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NATE WAS HALFWAY TO his home when the old red truck came bulleting around the curve behind him. He swerved, but the truck scraped his side. He yanked the wheel to the right, going off the shoulder.
The truck sped up.
And kept going. Nate pulled over and grabbed his phone. He hadn’t been able to see the people inside, but he’d gotten enough of the license plate to funnel that information to his brother.
Tomorrow. Tonight he had important, life-altering plans, and he wasn’t about to be derailed because of some scraped paint.
Joel answered his call on the first ring. “Nate? Where the hell are you?”
“Driving out to my place. Some asshole just ran me off the road.”
“Listen. Clive Gunderson has Perci. He took her from the diner parking lot twenty minutes ago. I need you to get here fast. He’s in a red truck, eighties model. Chevy. License...”
Nate interrupted, then rattled off the half of the license plate he’d just gotten, lead filling his gut. “He just ran me off the road. He has her. Just past mile marker forty-eight.”
“Don’t do anything stupid! We’re on our way. I have two choppers about to take off now.”
He reached into the glovebox and pulled out the .38 he’d inherited from his father. “Get your ass in one. I’m going after her.”
Nate threw his phone on the seat and jerked the gearshift to drive.
He floored the pedal and took off after that damned red truck.