Linc dragged out his cell and hit the contact button. Carly’s phone went straight to voice mail. “She’s not picking up.”
“You think it’s El Jefe?” Ross asked.
Every instinct in Linc’s body was screaming. “Yeah, I do.”
“Shall I call nine-one-one?” Frank asked.
The call would be dispatched to the sheriff. Linc didn’t trust Howler. At best the man was a fool. If the sheriff got involved, Carly might wind up dead.
“Just hold tight. We’re on our way.” Linc disconnected, tossed the phone back to Ross, grabbed his windbreaker off the back of a chair, and headed out the study door.
On the way to the garage, he tried Carly again. Nothing. As Linc punched in the code and the garage door slid open, Ross stuck a hand under his jacket, checking the pistol in his shoulder holster.
After prison, aside from owning a gun for protection in his home, Linc wasn’t allowed to carry. He was glad Ross was armed.
They jumped in the truck. His Mercedes, parked in another garage, was faster, but if they found Carly’s trail, they might need to traverse rough country and the pickup had four-wheel drive.
They belted themselves in good and tight. It had been raining off and on all day so the roads were slick. Linc shot backward out of the garage, spun the truck around, and hit the accelerator. The wipers went on as he headed down the long driveway toward the highway, Ross using his GPS tracking app to locate Frank, who waited for them at the abduction site.
Linc didn’t doubt that’s what had happened. El Jefe wanted to talk to Carly. He’d been waiting for his chance and tonight he’d found it.
Anger at Frank Marino swept through him. He didn’t like incompetence. He liked it even less when it could wind up getting someone he cared about hurt or even killed.
He forced the thought away and increased his speed, traveling the dark two-lane road at the maximum he could push the truck without ending up in a ditch. When the rain lessened, then stopped altogether, he pushed even harder.
“We’re almost there,” Ross said. “Just around that curve.”
Linc slowed the truck, took the curve, and spotted the white pickup with the Drake logo parked on the shoulder on the opposite side of the road. Frank’s dark brown Chevy Malibu sat on the shoulder behind it.
Linc slammed the big GMC to a halt and turned off the engine, got out, and strode across the pavement to Carly’s abandoned pickup. When Frank Marino walked up, Linc’s hand unconsciously fisted. His fighting days were over, he reminded himself.
“I’m really sorry, Mr. Cain.”
Linc held up a hand. He didn’t want to hear Marino’s excuses.
“Okay,” Frank said. “I get it. The thing is I found evidence of tire tracks in the mud, a vehicle behind the pickup, one in the other lane. I think they boxed her in. She was probably trying to outrun them.” He almost smiled. “After meeting her, I’d say no way did she just pull over.”
Some of Linc’s anger eased. No, she would have tried to get away. So far Marino’s theory seemed spot on. “Go on.”
“She sees the curve, knows she can’t make it at the speed she’s traveling, so she slows and pulls over.”
“That sounds about right. We need to figure out what happened next.”
“She had a gun,” Frank said. “She didn’t just get into their vehicle and let them drive away.”
Ross spoke up. “Or maybe she did. Maybe she stuck the gun in her purse. Maybe they didn’t search her. Maybe she’s still armed.”
“Possible,” Linc said, “but I’m guessing she wouldn’t have gone with them without a fight.”
He searched the area around where the vehicle behind her had been parked, found nothing, crossed the road, and searched the other side. Linc knelt and picked up a small wet piece of cotton fabric.
He turned to Frank. “You remember what she was wearing?”
Frank nodded. “Yeah, this pretty little ruffled blouse, kind of a soft pink with some pale blue flowers. I remember the way it kind of hugged her br—”
Linc’s hard glance cut off the words. He held up the piece of fabric. “This it?”
Frank nodded. “Pink and blue. That looks like part of a ruffle.”
