They gained on the truck, and Ian read the plate out loud.
“Do you want me to go after the truck or stop at the coordinates?” she asked.
“No way to know if Malone was in the vehicle. We have to stop.”
She hit the brakes, and the rear skidded before she regained control.
Ian looked out the window as they approached the location. “Tire marks. Skids. Heading for the embankment.”
The car rocked to a stop. Ian shoved his door open and charged for the edge of the road. He spotted the cherry red Mustang wrapped around a tree. He dropped to the ground and slid down the hill, leaves and needles scattering around him. At the bottom, he raced for the car. He heard Londyn at the road calling for a patrol deputy as he searched the car. It was in rough shape. Nearly as bad as her parents’ car had been. The driver’s door stood open.
Malone wasn’t there.
“Malone!” he shouted. “Malone!”
No response.
She must have gone in that truck. Or she was walking the other direction from where they arrived.
He dialed her phone. It rang from the floor of the car.
No, oh, no.They could no longer track her via GPS. They had to follow that truck, and fast. It was their only hope of finding her.
21
Every part of Malone’s body ached, her head most of all, and drowsiness kept dragging her toward sleep. She must’ve suffered a concussion when she hit her head. Nothing else could explain her nearly falling asleep after Gilbert Flagg Sr. dragged her up the hill and shoved her in his truck. He tied her wrists with rope and fastened them to the door. The truck smelled strongly of musk cologne, and that didn’t help with the nausea that was building in her gut.
He flicked the wipers on a higher speed, and they scraped across the window with irritating screeches, hurting her head more. The tires whisked over the wet pavement, and miles flew past under his maniac driving. Maybe he had a death wish, but she didn’t.
The tires slid on the curve, the truck fishtailing. Adrenaline pumped through her body waking her up.
“You won’t get away with this, you know.” She glared at him. “I left the information for Sarah Anderson’s murder right where you hid it all those years, and Detective Blair was on his way over to see me.”
“Already taken care of.”
“You were in my house?”
“Right after you left. Been watching the place for days to see if you started ripping apart that wall.” He looked at her. “You really should get some drapes or blinds. Nice try with the detective thing, but if he was on his way over, you wouldn’t have left.”
He had a point, but she wouldn’t acknowledge it. “I can understand you hiding the souvenirs of your heinous crime in a wall when you lived there, but why not take things with you when you left?”
A smug grin lit his face. “The thrill of it, baby. I’ve left prizes in five other houses, just waiting for discovery. But it couldn’t be pinned back to me. We had construction workers at every house, and they could’ve hidden the items.”
Malone gaped at him. “You killed five other women?”
“You’ll make number seven,” he said matter-of-factly, as if they were talking about taking out the trash. “Of course, you’ll be a little different. I can’t leave mementos at my house now. But maybe I can put them in the new house I’m building, and it’ll be like you’re with me every day. With Karen locked up, that will be nice. I won’t be alone.”
Malone couldn’t stop herself from shuddering.
He frowned and stroked her hand. “Now, come on, honey. Don’t worry. You should be happy to be chosen as one of my girls. I’m very picky.”
His tender tone said he really believed what he was saying. He had to be insane to think that way.
It creeped her out, and she had to move on. “Why did you kill my parents?”
“They forced the issue.”
“How?”
