Page 118 of Rangers Unexpected Return

“He’s processing the tavern.”

“Tell him we have the truck.”

Sheriff Tate sent one deputy back to block the road while the other called for Will and the county tow unit.

I aimed my flashlight into the truck.

The steering column wasn’t damaged. The driver had used a key. There was no visible registration in the glove compartment.

“Stolen?” Mace asked.

“Probably.”

Sheriff Tate leaned closer to the muddy license plate.

“I may be able to read part of it.”

“Photograph it before you clean anything,” I said.

He gave me a look.

A phone rang inside the truck.

All three of us froze.

The sound came from beneath the driver’s seat.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Sheriff Tate started to reach for it.

I caught his wrist.

“Photograph first.”

“You’re enjoying this.”

“A little.”

I used my phone to photograph the position of the prepaid cell phone beneath the seat. Then I placed it inside an evidence bag and answered without moving it closer to my face.

“Hello?”

No one spoke.

I listened.

At first, I heard nothing.

Then water.

Not the gentle movement of the river beside us.

Something louder.