His voice sounded a little more hopeless than he intended, but he was starting to wonder if they’d truly lost Campbell. The Ford rocked and settled as a semi rolled past. Then silence filled the cab.
Jordan’s phone vibrated. Amber Alert.
“Kind of busy at the moment,” he told her, even though it wasn’t true. He just felt weird talking to her with Wen around.
“Turn on your radio. KMJ. That’s 105.9 FM.”
She hung up before he could ask why. He so rarely listened to over-the-air radio that it took him a few precious seconds to remember how to work the tuner. When he located the station, he heard a man’s polished voice, milking the moment.
“—betray my client’s confidence. I can’t say anything about her whereabouts or what she intends to do. I believe she is safe. Her voice was strong, and her spirit is unbroken. I hope to work with both her and the authorities to negotiate a safe surrender. As at trial, Cara Campbell maintains that she did not kill her husband.”
“We have to learn this from thenews?” Wen said angrily as an anchor cut in.
Jordan’s scalp prickled. Suddenly, he knew. He fuckingknew. He pounded the steering wheel with the heels of his hands.
Wen shot him a look. “Is that how you treat government property in Madera County?”
“She’s going to LA.”
“That’s not what lawyer man said. How do you know?”
Jordan closed his eyes and pictured Cara Campbell’s face in the bright white light of his headlamp on the bank of China Creek. She was cold, tired, and afraid—but she didn’t look suicidal. Just before she’d thrown herself into the raging water, he saw a hint of a smile, then a hard glint of determination. He’d dealt with a few murderers in his time. None of them were like her.
“She wants to clear her name. Her home turf is the only place she can do it.”
“So she’s, like, crazy.”
Jordan shifted into drive, checked his mirrors, and pulled into traffic.
“You’re going the wrong way, Sheriff,” said Wen. “My ride’s back up there in the hills.”
“Do you want to get to LA before Campbell or not?”
“Leaving right now. With you driving me there.”
“That’s the idea.”
Wen huffed out a sigh and shook her head but seemed to be considering it. “It’s a little out of your jurisdiction.”
“You lead a multiagency task force. I’m just one more funny-shaped badge.”
“And why do I need a county sheriff pounding the pavement in my city?”
It was a good question. This would be nothing like chasing Campbell through the woods. He’d visited LA a number of times over the years, but it wasn’t like he knew his way around without GPS, and he had no idea how to navigate the maze of law enforcement that was Wen’s specialty.
“Because I can’t let it go, I guess.”
As Jordan lit the overheads and pushed down on the accelerator to move around a slow-moving car, Wen glanced down at his feet and smirked.
“OK, you can come. But I’m warning you, you’re wearing the wrong kind of shoes.”
FORTY-FOUR
CARA
If she was Black, they would have just left her in the woods for the bears to eat.
—Althea P., commenting on “Influencer’s Flight Just Our Latest Bronco Chase,” an op-ed in the Los Angeles Times
