“I don’t know. He managed to call the station and then must have blacked out. I’ll know more when paramedics arrive,” Tom said. “I’m already on my way and I’m calling in surrounding law enforcement to help us with the hunt. We’ve got a window here. I don’t want to blow it.”

  Logan raked a hand through his hair. “We’ll be on our way asap.”

  Knock. Knock.

  “Hey, Em,” he said, clicking on the nightstand lamp.

  “Okay to come in?” she called out.

  “Yep.” He stood, moving for his shirt on the back of the desk chair.

  She opened the bedroom door, the hall light spilling in, mixing with the soft glow of the bedside lamp. She opened her mouth to speak, but when her gaze fixed on him, she just stood there, silent.

  After a moment, she cleared her throat, her cheeks flushing pink. “I was getting a glass of water when I heard your cell. Is everything okay?”

  “That was Tom,” he said, grabbing his knit t-shirt and sliding it on. “They spotted her.”

  Em’s eyes widened. “Where?”

  “About an hour from here.”

  “I’ll get dressed,” she said.

  “I will too.” PJ bottoms weren’t going to cut it.

  Em turned and headed into the hall, closing his door behind her.

  He swapped out his PJs for a pair of jeans and pulled a long-sleeve Henley over his t-shirt. Grabbing his gun, he holstered it and snatched his keys off the desk.

  This was it.

  Please, Lord, don’t let her slip through our fingers.

  “Why is she still here?” Keller roared.

  “She said she was scared to go over the border alone,” Jeff said, pacing by the vending machine at the end of the motel corridor, wondering how far Keller was going to take this. Kill the girl for sure. Attempt to kill him? That was the burning question on his mind.

  “You know what you have to do,” Keller said.

  Jeff hesitated. He liked the girl. No clue why, but he did. But she’d boxed him in. He had no choice. “I understand,” he finally said, his tone non-committal to his own ears.

  “I want to hear it. Just so we’re clear. Repeat after me. I will kill her and make sure her body is not found.”

  Jeff scoped out his surroundings again. All the room windows visible from the vending machine were pitch black. The parking lot was devoid of life.

  “Say it!” Keller yelled.

  One last glance at his surroundings. “I will kill her and make sure her body is never found.” It was too late for being Mr. Nice Guy. She’d brought this on herself. It was either her or both of them, and as much as he liked the girl, she certainly wasn’t worth dying for.

  “Good,” Keller clipped. “Now get it done!”

  The call dropped.

  Balling his hands into fists, Jeff strode to the stolen sedan, the plates flipped. If he was going to do this, he needed some liquid courage first. Whiskey would do.

  He climbed in the car and slammed the door. He’d follow Keller’s orders. But he wasn’t going to enjoy squeezing the life from the girl. Turning the ignition, he reversed out of the parking slot and flew down the road. He was getting tired of Keller’s demands.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Filled to the brim with Jack Daniel’s, Jeff swaggered toward the motel room door, cursing quietly to himself when he noticed the light slipping through a crease in the window curtains. She was still awake. Not what he’d been hoping to find. It would have been so much easier with her asleep so he wouldn’t have to look into her eyes. He shook out his hands, fingers that would soon be biting into her throat.

  Strangle her or crush her windpipe? One was faster—less frightening, he’d imagine. He didn’t have any choice about taking her out, but he didn’t have to be cruel about it.

  He turned the knob and found it locked, as instructed. He’d knock, but it would do no good. He’d instructed her not to open it for anyone. He rummaged through his jean pockets, trying to recall which pocket he’d put the room key in. Finally, his hand wrapped around it. It took him a fumbling moment to get the key in the door and turn the knob. He staggered into the room, shutting and locking the door behind him. No Mary. He looked to the bathroom—the door was closed, the light on.

  He stepped to the door, able to hear the shower running. He weighed his options but decided against killing her in the shower. She’d be slippery beneath his hands. He’d wait until she came out, and then he’d do the deed.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed that creaked beneath his weight, he took another swig, growing impatient. What was taking her so long?

  His muscles coiled as a few more minutes slipped by.

  She never took long showers. Always quick. Always uncomfortable being vulnerable.

  “Hey, Mary,” he hollered.

  No answer.

  Enough of this. Setting the bottle on the nightstand, he stood and strode to the bathroom. Looked like he’d be killing her in the shower after all.

  He turned the knob. Locked. “Mary!”

  No answer.

  He jiggled the handle. “Let me in.”

  Nothing but the sound of the shower running.

  He rammed the door with his shoulder. Once. Twice. The third time did the trick, busting the lock. He stumbled in the room full of steam. He pulled back the curtain…and his stomach flipped. She was gone. Heat seared his limbs.

  Turning around, he found a note taped to the mirror.

  I heard you. I’m not going to be another one of Keller’s kills.

  Cussing, he bolted from the room.

  When he found her… He no longer cared about making her death merciful—or quick.

  Logan’s cell rang, and he answered on Bluetooth. “Hey, Tom.”

  “A motel manager just called. Said he spotted the woman. She left his establishment on foot not long ago. It’s the Grand Sunshine Motel in Duro. I’m still up in Bosque, and Denton is about forty minutes out. Please tell me you’re close.”

  “We’re about twenty from there,” Logan said, swinging a U-turn, his tires squealing. “But I can make up some time.” He depressed the accelerator.

  Fifteen minutes and a racing heart later, Logan held the glass door of the Grand Sunshine Motel open for Em.

  “Thanks.” She stepped inside, taking in her surroundings. Blue shag carpet was squishy under her heels, the walls were covered with faded floral wallpaper, and the reception desk was made of brown paneling with a darker brown countertop.

  A man dressed in a brown-and-tan bowling shirt with the name Lyle stitched in orange on it looked up from the counter.

  “You folks want a room? We rent by the hour or the night.” He looked up at them and smiled, his coffee-stained teeth crooked on the bottom. “I’m guessing you’re in for the night.” He chuckled.

  Em’s skin crawled. Ewww.

  “We’re not looking for a room,” Logan explained. “We’re looking for her.” Logan slid the picture of the woman over. “You called the sheriff?”

  “Yeah, but you ain’t Tom.”

  “No, I’m not.” He gestured between himself and Em. “We’re special agents assisting on the case.” He held up his badge, and she did the same. “You’re welcome to call Tom to verify,” he suggested at the man’s hesitance.

  “Nah, I’m good. And yeah, I seen her. She came around the corner, looking back the other way. Nearly bowled me over. So skittish.”

  “She say anything to you?” Em asked.

  “Yeah. Said the guy she came in with was a mean drunk, the abusive sort. She begged me not to tell him which way she went or that I’d seen her.”

  “And?”

  “I didn’t. But she was right. He sure was mean. Came flying out of that room, hollering for her.”

  “He say her name?” Em asked, hopeful.

  “I ain’t gonna say what he called her.” He looked Em over. “Not in front of a lady,” he added.

  “Did he come in here?” Logan asked.

  “Yeah. He reeked of whiskey. Asked if I’d seen where the girl went.”

  “And?”

  “I played dumb.”

  “And he bought it?” Logan asked.

  “Seemed to. Got in his car and sped out of here. Though he went left, and she’d gone right.”

  “Time is of the essence,” Logan said. “I’m going to need the make and model of his car.”

  “A black Toyota Corolla. Maybe a decade old. The bumper hung low on the right. Plate number HQN-175.”

  Logan blinked, clearly taken aback. “That’s extremely detailed information, Lyle.”

  “I have an eye for detail.” He leaned forward, looked both ways, then said low beneath his breath, “I deal with a lot of unsavory characters here. I pay close attention. Even got secret cameras hidden throughout the parking lot and outside corridors. Not to mention Bessie behind the counter.”

  Logan hiked a brow. “Bessie?”

  Lyle lifted a .38 special revolver on top of the counter.

  “Okay, then,” Logan said. “Last two questions. What’s out here in the direction the woman went? Where might she have gone?”

  “She’d probably be looking for a bus station, truck stop…” Em said.

  “The Stop N Sup is about a quarter a mile to the right,” Lyle said. “She’s a smart one.” He looked at Logan and winked. “I’d keep her.”

  Keep her? Em took a deep inhale, keeping her temper in check. The man was crass, but he was also being helpful.

  “If she turned around and started heading to the left, she’d get to the Brown Hen motel and, beyond that, the ’77 Truck Stop.”

  “Thanks, Lyle.” Logan tapped the counter, then held the door for Em on the way out.

  “Is there any kind of reward?” Lyle asked.

  “Helping catch a criminal is a reward in and of itself,” Logan said as the door swung shut behind them.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Logan pulled into the Stop N Sup truck stop.

  Emmy glanced around at the rows of tractor cabs settled in for the night, most with their parking lights on.

  “Where do we start?” she asked.

  “I’ll take the right. You take the left and start knocking.”

  She nodded and did as Logan had said, knocking on the door of one semi after another, apologizing for waking the driver, then asking each trucker if they’d seen the woman in the printout Emmy had brought along. About five tractor cabs in, the driver held up a finger midway through Em’s explanation. “Let me help you out, darlin’.” He lifted the radio, tweaked the frequency, and cleared his throat. “It’s Hank. I’ve got a special agent here at the Stop N Sup looking for a woman who’s wanted for murder. She’s blonde, white, petite, and she would have hitched a ride…” He looked back at Em.

  “Probably ten, maybe fifteen minutes ago,” she said.

  “I saw her,” a woman’s voice said. “Selling herself for a ride.”

  “Now, Rita,” a man said on the other end. “She wasn’t selling herself. She just needed a ride.”

  “Uh-huh. Sure.”

  The driver set the radio back in its holder on the dash. “That’s the O’Briens. Three cabs to the left,” he said, pointing toward the crystal-blue tractor.

  “Thanks so much,” Em said. She flagged Logan down, and they approached the O’Briens’ tractor together.

  Logan was lifting his hand to knock when the driver’s side door swung open. A woman emerged, in pink curlers with a clear shower cap over them and a pink, fluffy robe. She started speaking before they could say a word. “I knew that thing was trouble the moment I laid eyes on her.”

  A balding man with an orange beard appeared behind her. “Herman O’Brien,” he said, extending his hand. “You’ve met my wife, Rita.”

  “Special Agents Perry and Thorton,” Logan said, shaking the man’s hand. Em followed.

  “Special agents.” The woman clutched her chest. “Are we in some sort of danger?”

  “I’d keep your cab locked up tight tonight, just in case.” No doubt, that man would come looking for the woman. Em prayed he’d leave the truckers alone, that he wouldn’t harm anyone else.

  Herman retrieved a shotgun from the cab. “This is just one of several,” he said, holding it up. “No one will bother us tonight.”

  Logan nodded.

  “Hank said something about murder?” Rita said.

  “Yes. The woman is wanted in connection to a murder,” Em said.

  Rita gasped. Actually gasped. “I knew something was wrong about her from the moment I saw those big eyes poking out from under her hoodie. She tried to keep her face hidden, but I said she had to look at me if she wanted my help. She did, and I saw her eyes. Soulless eyes, I’m telling you. Sent a chill right up my spine. I won’t be forgetting those in a hurry.”

  Em held up the printout. “This was her?”

  “Yes, ma’am…agent…special agent,” the woman scrambled.

  “Emmy, please,” she said.

  “Rita.” She nodded. “But you already knew that.”

  “Do you know where she went?” Logan asked.

  “Yes…” Her face pinched. “Oh, poor Matt. I told that young fellow not to give rides to hitchers, but he never listens.”

  “Matt?” Em asked.

  “Matt Hartson,” Herman said, finally getting a word in edgewise. “He’s new to the gang. Only been driving a rig for a couple years.”

  Em supposed in relation to the age of some of the other truckers, a couple years in the field seemed young.

  “Can you describe his rig for us? Which way he went? How long ago?” The questions tumbled out of Logan’s mouth rapid-fire.

  “We sure can,” Herman said. “He’s got a purple, sparkly cabin—stands out like a sore thumb. And he’s pulling a tractor for XPC.”

  “Like the printer company?” Em clarified.

  “Yes, ma—Emmy,” Rita said. “Got a big, gold-and-white XPC symbol on either side.”

  “And they went which direction?” she asked.

  “Heading on 180 toward Silver City about ten minutes ago.”

  Had Matt heard Hank’s call for the woman? Had she? And, if so, what would she do? Was she armed? Em sent up a prayer for Matt. “The radio frequency Hank used, is that for—”

  “It’s just for those camped out here for the night,” Herman said.

  Em’s taut shoulders loosened.

  “We use a different one on the road,” he elaborated.

  So they still had the element of surprise.

  “Do you know Matt’s end destination?” Logan asked.

  “We need to know how long he’ll be on 180 and if he’ll be turning on a different road,” Em explained.

  “Nope. He’s headed straight for Silver City. He’ll be on 180 for a good while,” Herman said.

  Perfect. Tom could put out an APB on the rig. And in the meantime, they were close enough that if Logan flew down the road, they could catch them.

  “Thank you,” Logan said.

  “Yes, thank you,” Em said as Logan’s hand rested on her lower back, ready to head to the Jeep.

  “Can I ask…” the woman said.

  They paused. “Ask what?” Em replied.

  “Who was murdered?” Rita said.

  Em looked to Logan.

  “My grandpa,” he said.

  After condolences from Rita and Herman, they were in the Jeep, barreling down 180. Em looked at the speedometer. Seventy miles an hour.

  He depressed the gas pedal, and that number rose.

  Trees silhouetted by the hazy moon flew by in a blur.

  “Call Tom,” he said.

  “On it.” She relayed the information to Tom over Bluetooth while Logan focused his full attention on the road ahead.

  “I’ve got surrounding law enforcement here,” he told her. “I’ll meet you en route and alert Denton and my fellow officers.”

  Em disconnected the call, her heart racing with anticipation as the speedometer maxed out at one-hundred and twenty.

  The lone road was nearly deserted, and Logan was a superior driver, even at high speeds.

  The time couldn’t pass fast enough. They had to be on them soon.

  “There’s a stretch through the pass where it would be easy to cut them off,” he said. “If Matt hasn’t already passed through and we can get ahead…”

  Ahead? “What exactly are you planning?” she asked. Wind rattled the windows.

  “You’ll see. Just have your gun ready.”

  She glanced at the floorboard. The gas pedal was flush with it. Her heart pounded, not out of fear but from an odd exhilaration that flooded her whenever they were on a hunt and closing in. They had the drifter—she truly believed they did.

  She reached over and clasped her hand over Logan’s on the wheel. “We’ll get her.”

  Logan nodded and barreled forward.

  Em slid to the side as Tom called back. “Hey, Tom.”

  “I need your position.”

  Logan relayed the closest mile marker, not taking his eyes off the road as he wove around a lone car in their lane.

  “Be careful,” Tom said. “I’ll catch up to you in a matter of minutes. I’ve got backup en route. We don’t know if she’s armed, and we don’t want a hostage situation.”

  Em gripped the handle over the door, bracing herself as she saw Logan ready to weave again, this time around a semi.

  They pulled up on its side, but a logo of apples covered it rather than the XPC symbol.

  Sliding into the other lane, they flew by it. Lightning sizzled across the sky, illuminating the truck driver’s furrowed face as they pulled beyond him.

  The rain that had been threatening to fall started to pour down like a scourge from Heaven. Thick, hard drops pinged off the hood of the Jeep, thumping on the roof, splattering the windshield.

  Logan pressed on. The windshield wipers were flying, but the rain fell faster than they could keep up with.

  Em blinked, trying to clear her view, but sheets of rain washed down the windshield. The Jeep’s headlights illuminated the deluge. Thunder boomed, vibrating in Em’s chest, a second after lightning crackled across the black sky.