A/N: Thank you to M, Tangler, Guest, Vinzgirl and LostArt for reading and taking the time to post reviews. I read them all and appreciate the comments and feedback!

"It was a mistake," you said. "But the cruel thing was, it felt like the mistake was mine, for trusting you." - David Levithan

A few months passed quickly. I liked staying at Ray's farm. I wasn't used to being around anyone day-in, day-out for years and found myself enjoying it. The loneliness had faded. I saw him at meals or when he would come by the house for something. He was out working the farm otherwise. He grew fruits like peaches, pears and pineapples and different nuts. He had other crops too, but focused on yielding higher profit foods to help pay the bills.

That's why he had a "helluva mortgage." He took a 2nd one out on the farm to invest in orchards. It would make him more money but was a slow return on investment until the trees were bigger and the yield higher.

The remote, quiet farm and lack of visitors had lulled me into a sense of security, something that's very dangerous for a fugitive like me.

The house chores were manageable as well as collecting eggs after feeding the chickens. I did extra things without being asked. I enjoy staying busy. I enjoy helping people too so it was a good combination.

I knew how to slice and peel fruit and vegetables to preserve it mason jars. Diane did this, as did other women around Ames. I labeled them neatly and added them to his pantry. It already had an array of preserved food stored by his wife. Some jars held preserves to spread on toast or biscuits, even tomato preserves which are better than they sound.

The food would feed Ray long after harvest and for many months to come. The jars didn't go bad for a long time. I also had things from the garden preserved. I had made sliced pickles from the cucumbers I had harvested so far. They were in jars soaking in brine, dill and garlic, waiting for future consumption.

Ray didn't put the garden on my chore list, but I took it over anyways. It's not just because I knew how to grow tomatoes and other plants from our having a small garden at home. It was an act of appreciation towards Ray. It felt familiar, something I did when I was young and what I would do if I had a house. It made me feel more at peace nurturing and cultivating plants as they grew. If he happened to be by the house when I was in the garden, he would lean over the fence to chat briefly.

Ray would ask how the green beans or tomatoes were coming along. He loaned me his wife's straw hat, long sleeved shirt, gardening gloves and tools for the work. I took them gladly, not wanting to add more freckles from the sunshine. Ray would get a nostalgic smile on his face and just watch me working in the dirt sometimes. He liked sitting in a rocking chair on the porch after a workday, sipping iced tea and would glance over to watch me dig in the dirt. I could see him out of the corner of my eye and the pleasant look on his face. That was his wife's garden. She had been gone almost 11 months by then. One day, he told me she'd be happy to see that I was taking good care of it. I took it as a compliment.

I wanted to keep the garden alive for him to enjoy. Farmers don't make a lot of money for extras. There's nothing like fresh-picked heirloom tomatoes, cleaned and sliced up to go with dinner, even as a side dish. I had heirloom tomatoes growing, regular tomatoes, cherry tomatoes, green beans, snap peas, cucumbers, squash, lettuce, different jalapeno peppers and other things for seasoning like parsley, sage and mint to add flavor and color to the meals. Mint leaves were good when mixed in iced tea, lemonade or water. Most of the plants were already there, hiding under the weeds and decay.

In the cooler hours of the morning and evening, I would spend time weeding, pruning things back and inspecting the plants to make sure there was no blight or bugs pestering them. I also checked the fence. It was holding. I had a little jackrabbit invasion early on and asked Ray to put up more chicken wire. He did it without questioning me. I didn't like being in the house idle so the garden gave me an outlet to use my hands and body. I didn't have to be in my head, thinking as much as I had been for months on end.

I knew my time was coming to a close. I had decided to leave. I tried not to act unusual but made sure the place was clean before I left. I did a good, thorough cleaning periodically, so it didn't look unusual or draw questions from him. The hardest part, the bane of my existence there, was the endless red dust that made it's way into the house

The night of my departure had arrived. I hated goodbyes and the pain that came with them. I was getting attached to Ray. I didn't want to have a scene, more questions or him to ask me to stay longer. It wasn't safe. Ray held up his end of the deal and had paid me fairly, as promised. I held up mine. There was no agreement on how long our arrangement was going to last.

I left a letter for him by the kitchen table with my parting words of thanks. I had a separate page just for the garden so it wouldn't go to waste. I told him when things would be ready to pick and gave minor tips for preparation like soaking the snap peas in cold water and sugar for a while before boiling them. It was strange writing it. I wouldn't taste the fruits of my labor but at least he would get to enjoy it. That's all that mattered.

It was midnight. Ray went to bed at sunset and rose before sunrise, same as other farmers did in Iowa. I was dressed with my coat on and had all of my possessions packed in my bag.

I had just finished pushing the canned pear jars back so I could access a wood panel in the pantry. I slid it open and silently pulled out a used coffee can. It was full of money. It was all my wages since the week I started. It's not that I thought he would take it but I don't trust anyone with my future, not Ray, not anyone. I was holding in my hand enough money for a one-way ticket to Bali and what would hopefully sustain me for at least a few months after I arrived there. I thumbed through the bills quickly. They were all there.

Back to running, back to being alone, back to being a Katydid, the bug that looked like a leaf, blending in and hiding from it's predators. That's what my Dad used to call me when I was a girl because I'd climb and hide in trees.

I liked Ray. He was like a taciturn uncle on the exterior but had a kind heart underneath the gruff voice and wrinkled appearance. He seemed to genuinely like and care about me. He was rough around the edges, a farmer and son of a farmer, but a good man. He would thank me periodically for the work I was doing. He had no children and no siblings. It was a lonely life out here. I understood that part.

At meals, we usually talked about the crops, livestock, the garden and and the farm in general. Sometimes Ray talked about his wife. Other times, Ray tried to get to know more about me and my past. I had to lie a lot on the run, but it doesn't mean I like doing it. My Dad didn't like lies and had emphasized for me to always tell the truth. It's another thing my Dad would be ashamed of.

It was too hard to keep lies straight, so I did only when necessary, hiding my identity, to get something I needed, to travel, to get away, to get off of the marshal's radar. The problem with revealing anything to Ray was that he was curious. One answer wouldn't suffice. It would be question after question and would make the lie grow and grow.

I kept quiet when he asked about my past. He didn't push me when I clammed up. It made me feel ashamed and sad. It made me miss Dad, the only parent who loved me, or at least used to love me. I am his great failure. I had a great deal of respect for my father. I still do. I had no words for Ray. I couldn't even invent a past to pacify him. It felt undignified after all he had done for me these past few months.

I don't trust men in general based on experience. It started out with my step-father and how abusive and downright mean he was. I trusted Tommy but he was a friend. He didn't count. When it came to men, I usually got burned if I became involved so I cut bait and left first. I didn't trust them or their motives and I didn't do one-night stands. I didn't want to be hurt or hurt anyone like the "husband" I left behind. That's another thing I feel guilty about.

I don't know what I was thinking marrying a cop under an alias. I was "Monica" then. St. Monica was the patron saint of many things including difficult marriages, disappointing children, and victims of abuse. I should have known better. Even the name I had to use next, Monica, was warning me.

What kind of moron fugitive marries a police officer? Me. Kevin was so kind and genuine though and I thought it could work, we could be happily married and nobody would find me. I fell in love with his mother too. She brought me to tears with how sweet she was and glad to finally have a daughter. She was affectionate and showered me with attention and care. I craved that kind of love so badly. It drew me in. It had an overwhelming, magnetic pull I couldn't escape. A husband that loved and adored me, a mother that loved spending time with me, one with a tender heart that really cared was too much to resist for my starving heart.

I was delusional. A cop! And the marriage wasn't even legal. I ran when he bought us honeymoon tickets. It was a late honeymoon, but I knew it was over. I drugged him with a few sleeping pills and left a letter saying he didn't know about me. I didn't want him to lose his job because of my deception.

I also took the airline tickets and exchanged them for a one-way ticket to Australia at the Oceanic Airlines counter. I felt bad about that. Kevin would have turned me in if he knew I was wanted. I found out after we were married he was starting to work in fugitive recovery. The clock ticked. It was a matter of time, days, hours, minutes until he came across my profile.

I had to escape Australia. I had given Marshal Edward Mars plenty of time to canvas and track me down, too long. I wouldn't be surprised if he was down here looking for me and following any leads.

After I thumbed through the money, the kitchen light came on behind me.

Dammit! I woke him. It was hard to be quiet in a silent place with no air conditioning or ambient noise. You can hear every board creak, the house settle, bedsprings protest when Ray rolled over, even the dogs' tails thumping on the floor as they lay there trying to sleep. It was small, one-story farm house.

Ray was a few yards behind me in the kitchen door entry with his back to the hallway. I closed my eyes, mad at myself for waking him. I was unhappy that I would have to say goodbye yet again, something I hated. It involves me swallowing tears and being resolute on leaving versus a clean cut and run in the night.

Ray walked over to me slowly. "The bank would have given you a heck of a toaster if you had kept that in a savings account."

I put the part of the money in my jacket pocket and part of it in my wallet and stashed it in the rucksack. "What do I need a toaster for?" I never lived anywhere long enough to need one, not for years, but wasn't telling him that.

Ray sounded a little frustrated but not mad. He knew I was headed out. I could tell. "You're hiding your wages in a tin can, Annie. I mean, I would have held on to it for you." I replaced the panel and pear jars, lining them up neatly as he talked.

I leaned back against the pantry door frame and looked at him ruefully. Then, I looked down and sighed, and back at him again. I gave him an honest answer. "I got trust issues." I tiptoed, reached up, and turned off the pantry overhead light by pulling the chain. I closed the door behind me and went to the kitchen table to make sure my bag was closed tight before putting it on my back.

Ray watched me. He wasn't done talking. I paused and looked up at him, waiting. He sounded concerned underneath that deceptively gruff voice of his, a little hurt. "Weren't you going to say goodbye?"

I spoke softly again, putting one bag strap over my right shoulder. I tried not to make eye contact and didn't want to drag this out. "Wrote you a note." I said, hoping to smooth things over a bit.

Ray walked over to me as I put on the other strap so the rucksack was secure on my back. I looked down, then glanced at him. He gave me a sad smile. "You've been here almost 3 months, Annie. And every time I ask you about yourself, you get that look in your eye." I felt pained. I couldn't tell him the truth about me, my past. He wouldn't look at me the same and would turn me in. I couldn't lie either. I didn't like myself already and it would only make things worse for me, for both of us.

Ray has been honest in his business dealings with me. He hadn't given me a reason not to trust him. But when a person was accused of something like I am, but not convicted yet mind you, only accused, it changed how people looked at me. It could obliterate anyone's positive perception of me. Anything good about me or the fact I loved helping people was erased. They only focused on the accusation. They didn't ask what happened or my side of the story. It was black or white. I was good or bad. There was no in between.

The one person I could confide in, my Dad, didn't even ask. I couldn't talk to him about it, my only stable parent. The one chance I got to see him, when I risked going to his office to say goodbye, he didn't say, Katie, what happened? He said other things instead.

Marshal Edward had already been there to see him. Dad had judged and convicted me without a trial or listening to my side and why I did what I did. He thought he already knew why. He assumed. I let him down and was so ashamed. It killed me inside. I ran off after hugging him goodbye but felt cast off in a way. He was better off without me, but I had lost my touchstone.

I stood silently. I know my guard was slipping because the feelings were surfacing before I could shove them down inside. I looked into Ray's his eyes briefly, with sorrow, regret and that persistent pain deep down inside. I didn't want him to judge and hate me too.

"Yeah, that one. So, I mind my own business. I figured maybe you got off on the wrong side of a bad relationship. Maybe you ran. I always knew you'd leave here someday." I looked towards him when he said that. Was it that obvious? "I guess I hoped it wouldn't be in the middle of the night."

I swallowed hard. All he had been was kind and respectful to me, even fed me a pile of food and offer me a job after I trespassed and slept in his sleep pen without permission, then lied to him about my name and why I was there. "I'm sorry." I truly was. I held back tears. I didn't cry. I hadn't for a long time.

Ray nodded. He sounded a little choked up. "Yeah, so am I."

I had to get out now. I decided to leave through front door since he was awake. I made it to the hallway and heard him talking to me again, wanting to persuade. It made me pause.

"Hey, Annie, why don't you just stay one more night, eh? I'll drive you to the train station first thing in the morning. I promise." It was tempting but not my plan. I would need to trust him to take me out in public for the first time and also trust that nobody would spot me if my information was out there.

I looked at him and thought several moments. Then I looked away. Could I trust Ray? He didn't give me any reason not to. I was sleepy and feeling it. It was a long way to the station by foot. I conceded, going against my own instincts. "Okay." I gave him a small, grateful smile. "Goodnight."

Ray spoke again, but instead giving me a typical "good night" in return, he said something that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. "I get it, you know. Everyone deserves a fresh start." I frowned a bit as I headed back to my little room, wondering why he said that.

Ray made good on his word. After a hearty breakfast, he was driving me to the train station in his beat-up truck on a two-lane road. It had huge side mirrors, no air conditioning and a wide bench seat.

It was a long drive. Patsy Cline came on the radio. It was "Leavin' on Your Mind," one of Dad's and my many favorites. Dad played Patsy Cline cassette tapes in the car when we went on a trip. The music made me feel relaxed along with the breeze drifting over my left arm. The window was wide open. It was warm, but not unbearably hot yet since it was early. I put my right elbow on my rucksack and sat companionably with Ray.

"Do they listen to Patsy Cline in Canada?" Ray asked, looking over. He smiled at me. Silly question to ask. It amused me.

I returned his smile. He must be a fan too. "They listen to Patsy Cline everywhere."

Ray looked forward and kept smiling. "You hungry?" He looked in the review mirror. There was nobody on the road either way for miles. I noticed his head move but didn't think about it at the moment. It was normal to check the mirrors periodically for faster moving vehicles behind you in case they wanted to pass.

I looked over, grateful for the offer but not interested. I felt too exposed, too late in departing and was anxious to leave. "I'll eat on the train." I was still stuffed from breakfast.

"You sure?" Ray looked at a vehicle in the review mirror that appeared out of nowhere. "There's a little place up here that makes a mean burger."

I caught the second glance in the mirror and noted that he offered a vegetarian a burger, almost mindlessly. My senses started to tingle, then alarm bells went off in my head. "What are you looking for, Ray?" He was definitely watching for something, or someone.

"What?" Ray answered in a false tone. Now he was lying. I had already turned to check the large side-view mirror. Behind us was a large, black, unmarked SUV with tinted windows. It was the kind Federal Marshals drive in the states.

I turned my head around to look out the back window and saw him driving it, Marshal Edward Mars himself and he was right on top of the truck tailgate. I shot Ray a look of disbelief, then let it sink in a moment, the feeling of utter betrayal. I got suckered into staying another night and could have been checking in at the airport, getting ready to head to Bali by now. "How long have you known?"

"Couple of days." He looked over at me and back at the road. "I saw your picture in the post office. I guess they knew you were Down Under." Yeah, no kidding. It was just a matter of time.

I really felt hurt. I trusted him. It was my fault and a dumb thing to do. "Why?" My voice was filled with pain but I wasn't going to cry. I wanted to know why he would sell me out. How much was it worth to him?

"The reward's $23,000." He sounded remorseful. "I told you when I met you, I've got a hell of a mortgage. If it makes you feel any better, it was a hard decision, Annie."

"You asked me to stay." My voice still sounded hurt. I knew I sounded vulnerable and allowed myself to feel it a few moments. I liked Ray and let my guard down. Look what it got me. Then I realized what happened. The look. He found out but never looked at me differently, not like the others.

Ray looked at me sadly before watching the road again. "If it makes you feel any better, it was a hard decision to make."

I doubted it. I didn't hate him for it, just myself at the moment for staying there too long.

I looked away at the marshal's car, trying to weave into the lane next to us. He was trying to pull up to the passenger window where I sat. A hardness fell over my heart. I was angry.

When I spoke, my voice was cold and unyielding. I had my full survival armor on.

It was a matter of being caught or not.

"My name's not Annie." I said with irritation, thinking about my next move was.

I was preoccupied with what Marshal Edward was up to in the SUV. What's he trying to do and why haven't we stopped? I heard a squeal of tires as he sped around us in the wrong lane and came alongside the truck to look at me. His face was cocky and victorious.

I looked at him with a flat, cold look, my gaze hardened. I didn't blink or look away.

Game on, Edward.

He looked like he hadn't slept and still had that smug look on his face. He rolled down his window, made his hand into a gun pointed at me and pretended to pull the trigger. He then hit the gas, tires squealing in protest, to get in front of the truck. I looked at him, my face unchanged. Unless I figured out something fast, I was screwed.

A car was honking furiously ahead of us at the marshal's vehicle. He had to slam his breaks and dodge behind the truck. As I watched him retreat, it gave me a few seconds to formulate a plan. I looked at the marshal behind us, then to Ray who was driving nervously next to me. The car going the other way passed and Edward pulled around to Ray's side.

Edward's SUV was beginning to creep up the side of Ray's old truck. In a flash, I reached over quickly and pulled the emergency brake. Ray protested "Hey, don't…!" I then grabbed the wheel and pulled it as hard as I could towards me, causing the truck to smash into the SUV and break off the side mirror on Ray's side. Shiny pieces of it flew in the air and hit the pavement behind us.

The SUV had more horsepower. It didn't stop. Instead, it shoved the truck off the hillside where it rocketed down, then began to flip several times until it hit a tree, stopped and burst into flames.

I did a quick assessment. I wasn't injured. I shook my head to clear it. Now was my chance! I was in dense foliage, a place I had no problem navigating through on foot. The outdoors has been my playground my whole life. I had money and my bag and could make a run for it to catch a train while the marshal combed the area and got Ray assistance.

I glanced at Ray who was out, but alive. I grabbed my stuff, took off my lap seatbelt, kicked my door open with my boot and began to run. Pure adrenaline ran through my body. I wasn't thinking. It was pure instinct to flee and get away. I had done this cat and mouse game too many times already with Edward. This was too close. Then, I suddenly stopped. Fire. Flames.

I turned and looked, seeing a plume of black smoke rising from the truck in distance. Dammit! Ray was still in there. I turned around and ran back, not thinking of anything else, only pulling him out so he didn't get killed. The truck was on fire.

I made it to his door in no time and threw my backpack and jacket away from the vehicle. When I opened it, a plume of black smoke hit my face. I quickly unbuckled him and grabbed his arms to pull him out.

He was deadweight, maybe 200 pounds to my 120 pound 5'5" frame, but adrenaline had flooded my muscles. I wasn't going to leave Ray behind in the field. It was something Dad taught he, something all soldiers knew, a lesson so ingrained that I never forgot it. Ray helped me. I was going to make damn sure I helped him.

With no regard for my safety, I got his body past the fire and struggled to pull him through the tall grass, away from the burning truck. It was pure determination and adrenaline. I gritted my teeth as I pulled him up the grassy incline towards the road. Somebody could find him easily there and get him help. I tugged hard again and heard a snap. Ray's wood arm came off at the shoulder. I flung it into the grass, grabbed under his armpits and pulled until we reached the side of the two-lane road.

I was short of breath, sweaty and sooty. The smell of smoke clung to my nostrils. I turned my head to the road as a highway truck came roaring by within 2 yards. Its horn blared, startling me, but I didn't move. My heart hammered as I tried to catch my breath.

I heard coughing to my left. Thank God! Ray was breathing. He looked okay aside from some small cuts. I looked at him, relieved, then heard a familiar click in my right ear. I tipped my head back for air before looking at the man pointing the 9mm handgun at my neck. It was the man that had been chasing me for three years relentlessly.

"Hey, Kate." He said. The smug look was gone. I looked at him in defiance while breathing hard, still trying to catch my breath as the adrenaline wore off. I had no words.

This wasn't the first time he caught me.

I always got away.

The game wasn't over yet.