Chapter 1

Brunswick, Georgia. 16 June, 1999

The age of consent in Georgia is sixteen. I’m seventeen and was ready to make use of that information to, if needed, achieve my goals. But only as a last resort.

Okay, I know that sounds messed up. Maybe I should give you a little more information. My name is Patricia Kellogg. No relation to the cereal company. Trust me, if I was, my life would be VERY different right now. Physically, I’m 5’5” tall, I have what can best be described as mousey brown hair that just sort of is there. Parted in the middle, down each side of my face, and to the shoulder. My body is average as well. I’m not skinny. I’m not fat. I’m just built like a typical teen. 34B-28-34. Average.

Since the braces came off, I can smile now and you’re not blinded by the flash of metal in my mouth. My face won’t crack mirrors, little kids won’t run away screaming, and it’s safe to say that I won’t be on the cover of any magazines. Average.

And here we are, the middle of June. School’s out and I’m between 11th and 12th grade. Brunswick is a small town sort of on the Atlantic Coast in Georgia. About 80 miles south of Savannah, and about the same, north of Jacksonville, Florida. Parked next door to the snobby people on Jekyll Island and Saint Simon’s Island. Kids like me are called “townies”. Rather than spend yet another summer not doing much, with no jobs available, bored to tears when not trying to read a book at the beach, or the random babysitting thing, I have decided to create an adventure.

And that was why I was drinking a large glass of sweet tea at the truck stop off I-95, checking out the people there. Random folks. I see families traveling to Disney vacations. I see people who look like business travelers, in their suits and dressy clothes. And the truckers. Some drive as a team, some drive alone. But what they have in common is that they DRIVE. They get to see the country. Go places. See things. Travel. And that’s what I want to do. Not drive a truck. Travel. See some of the country. The big old U-S-of-A.

Sort of a mini adventure.

I had a few hundred dollars for expenses, and I knew that could be gone fast. But I was thinking maybe I could get lucky and catch a ride from someone. And as mentioned, I’m over the age of consent, if that becomes part of the negotiations. I’m still a virgin. Not like I’m saving myself. Just, not many options. Most boys my age are idiots and not worth my time. Still, if getting my cherry popped in the back of a sleeper cab is the price for me to accomplish my goals, as much as I prefer not to, I will pay it.

I had been here about half an hour and the nice waitress had refilled my glass a few times. She came over and had a concerned look on her face about me sitting there alone. I told her that if the friend I was waiting for didn’t show up soon, I would just leave.

She nodded and went off. A short time after that, she went over to a table where a guy was finishing his meal. She handed him a small foam ‘to go’ container and they shared a laugh about something. He handed her some cash. I figured that this was my chance. If he left, there really wasn’t anyone else I saw that might help me. I grabbed my glass and backpack and sat down across from him.

“Hi, is this seat taken?”

He looked startled. “Um, hello. How can I help you?” He was clean shaven, dark brown hair in a military crewcut, and his eyes? Oh wow! They were a deep brown that just seemed to look at me and captivate my soul.

“I’m doing research for a paper that I’m going to be writing soon, and wondered if you could help me?” I did my best attempt at the flirty smile that the girls on cheer squad all seemed to have perfected, making every male within a mile fall over themselves to do their bidding.

“And the topic of that paper would be?”

“What I did on my summer vacation.”

“Um ... um...” He gave me a slightly confused look. “Care to expand on that particular statement? And who are you?” He was obviously acting guarded.

“My name’s Patricia. People call me ‘Pat’ or ‘Patty’ for short. I’m 17, it’s summer break, and I want to travel. See the country a little bit. I was hoping if I could catch a ride with you and then eventually get home in time for school. Write it all up and get an ‘A’ for the first essay grade of the class.”

He was silent a moment. “This is a joke, right? Or a setup? Where are the hidden cameras?” He twisted around slightly to see if anyone was watching us. “Are your parents aware of this idea of yours?”

“No.”

“Young lady, you have no idea about the possible risk you’re putting yourself into. This isn’t like the sixties when a person could stand on the side of a road, pop their thumb out and catch a ride. It’s 1999 and there’s a lot of crazy people out there. A pretty teenager hops into the truck, never to be seen alive again. It happens a lot.”