Somewhere in Wisconsin

Early June- 1992

Sam 

It's taking every bit of strength my body has to pull myself up the swinging rope ladder as the smoke thickens. As I get closer to the top, hands reach for me, and I grab them gratefully, allowing myself to be pulled up and into the nosy helicopter.

"Are you okay?" The hands are now pulling me to my feet, and I am face-to-face with my rescuer.

I expected the helicopter guy to look like some rich prep or something. I was way off. Instead, I'm looking at a young, slightly rugged guy in ripped-up old jeans with a faded brown t-shirt. He has a backward baseball cap on, and I can see blondish hair sticking out from under it.

"Are you in shock?" he has to yell over the motor it's so loud.

I must be because I can only stand here with my mouth open. Who is he? Why did he rescue me? What do I do now? What about Jax... all these thoughts are circling around in my head like sharks.

"Come sit here. I need to get us out of here." He guides me to a bench seat, and I follow with shaky legs. There's no choice but to sit. It's not like I can leave and risk the fire down there.

He kneels down and says. "I'm not going to hurt you, okay? I'm one of the good guys."

There's a kindness to his eyes, and my first instinct is to trust him, but... that's ridiculous. I can't trust anyone.

"How do I know that?" I snap, irritated at my instincts more so than him.

"Because I'm a cop."

"What!?"

He's moving away and calls behind him. "We can talk when I get us out of this smoke! Stay seated until we land!"

It starts moving fast, and I hold tight to the seat handles as the world moves around me.

Holy shit. I'm leaving this place.... It's a euphoric feeling with shades of panic, and it doesn't take long to start spinning out.

Now what? My dad will go to jail, the Russos will find me, it's all over. I need to get to Jax somehow. I need to warn him.

Why would a cop be dressed so casually? Jax said half the police in the city are on Vinny's payroll.

 Is he?

"Where are we going?" I yell out, but I doubt he can hear me. I frown, noticing he dipped a little closer to where the fire is coming from, but then he whirls it back around and goes over the cabins.

I strain my neck to try and see out the windows, but there is too much smoke to see anything.

Did the creek cabin start on fire? If so, how? I don't have time to guess as the helicopter is sailing over the fence.

"I'm landing now. Hold on tight!" He yells out a warning, and I brace myself.

It glides down to the ground pretty smoothly, although the landing is pretty bumpy. I let out a breath of relief when we stop. It's short-lived, though. All my paranoia comes back when the guy opens the latch, and I realize I am alone with him again.

"Come on, we have to hurry. I got close enough to see how bad it's getting, and it's spreading fast and causing a lot of smoke." He jumps down with those words.

"Are the whole woods going to go?" I ask in a panic as I follow him down. I blink, taking in the big empty field that is the airfield. There are no other helicopters or planes, but a truck is parked near us, and the guy motions to it, "Come on."

"I'm not going with you! I don't even know your name." I cross my arms and stand firm where I am.

"It's Dylan, and I know you're the missing girl from Chicago, Samantha Morgan. Now, can we go?"

"How do you know who I am?

"We can talk about that in the truck when we don't have an active fire coming at us. Does that sound good?"

Rude much?

He doesn't wait for me to answer as he strides into his truck. The smoke is getting thicker, and I do not have a choice but to follow him. I climb in and grip my backpack like a lifeline as he starts it up with a loud chug and then speeds off.

The second we hit the road, I say, "Let me out. I'll walk."

"There's nothing but road for hours."

"I don't care." I cross my arms around myself and turn to look out the window. I sound like a total brat, but Jax wouldn't want me to trust this guy, right? I shouldn't. I don't. I need to get away from him so I can find my way to Chicago somehow.

He's a cop, though. It's not like I'll be able to slip out of his sight easily.

"Look... that fire. It's too early in the summer for that to have been caused by nature."

The hairs on my neck stand up at the idea of this. "You think someone set it on purpose?"

"Yes, I do, and if they saw the helicopter, they might know you're out, and they might even be looking for you."

"For all I know, you started the fire to rescue me for some reason," I accuse.

"If I wanted to pull you out of there, I could have at any time. I could have pulled the Mancini kid out of there, too, if I wanted to, but I didn't." I feel his eyes on me, but I continue to stare out the window and refuse to meet them. He lets out a sigh. "I get that you don't trust me, but I swear I am not a bad guy."

"I have no reason to believe that or even that you're a cop."

"My badge is in the glove box. Go ahead and look."

I opened it roughly and gasp. There's a badge, but there's also a gun in his glove box.

"Told you, you can trust me. If it makes you feel safer, you can even hold that gun."

"Are you serious?" I ask as I shakily take it and place it in my lap. It makes me feel safer having it, but I still keep my senses sharp. I will not start trusting this guy, no matter what he says.

"Yes, and I shouldn't be letting you touch that, but I mean it I want you to feel safe." 

This time, I turn and meet his eyes. They're a light shade of blue, almost like the sky on a perfect day.

 I grab the badge next and study it. It looks like a real badge, and it has the name Detective Dylan Stevenson on it.

"You look too young to be a detective," I comment.

"A lot of people agree with you. My nickname has been, the kid, my entire career," he says with a wry smile. "I just turned twenty-four, but I started hanging around the Chicago police department as a teenager, doing whatever odd jobs they gave me. Then, as soon as I passed the academy, I joined the force and moved up quickly. My dad was an amazing detective, the best of the best. He was well respected, and his name carried a lot of weight."

I don't miss the past tense in his tone or the pride in how he speaks of him, but that doesn't mean he's trustworthy or telling the truth, so I give him nothing in return.

Instead, I ask. "How did you know who I am?"

"Long story."

"Then start talking," I demand. "Otherwise, drop me off, and I'll find my own way back to Chicago."

"You're not going back to Chicago."

"What, why?" I ask sharply.

"Too dangerous for you there," he mutters. "Whoever started that fire wants to find you."

The goosebumps on my neck grow as a chill runs down my spine.

"But if they did see the 'copter, they might assume someone took you to a hospital or something and got the hell of out of here for now. That's what I'm hoping."

"You haven't radioed the police department about me," I point out.

"I know."

"Why not?"

"They don't know about you."

"What? How is that possible? I'm a missing person!"

"They know that much, but they haven't connected you being missing to the Russo family.  They don't know about Jackson either."

... But he does. He mentioned Jax twice now. 

"How do you know about him?" I feel the weight of the gun in my lap, but it brings me more fear than confidence. I don't know what to do right now. I have to protect Jax, but how?

"I am not your enemy or his," he sighs.

"One call, and it all blows up. The cops can't protect me from the Russos."

"I know," he says quickly. "I don't always play by the rules. I have my own agenda and the   airport my dad left me– they don't know about it or the woods. They knew Jackson was alive but had no clue where he was, and they definitely don't know I've been keeping an eye on him and now you."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why... a lot of things like why haven't you told them? Or why were you keeping an eye on us?"

"Not everyone on the police force can be trusted. My dad taught me to keep some things to myself. Tell them what they need to know when they need to know it. Be willing to play the long game to get the bad guy. That's what I'm doing."

His explanation only confuses me more, and I file it away to analyze later when I start spinning out again. He takes a right down a dirt road surrounded by trees. Are we deeper into Wisconsin or closer to Illinois? I can't even be sure. It's all so rural out here.

"And the other part, why are you looking out for us?" I repeat my question, casting a glance at him.

"You were left there all alone. I wanted to make sure you were safe," he says, focusing on the road as it narrows. We slow down as we reach a long driveway with a single-wide trailer at the end.

"This will have to be home sweet home for a while," he says as he parks in the dirt driveway in front of the trailer, it's surrounded by dense trees and very private.  

He looks at me. "Can I trust you, or will you run the second we get out of the truck?"

"I'm the one who should be asking if I can trust you," I point out as I let my hand linger over the gun. He looks down and sees the gesture, but his face remains calm.

"I told you I've been keeping you safe, and I just saved your life," he points out.

But why has he been keeping me safe, and more importantly, why has he been watching Jax? He skipped that part of my question entirely, and if he thinks I didn't notice, he is sorely underestimating me, which is fine by me. 

"I wouldn't trust me or anyone if I were you either, Samantha, but I'm the best option you have right now. You go to Chicago, the Russos find you, go to the police, they find you, try to go back to the woods —"

"Okay-okay, I get it," I mutter.

"I can keep you safe while we figure out what happened back there and what to do next."

"You said you have your agenda in all this." I take the gun into my hand as I say this, and this time, I see the slightest flicker of worry in his eyes as they meet mine.

"I did say that, and I do," he agrees. 

"Tell me what it is, then I'll decide if I'm coming in."