“Not good?” Reese asked.
He had leaned against the car next to her, taking Dwight’s place after the other man had wandered off to sit on the hood, facing away from them.
“It wouldn’t have been my first choice,” she said.
“Should have come inside with me and picked for yourself.”
“What else is on the menu?”
“Too many to list. It’s not a bad setup, actually. The diner next door is packed.”
It’s not the food, it’s the company, she thought, but said, “Chicken salad’s fine,” and took a third bite and forced it down, too.
Reese unwrapped his Sloppy Joe and took a big chomp, then smiled blissfully. “Good stuff. I don’t think I’ve found it anywhere outside the States. Could be wrong on that front, of course. It’s not like I’ve been everywhere.”
“I don’t know how you can eat that slop,” Dwight said. He was sniffing the air, not bothering to turn around.
“What’s more American than Sloppy Joes?” Reese said as a chunk of ground beef and strips of onion fell from the buns — not that he seemed to notice. Instead, he took another huge bite.
“What about the girls?” she asked. “You wanted me to check on them earlier.”
“Not here,” Reese said. He wiped at his mouth with a napkin. “Too many people. Too many cameras. You can check on them when we’re swapping vehicles later.”
“Which is when, exactly?”
“We’re in uncharted territory, which unfortunately means things will happen when they happen.” He took out his cell phone and placed it on the hood between them. “Until then, we’ll push on ahead to the alternate location. If we’re fortunate, the new Vanguard will beat us there with new vehicles.”
“But they’re late.”
“They’re late,” he nodded. “They shouldn’t be, but they are.”
“This night just keeps getting better and better,” Dwight said from the front of the car.
“We’ve dealt with problems before.”
“Not shoot-two-troopers-dead problems.”
“Yes, well, what’s that you like to say? If it were easy, then anyone could do it.”
Dwight harrumphed but didn’t say anything.
Reese went back to finishing his Sloppy Joe and wiping his fingers on the napkin while she did her best to ignore the aroma of beef and onions coming from him. Dwight seemed content to drink his Red Bull and stare off at nothing in particular on the other side of the car. Allie was grateful for the silence, with the only noises coming from the vehicles entering and leaving the truck stop around them—
A buzzing sound coming from the vibrating phone on the hood of the car next to her ruined all of that.
Reese picked up the phone and answered it without bothering to look at the number. “Yes.” He listened for a moment, then said, “That’s unfortunate.”
Dwight hopped off the hood and looked expectantly over, but didn’t interrupt.
“All right. Keep me updated,” Reese said, and put the phone back into his jacket pocket.
“Let me guess: More hiccups?” Dwight asked.
“It would appear so,” Reese said. He opened his bottle of water and took a slow, measured drink. She couldn’t tell if he was doing it on purpose while he searched for the right words to explain the call or if the man really was just that unflappable despite what had just been, apparently, more bad news.
“Well, what the fuck did they say?” Dwight said impatiently. “Are they coming or not?”
“They are…eventually,” Reese said. “The state police started putting up road blocks along the interstate. They’re searching for Vanguard’s van and, apparently, also focusing on semitrailers now. It looks like they’re going to be delayed for an unspecified amount of time.”
Lucy.
It had to be. Somehow, Lucy had convinced someone in the state police to add hauling trucks to their searches. The only way she would be able to achieve that was…
Hank Pritchard.
What other explanation was there? Who else could get law enforcement to expand their search? Someone had to have informed them, and there were only two people who knew — she and Lucy. Allie didn’t think the teenager had a chance in hell of convincing the authorities, especially over the phone. But someone like Pritchard, who had a history with them…
It had been a long shot (So what else is new today?) when she had quickly scribbled the number onto an order slip and sneaked it into the retired statey’s pocket while she was searching him for a cell phone. But she’d be damned if it hadn’t paid off. Hank Pritchard wasn’t just an ex-trooper; he had a long and distinguished career until his retirement six years ago. Even so, she hadn’t counted on anything coming from it and had all but assumed there was an injured old man out there somewhere trying to figure out why someone had slipped a phone number into his pocket.
So what else were Hank and Lucy doing right now? Even more importantly, how was she going to use all of this to her advantage?
Allie sneaked a look at the red and black semitrailer partially hidden in shadows next to them. It hadn’t moved since the last time she looked, and it wouldn’t until Reese made a decision about how to proceed.
Hold on, Sara. Hold on just a little longer…
“When it rains shit, it pours poop,” Dwight was saying.
“Colorful,” Reese said. He crumpled up his sandwich wrapper and flicked it into the bag sitting on the hood behind him.
Jesus Christ, he’s calm.
“So I guess this means the authorities know what we have in there,” Dwight said, jerking his head at the semi.
“That seems likely.”
“That means it won’t be long before they know, too.”
“Again, very likely, yes.”
Allie didn’t have to ask who “they” were. Dwight and Reese were talking about their employers. The men behind all of this. The men who would have the information she needed to find Faith. At least, that was her hope, because if there wasn’t, then it would mean all of this would be for nothing.
Well, that’s not entirely true.
She looked over at the semi and tried to imagine Sara and the twenty-two others in there, huddled in the darkness, already hungry after their last (and only) meal earlier today. She glanced down at the half-eaten sandwich in her hand and wanted to vomit it all back up.
What to do, what to do?
Sara and the others were here, right now. Meanwhile, Faith might be at the other side of this trip.
Might. Might.
She had promised the girl’s mother. She had given her word.
But one was here, and one was (maybe) out there, somewhere. No, that wasn’t true. It wasn’t one that was here, it was twenty-three lost, stolen souls.
You know what you have to do, don’t you?
So do it.
No more excuses. No more excuses…
“Gonna get real tricky from here on out,” Dwight was saying, his voice bringing her back to the shadowy edge of the truck stop parking lot. “Not that it wasn’t real tricky already, mind you, but it just got much, much trickier.”
“We can handle it,” Reese said.
“Not the point.”
“What is the point?”
“The point is, this was supposed to be an easy gig. In and out. Collect money at the end of the rainbow. Head to Vegas. Get a high-priced escort and a suite, and if all goes well, blow the whole thing at the tables. You know, the usual.”
Reese smiled. “That’s not my usual.”