Eleven minutes out. Maybe ten if the road stayed clear.
His phone rang through the speakers.
Caleb again.
“Talk to me,” Wes answered.
“Still nothing from Rowan.” Caleb’s voice sounded taut. “Her phone’s not even ringing now. It goes straight to voicemail the second you dial.”
Straight to voicemail. Not unanswered. Off.
Someone had turned it off.
The cold certainty that had been building in Wes’s chest since Charlottesville settled into something harder.
“How far out are you?” he asked.
“Fifteen minutes. Maybe less.” The sound of an engine pushing fast came through beneath Caleb’s voice. “Wes—what aren’t you telling me?”
“I don’t have anything confirmed yet.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Wes watched the road ahead and made a decision. “I think someone was already at the house when she got there. I think this was planned.” He paused. “I think she went there to meet someone connected to Thayer’s sister, and whoever’s been running cleanup for Vince figured that out before she did.”
Silence on the other end.
Wes checked the mirror once. “If you somehow get there first, don’t go in without me. Wait until I’ve assessed the situation.”
“Wes—”
“Caleb.” His voice came out harder than he intended. “Give me five minutes before you do anything. That’s all I’m asking.”
A beat. “Five minutes.”
The call ended.
Remington shifted in the seat beside him, turning his head toward Wes.
Wes reached over and touched the dog’s neck. “I know, boy.”
The phone rang again.
It was Calloway this time. He’d called him a few minutes ago.
“Tell me you’ve got something,” Wes said.
“Traffic camera on Route 250 outside Charlottesville. Picked up a vehicle about ninety minutes ago—registered to a shell company out of Delaware.” Calloway’s voice had the clipped quality of someone reading while they talked. “Took me a while to trace it, but the shell company has a paper trail that leads back to Blackthorne Risk Management.”
Wes’s jaw tightened. “How many vehicles?”
“Just the one on camera. But that doesn’t mean it’s the only one. Could be others that didn’t pass a camera.”
“Direction?”
“Heading west out of Charlottesville. Toward the mountain roads.” Calloway paused. “Wes, if Blackthorne has people out there?—”
“I know what it means.”
