He didn’t like any of this.
He called out a few instructions to Knox—including asking him to have more deputies come and check the woods. Those men may have left something behind there that would give a clue about their identity.
Then he got behind the wheel and pulled the door shut. Knox was already on his radio in the back seat, coordinating units. Good man. Micah didn’t have to tell him twice.
He turned south on Route 9 and pushed the accelerator down.
Beside him, Naomi sat with her hand pressed flat against her thigh as if she was trying to ground herself. He saw the effort it took her to stay present. Whatever was happening in her head—the flashbacks, the fragments—she was fighting through them.
He focused on the road.
The SUV had a twelve-minute head start. Maybe fourteen.
His radio crackled. The license plate belonged to man named William Davis. He lived off Route 9 near the Miller Creek turnoff.
He grabbed the radio. “All units converge on Miller Creek Road. Do not engage until I’m on scene. Repeat—do not engage.”
He pushed the vehicle harder.
Beside him, Naomi winced.
He looked at her. “Talk to me.”
“I’m fine.” But her jaw was tight, and her eyes had gone distant again for just a second before she pulled them back. “Just drive. Please.”
He drove.
But he watched her from the corner of his eye.
She wasn’t fine.
But she was holding together. Right now, that had to be enough.
In his head, a clock was ticking. Every second that passed was another second Grace wasn’t with them. That she was in danger.
They hit a straight stretch of road, and Micah tightened his hands on the wheel as he jammed the pedal to the floorboard.
“We’re going to get her back.” This time, he didn’t say the words to reassure Naomi.
He said them as a promise to himself.
