The man looked at Jordan’s badge, then examined the photo again. “Wait, is that Cara What’s-Her-Face? The one who’s on the run?”
Jordan nodded. “We believe she may be in the area.”
“Well, I did see a short-haired blond who went out when the local bus arrived. Reason I noticed was she was the only one who didn’t look like a seasonal worker. You know, all the rest of them have backpacks and water bottles and such, and she just had all her stuff in a plastic bag. But she did look like eight miles of bad road.”
Jordan thanked him and crossed the lobby to the front desk, where Wen was consulting a paper bus schedule.
“Possible ID by a man who saw a slim blond with short hair get on the bus,” he told her. “I’d like to get a second opinion but we’re short on time.”
Wen moved her finger across columns of type. “If it left on schedule, we’re twenty minutes late. But it makes four more stops before even leaving town, so that helps. It gets to something called the Chukchansi Gold Resort and Casino at 11:12. After that, the next stop is Madera at 11:51.”
Jordan looked at his watch. “If we’re lucky, we can catch her at the casino.”
Moments later, Jordan was behind the wheel again, heading south on 41, using all the siren tools at his disposal to hurry a minivan that was boxing them in. He floored it as soon as he got past, then called Beto on his cell. He needed to keep this off the radio.
“Beto, I want you to send two cars to Madera Intermodal. Campbell may be en route via an MCC bus. I’m going to try to intercept her, but just in case.”
“Got it,” Beto told him.
“Keep it subtle.”
“Understood.”
“You want my team, too?” Wen asked from the passenger seat.
“Did you hear me say, ‘Keep it subtle’?”
She glared at him. “Let’s wrap this up.”
He wanted nothing more. Once again, they were agonizingly close. And the good news was that Silverman was nowhere in sight.
Driving all out, retracing his path from that morning, Jordan caught up with the stubby white MCC shuttle bus just before the turnoff to the Indian casino. When he lit the overheads, the bus slowed to a stop in a wide spot on the shoulder. Jordan rolled past it and pulled over.
As they got out, Wen spoke to him over the hood. “How are you going to handle this?”
“I’m going to get on the bus.”
“She could be armed.”
“So could half the passengers. We have a lot of concealed carry licenses in this county.”
“I’m not taking any chances. We let the passengers off one by one and cover the door.”
“Fine.”
Jordan walked back to the bus. Its passengers were invisible behind tinted glass. The operator had the door open and waiting.
“I wasn’t speeding!” she said testily.
“No, you weren’t. I need you to ask the passengers to get off in an orderly fashion and line up on the shoulder. Tell them to leave their belongings.”
As the driver picked up her handset, looking more alarmed than relieved, Jordan stepped back to a safe distance. He kept his gun holstered as the puzzled passengers began to disembark. Wen drew hers, covering the doorway from an oblique angle that wouldn’t alarm anyone.
Jordan counted a half-dozen blonds, male and female, none of whom looked particularly like Cara Campbell. The one who probably looked most like her was a slender, androgynous male with spiky hair.
The bus driver came off last. “That’s everyone. Find who you’re looking for?”
“Are you absolutely sure that’s everyone?” asked Wen, visibly frustrated.
