever has, Hank," Tessa said, her voice filled with profound gratitude.
"Listen to me carefully," Hank warned, placing a heavy hand on her shoulder. "When you get to San Diego, don't go straight to your sister's house."
Tessa frowned, remembering Maisie's chilling statement in the truck just minutes earlier.
"Why?" Tessa asked.
"If the police are tracking your family, your sister's address is the first place they'll put under surveillance," Hank explained logically. "Call her from a payphone or a burner cell first."
Tessa nodded, realizing the wisdom in the old trucker's advice.
"And Tessa..." Hank paused, looking down at three-year-old Maisie, who was staring back at him with bright, innocent blue eyes. "Keep a close eye on that little girl."
"I will," Tessa promised, opening the heavy truck door and stepping down onto the city sidewalk.
She wrapped her jacket tightly around Maisie, ducked her head, and walked quickly into the crowded bus terminal.
The terminal smelled of stale coffee, exhaust fumes, and industrial floor cleaner, filled with dozens of weary travelers.
Tessa walked up to the ticket window, keeping her face lowered beneath her hood as she approached the elderly clerk behind the glass.
"Two cash tickets for the next express bus to San Diego, please," Tessa said, sliding two of Hank's hundred-dollar bills under the partition.
The clerk barely looked up, punching buttons on her keyboard before sliding back two paper tickets and her change.
"Platform 4. Boarding in ten minutes," the clerk said routinely.
Tessa took the tickets, feeling a sudden surge of relief wash over her body for the first time in twenty-four hours.
She sat down on a hard plastic bench in the waiting area, pulling Maisie onto her lap and holding her close.
"We're going to be okay, baby," Tessa whispered, pressing her face into Maisie’s blond hair. "We're almost safe."
"Mommy, look," Maisie said, pointing a tiny finger toward the far wall of the terminal building.
Mounted on the wall was a framed historical photograph of the founding members of the Pacific Coast Railroad Commission from 1912.
Standing in the center of the vintage photograph, wearing a fine suit and a stern expression, was an older man who looked eerily similar to Evan.
Beneath the photograph was a brass plaque engraved with the historical figure's name: CHARLES HAWTHORNE - FOUNDER OF PINE RIDGE & SAN DIEGO TRANSIT.
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Tessa felt her stomach drop into a bottomless pit as she realized the horrifying truth.
The Hawthorne family’s dark influence didn't end at the Oregon border; their bloodline had built the very city she was running to.
