He had a job to do. Tony the Rose had told him that Neil Janiowski had followed the two Indian women to southern Illinois. Everything else Rutgar had needed to know he’d found very quickly. The trail that Neil had left behind him had been easy to trace; the people he’d asked about the women were easily convinced to talk when a knife was pressed to their throat. Perhaps Neil was too stupid to know to cover his tracks. It did not matter. Rutgar knew the cars the two old women might be driving, the people they knew and would feel safe with, the places they might run to hide.
Not that hiding from him would do them any good. He had guns. They did not. His guns were: a semiautomatic Glock, a sawed-off shotgun fitted with a pistol grip, a military-grade sniper’s rifle with night scope and laser sight, and a subcompact Beretta. He wore the Beretta in a leather holster on his right hip. Like Han Solo, perhaps.
He looked in the side mirror before passing a semi. The semi was going maybe fifty-five mph. Thus Rutgar could easily pass the truck without going over the speed limit. It was important not to arouse suspicion.
Rutgar smiled a small smile as he drove.
Saturday, 9:42 a.m.
T
hank God for gas stations that took credit cards at the pump. Zoey winced, watching the numbers flicker rapidly by as she pumped. Looked like minivans took considerably more gas than Priuses. She was aware that using the credit card might alert somebody to her location, but she wasn’t about to leave the babies in the car by themselves to go into the station to pay. Using a credit card was a risk she’d just have to take.
They were somewhere south of Carbondale, closer to the interstate than she wanted to be, since that was where the gas stations were to be found. Zoey wasn’t exactly sure of their location because as it turned out, her directional skills even with a map were kind of sketchy. She should’ve found Mr. Agrawal’s motel already. Instead, she’d gone in circles—or maybe squares—on back roads so small they didn’t even have names. Hence the need to stop for gas.
The gas nozzle started gurgling, signaling that the tank was nearly full. Zoey stepped back, wary of being splashed, and waited for the last gurgle before taking the nozzle out of the gas tank and returning it to the pump. She grimaced when she saw the total. Sheesh. At this rate she was going to max out her credit card. And considering that she seemed on indefinite hiatus from her job at the whole-foods store, that was a serious worry.
Zoey considered her job—and whether she still had one—as she walked to the windshield squeegee thingy. They were at a little gas station—only four pumps—and the wind was whipping across the frosty asphalt. The convenience store next to the gas station looked like the kind that would have ancient peanuts and candy bars and a ladies’ room that would make you want to put paper on the toilet. Just as well she hadn’t used it.
A huge, square black SUV pulled up to the pump across from the purple minivan. Zoey poked at the dark blue water in the little squeegee box—it looked viscous. The windshield wipers on the purple minivan were worn and worked only intermittently. The windshield had a gray film from salt, dirt, and snow spray, and it was getting close to opaque. Zoey walked back to the van with the squeegee as a young guy got out of the black SUV. He had ash blond hair and was wearing a brown leather jacket. Wow. The jacket probably cost a couple thousand dollars. Maybe he was the local drug pusher. Zoey watched him stroll into the dinky convenience store as she gingerly washed the windshield. These communal washer thingies always gave her the heebie-jeebies. Who knew how many mashed-up bug guts were in the dark blue soup?
Zoey finished washing the windshield and the back window before the guy came out again. She threw the squeegee back in the icky water as he started pumping gas. He’d never looked in her direction, but something about the guy made her nervous. Zoey trotted back to the minivan and got in. The babies were still asleep in back, but she knew from experience that wouldn’t last long. She needed to get Neil Junior to the aunties so both babies could have something to eat and a chance to move around.
On that thought, she started the van and pulled away from the pump.
The blond guy looked up. She shuddered, looking away quickly, but not before she’d seen his eyes.
They were pale gray.
Saturday, 11:16 a.m.
D
ante stared at the two elderly ladies and felt his blood pressure shoot through the roof. “She was here?”
Mrs. Savita Gupta exchanged a look with Mrs. Pratima Gupta. The look clearly said,
This man has lost his marbles.
Possibly this was because he’d already asked the question three times since he’d arrived at their nephew’s motel.
“Ye-es. Zoey left not half an hour ago. We fed the babies and cleaned them, and then she said she had to leave.” Mrs. Savita Gupta smiled. “It was very kind of her to bring back the boy baby.”
Dante pressed two fingers to his pounding temple.
Kind.
Yeah, that would be the first word he would use to describe Zoey. Right before
double-crossing,
sexy,
and
a pain in the goddamn ass.
How the hell had he not passed her on the highway?
Some of his thoughts must’ve shown in his face. Mrs. Pratima Gupta leaned forward anxiously. “Would you like some tea?”
Tea was the very last thing he needed, but it wasn’t the Gupta ladies’ fault he’d been a half step behind Zoey all morning. He’d been almost at the Cairo exit when he realized that there were highway patrol cars stopped ahead of him on the shoulder. That had necessitated a hasty exit to nowheresville and a stroll about the countryside before he could find another entrance to 57. By the time he’d gotten to the motel, he’d lost over forty-five minutes. Still, he’d held out hope that he’d find Zoey here. Now he wasn’t even sure where to look next.
Dante found himself sitting on the saggy couch in Mr. Agrawal’s back rooms with a mug of hot tea pressed into his hands. Mrs. Agrawal was in the kitchen doing something, and she flashed a shy smile at him. She probably thought he spent all of his time chasing crazy women with babies. The kids were in their usual spot, grouped in a tight knot in front of the TV with Neil Junior in the place of honor in front. For a moment, Dante was mesmerized by the flashing colors and boinking sounds. Neil Junior would probably fit right in here. He’d grow up watching cartoons and eating curried lentils and flatbreads, a blond cuckoo in another bird’s nest.
Then Dante mentally shook himself.
He looked up at the Gupta ladies, hovering solicitously. “Did she give you any idea which way she might be heading?”
The ladies exchanged another look, then Mrs. Pratima Gupta said, “She did not say.”
“But she still has your purple van?”
“Our nephew’s purple van,” Mrs. Pratima Gupta corrected. “She said she’d bring it back to Chicago for us. We’ve decided to stay and visit with Rahul and his wife for a bit.”
“We will bring back Neil Junior to Chicago when we return,” Mrs. Savita Gupta said. “Perhaps we can bring him to his mother. I do not like the father. Shooting at you! How awful!”
“Yes, terrible,” Pratima Gupta said. “Until we return to Chicago, Neil Junior may visit with us. I believe he likes it here with our nephew’s children.”
“Great.” Dante took a sip of hot tea. Wasn’t like he had anything else to do.
Both ladies looked sad that they couldn’t help him, and Dante felt guilty for a moment.
Mrs. Pratima Gupta perked up. “She brought us back our Grade 1A Very, Very Fine Mongra Kesar.”
“Yeah? Hey, that’s good.” Zoey was dealing in illicit spices. Whoopee.
Mrs. Savita Gupta cleared her throat. “I wondered . . . if you no longer need my cell phone, perhaps you could give it back?”
“Oh!” Mrs. Pratima Gupta exclaimed. “I forgot to ask for my cell phone from the girl.”
Dante looked up. Zoey still had Mrs. Pratima Gupta’s cell phone?
“You never use it anyway,” Mrs. Savita Gupta said. “I do not think you know how to use it properly, Pratima.”
“I do, too,” the other lady shot back indignantly.
“You insisted that the phone be able to take photos,” Mrs. Savita Gupta tutted. “And do you ever take any photos with your fancy cell phone, Pratima? No, you do not. I do not believe you know how to take photos with a cell phone. I think—”
“I need to borrow your phone for just a little while longer.” Dante drained the last of the tea—he was beginning to actually like the stuff—and stood.
“Please. Use it as long as you need it,” Mrs. Savita Gupta said.
“Great. Thanks.”
Mrs. Pratima Gupta looked uncertain—she was probably wondering if she’d ever get her own cell back at this point—but Dante didn’t have time to explain. He thanked both ladies, waved to Mrs. Agrawal, and dashed out of the motel.
The cell phone was in the BMW, stuck in the console where he’d left it. Dante checked the battery—nearly full—then scrolled down the list of phone numbers until he came to Pratima Gupta and pressed the Call button. The other end started ringing.
He watched out the window as he listened. It’d begun to snow again—great puffballs that would pile up rapidly. Maybe she’d ditched the phone. Or she simply wouldn’t answer again. Or she couldn’t answer. The possibilities were making his muscles tense with anxiety. He rubbed his sore leg and—
“Hello?” Her voice was breathless.
For a moment all he could do was close his eyes in relief.
“Hello?” She sounded sharp.
Well, he wasn’t in a good mood, either. “Zoey, where the hell are you?”
“Dante?”
“Yeah.”
“Someone’s following me.”
He straightened, his mind suddenly narrowed to a sharp, pinpoint focus on her. “Where are you? Are you on a major road?”
“I’m on I-24, headed south. I passed Vienna a while back, but I-I don’t know what exit I’m near.”
He fumbled with the glove compartment one-handed and took out a highway map, searching for I-24. “What does the car following you look like?”
“It’s a big black Mercedes-Benz SUV. Dante, it was at a gas station with me earlier.”
“Okay.” Dante started the BMW and headed for the highway, one hand holding the cell to his ear. “Don’t stop, don’t get off the highway. Just maintain your speed.”
“Dante . . .” He could hear fear in her voice, and it twisted his gut.
“What is it?”
“Something’s wrong with the van,” she said, her voice thin. “It’s pulling hard to the right. I think I’m going to have to stop.”
Dante felt panic threaten to close his throat. He swung the BMW onto I-57, headed north. On the map, 57 and 24 met farther north, but there wasn’t a direct route to her from here. “Are you near an exit? Maybe a town with a gas station?”
“No.”
“Or a fast-food place?” He floored the accelerator, the needle on the speedometer climbing past ninety mph. “Somewhere with people?”
“I just passed a rest-stop sign. It’s in twenty miles.”
“Okay, I want you to get off at the rest stop. Park as close to the front of the building as possible, but don’t get out of the car. Do you understand?”
There was silence from the other end of the phone.
“Zoey?”
More silence.
“Zoey!”
The line was dead. Dante pressed End, then immediately redialed the number. Two clicks and then a recorded message with a mechanical voice informing him the number was not available at this time.
“Shit! Fuck! Son of a bitch!” Dante threw the phone on the passenger-side seat.
He didn’t know if her cell had died, if she’d hung up on him, or she was just out of range. To compound that worry, he was at least thirty minutes away from Zoey’s rest stop.
And he had no idea if she’d heard his last instructions.
Saturday, 11:23 a.m.
Z
oey glanced in her rearview mirror. The black clouds overhead made the winter light dim, the color bleeding from the landscape, leaving everything a dreary gray. Shapes became hard to see in the half light. Most cars had their headlights on now. But the black Mercedes-Benz SUV following her hadn’t turned his on. The big truck blended into the coming shadows, moving like a silent, ominous wraith behind her.
Zoey swallowed and concentrated on driving. The steering wheel was shuddering hard beneath her hands, numbing her fingers. She didn’t know exactly what was wrong with the tire, but the shudder was increasing and the minivan was pulling hard to the right. If she’d been in a safe area, a suburban neighborhood or a lighted, busy mall, she’d have stopped the van long before this. If the tire had a leak or a weak point, it could blow at any minute, and she wasn’t sure she’d have the strength to control the van. And if the minivan broke down here on the highway . . .
She peered in the rearview mirror again. The boxy black SUV still followed, dark and shadowy behind her. It never allowed the space between the cars to increase or decrease. She’d tried speeding up, and he had sped up, too. When she tapped her brake, he slowed, as well. He kept a constant two car-lengths behind. A moderate distance, a polite distance, precisely what a high school driving instructor would approve of.
Zoey stifled a hysterical giggle.
She was in the middle of nowhere. On either side of the road, gray-white fields rolled away to the horizon, dotted here and there by farmhouses in the distance. The traffic was sparse. Zoey looked at her odometer. She had about five miles to go before she hit the rest stop. Okay, so all she had to do was keep calm, drive to the rest stop. And what then? Dante hadn’t said he was nearby. Maybe he was calling the highway patrol for her. Maybe—
The black SUV sped up, coming up close on her left. Zoey pressed the accelerator down, but the wheel was shaking so badly now that she was having trouble keeping control of the van. She glanced wildly to her left. The SUV’s windows were black, either from the dim light or because they were tinted. Either way, it gave the truck an eerily humanless appearance, as if the vehicle was driving itself.