Free At Last by Jill Shalvis

sped up and caught the back of the kid’s sweatshirt, yanking him to a halt. “Hold still,” he said, when his arsonist fought to get free.
    Of course he didn’t, so Matt added a small shake to get his meaning across. The kid’s hoodie fell back from his face, exposing dirty features, a snarling mouth, eyes spitting fury, and a surprise—he was a she. A scrawny she, who was lanky lean, as if three squares hadn’t been a part of her recent program. “Let go of me!” she yelled, and kicked Matt in the shin. “Don’t touch me!”
    Christ. She was
maybe
sixteen. He let her loose, but before she could so much as lift another foot in his direction, he gave her a hard look. “Don’t even think about it.”
    She lifted her chin in a show of bravado and crossed her arms tightly over herself. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
    Her voice was cultured and educated, but her clothes were dirty and torn and barely fit her. “Then why did you run?” he asked.
    “Because you were chasing me.” She didn’t add the
duh
; she didn’t have to—it was implied.
    “Where’re your parents?” Matt asked.
    Her face was closed off and sullen. “I don’t have to answer any of your stupid questions.”
    “You’re a minor alone in the woods,” he pointed out.
    “I’m eighteen.”
    He gave her a long look, which she returned evenly. He held out his hand. “ID.”
    She produced an ID card from her ratty, old-looking backpack, careful to not let him see inside, which reminded him of yet another prickly female he’d come across, two nights ago now.
    The girl’s ID was issued by the Washington Department of Motor Vehicles for one Riley Taylor. The picture showed a cleaner version of the face in front of him, and the birth date did indeed proclaim her eighteen as of two weeks ago.
    Handing the ID back, he nodded his chin toward the trail from which he’d come. “Was that your campfire back there?”
    Her gaze darted away from his. “No.”
    Bullshit. “You need a permit or a paid campsite to overnight out here.”
    She just stared stonily at a spot somewhere over his shoulder. “I know that.”
    More bullshit. Matt eyed her backpack. “Some folks about a mile west of here were ripped off earlier today. You know anything about that?”
    “Nope.”
    “What’s in your backpack?”
    She hugged it to her chest. “Stuff.
My
stuff.”
    His ass. The only thing that saved her was that when he’d grabbed her a minute ago, her backpack had seemednearly empty. Far too empty to be carrying the stolen loot. She’d either fenced it already or she’d stashed it somewhere. “What are you doing out here?”
    “Camping.”
    “With your family?”
    A slight hesitation. “Yeah,” she said.
    More bullshit. “Where?”
    “Brockway Springs.” Again her gaze darted away.
    She was racking up the lies now. Plus Brockway Springs was a campground about seven miles to the east. “That’s a long way from here.”
    She shrugged.
    “Look,” he said. “You shouldn’t be out here alone. You need to go back to your family. I’ll give you a ride.”
    “No!” She took a breath and visibly calmed herself. “No,” she said more quietly. “I don’t take rides from strangers. I’m leaving now.”
    With no reason to detain her, there was little Matt could do to stop her. “Put your ID away so you don’t lose it.”
    She once again opened her backpack, and he made no attempt to disguise the fact that he took a good look inside. A bottle of water, what looked like a spare shirt, and a flashlight. He put his hand on her arm. “Where did you get that flashlight?”
    “I’ve had it forever.”
    It was the same model and make of flashlight that had gone missing off Matt’s bumper the other night. It was also the most common flashlight sold in the area. More than half the people on this mountain had one just like it.
    Riley zipped up her backpack, or tried to, but the ragged zipper caught. This didn’t slow her down. Shemerely hugged