“You need some of it. You take ten grand out, leave the rest, tell me where to meet you. Then I’m gone and you can do whatever you want.”
“Why should I trust you?”
“Way I look at it, you don’t have any choice.”
Breathing on the line.
“I need to think on this.”
“Nothing to think about,” Morgan said. “You give it up, you walk. You don’t, you go down, one way or another.”
“I need time.”
“You got two hours. If I don’t hear from you, I start looking. And I won’t be the only one.”
He left the Toyota by the barn, used a rag to wipe down anything he might have touched without gloves. In the Monte Carlo, he took his own cell out. Midnight and no missed calls. Nothing from the twins.
He gassed up at an all-night station, went inside, and asked for a phone directory. There was only one Holiday Inn in the county. The attendant gave him directions.
Fifteen minutes later, he was cruising slow past a row of parked cars outside the motel. No Range Rover. He parked, took out his cell, punched in the number he’d gotten from the directory. When the night clerk answered, he asked for Dante Coleman’s room. The clerk put him through. They’d used their real names, as he’d guessed.
The line rang a dozen times. The clerk came back on and asked to take a message. Morgan ended the call.
They hadn’t wasted any time. They were out there already, looking for the money. His money.
He pulled out of the lot, headed back toward Hopedale. Wondering how much information they had, where they would start.
He needed to calm himself, to think. He turned the stereo on, pushed in the Sam Cooke tape. “Keep Movin’ On” came from the speakers.
On the seat beside him, the blood-smeared cell phone began to ring.
TWENTY-THREE
Fog was settling in as Sara drove the two miles to JoBeth’s house. It hung thick over the road, reflecting her headlights back. She turned the wipers and defrosters on. She thought about what Simone James had said.
It’s not the way I wanted it, but it might be too late to stop it.
Danny stirred in the booster seat, still asleep. She’d taken him from the house in pajamas with a change of clothes in his knapsack, along with the tyrannosaurus. She’d called JoBeth and then dressed quickly, jeans and boots and sweatshirt. The Glock was in her waistpack.
There were headlights behind her now, several car lengths back. She watched them in the rearview. As she neared the turn for JoBeth’s street she signaled, slowed. The headlights swung into the left lane and pulled ahead. An SUV jeep of some kind. Its taillights vanished in the fog.
When she pulled into JoBeth’s driveway, all the lights were on in the house. Danny stirred again.
“Come on, honey,” she said. She swiveled, got him unbelted.
He rubbed sleep from his eyes. “Where are we?”
“JoBeth’s.”
“Why?”
“You’re staying here, little guy, for tonight at least. Come on.”
He wrapped his arms around her neck, and she maneuvered him into the front seat with her and opened the door.
“It’s foggy,” he said. “I’m scared.”
“It’s okay. There’s nothing out there.”
She grabbed the knapsack with her free hand, shut the door. As she started up the slate path, the front door opened. JoBeth stood there with her father. He held the door for her as she carried Danny in.
“Thanks, Andy,” she said. He wore a bathrobe over pajamas, slippers. He still had the erect posture and flattop haircut of the state highway patrolman he’d once been.
JoBeth reached for Danny. Sara handed him over.
“Sorry to call so late,” she said. “I appreciate this.”
Danny laid his head on JoBeth’s shoulder and closed his eyes again. She carried him down a hall into a bedroom.
Andy took the knapsack. “Is everything okay, Sara?”
“It might be nothing. I got a phone call that bothered me.”
“From who?”
“I’m not positive. But I need to go back to the SO for a while, and I’d feel better if I knew Danny was somewhere safe.”
“Back to the office? It’s after midnight.”
“I know. I may ask you to keep him tomorrow night, too, if that’s okay.”
“Of course. But you’re worrying me.”
“Don’t be worried. And thanks. I’ll call to check in later, if that’s okay. I’d feel better.”
“Sure, Sara, whatever. He can stay here as long as need be. You, too, if you want.”
“Thanks, I’ll be okay,” she said. She took a last look down the hall where JoBeth and Danny had disappeared. Then she went back out into the fog.
On Cypress Creek Road the fog was so thick she had to slow to thirty-five. The metallic smell of it filled the Blazer, even with the windows up tight. Trees were ghostly shapes by the side of the road, moss-covered branches reaching out. She was glad Danny wasn’t with her.
She got her cell out, flipped it open, took her eyes off the road long enough to scroll down to the sheriff’s home number. She put her thumb on the SEND button for the second time that day.
One call and it’s over.
The road began to curve, the white line vanishing in the fog. She felt the right-hand tires bump on the shoulder and she corrected, nervous now, the visibility worse. The wipers clicked, swept moisture from the windshield.
When the road straightened, she looked at the phone again, found Billy’s cell number.
Last chance, Billy. Tell me what’s going on.
She pressed SEND, listened to it ring. Five times and then his voice mail kicked in.
“It’s Sara. You need to call me. And you need to do it right away.”
She hit END, closed the phone, and put it on the seat beside her. If she didn’t hear from him by the time she reached the SO, her next call would be to the sheriff. It would be his decision what to do next. Then it would be out of her hands.
Ahead, a glow in the fog, the fast blink of hazard lights. She slowed, saw the shape of a vehicle, not moving, slewed half onto the shoulder, half on the road, its rear end in the right lane. Headlights pointed out into the woods.
She could guess what had happened. They’d been going too fast and skidded on the wet road, or veered to avoid a deer or some other animal that had popped out of the fog in front of them. Any faster and they would have ended up in the trees.
She let the Blazer coast to a stop on the shoulder and switched her high beams on. It was the vehicle that had passed her earlier. The windows were tinted dark, so she couldn’t see inside. She got the emergency light from under the seat, stuck it to the dashboard, plugged it in, and hit the switch. It began to strobe red and blue, flashing off the side of the vehicle ahead, coloring the fog.
She opened her cell and called the main number for the SO.
“St. Charles County Sheriff’s.”
“Angie, it’s Sara Cross. I’m out on Cypress Creek, about… a mile north of the Artesia turnoff. There’s a vehicle out here, looks like it spun off the road.”
“Any injuries?”
“Don’t know yet. Can’t see anyone. Better send a wrecker, too, get this thing out of the road before someone hits it. It’s blocking a lane.”
“Tag number?”
“Can’t tell from here. I’m going to go out and have a look. Send a unit out, will you? I’ll call back if I need an ambo.”
“Everyone’s pretty busy out there tonight, with this fog and all. Lots of accidents.”
“I know that.”
“Not sure how quick I can get someone out to your ten-twenty.”
Sara breathed out. “Just send someone as soon as you can.” And drop the attitude.
“Where was that again?”
“Cypress Creek Road, north of Artesia. I’ve got my emergency flasher on. They can’t miss me.”
She ended the call, set the phone on the dash, cracked the door. Still no movement in the vehicle. She wondered if they’d walked on to look for help, gotten lost in the fog.