Chapter 64

 

Pen hit the gas pedal, roaring past three large trucks and a U-Haul trailer pulled by a small pickup, heavily loaded and driven by a small white-haired man. The steep grade as the road climbed toward three-thousand feet had slowed most of the traffic. Apparently, Derek Woo had spotted the slowdown and made his move quickly to avoid being tied up with them.

Pen saw a black dot in the right-hand lane more than two miles ahead, then lost him again as the road curved. Her Mercedes swung into the curve and hugged the road beautifully as she passed more vehicles. The Lexus stayed well ahead of her, but the good news was there were no exits along this stretch. She would have ample time to catch up once they bypassed the slower traffic.

She tried to imagine a map in her head. If Gracie and Mary had, indeed, spotted Clint in Camp Verde, it could mean he had another destination in mind. It made sense. If he felt law enforcement was after him, he would want to stay away from crowds. But, she reasoned, he obviously felt secure enough to have come back to his home country, his home state. What was the man thinking?

Ahead, the black car was in a clear stretch and Pen tucked in ahead of the freight truck she had just passed. An aggressive driver in a dark gray pickup truck with huge tires and darkened windows roared by her, obscuring her view of Woo’s vehicle once again. It became a game—her sleek little Mercedes would gain a space, the gray truck would block her. She might worry it was a government agency that somehow knew she was on this quest and was determined to stop her, but the truck’s bed was filled with off-road bikes and the driver looked about nineteen.

“I don’t have time for these games,” she said, flooring her accelerator and putting more than a mile between them before she slowed.

The gray truck seemed determined to even the score, but the sight of a state trooper’s car in a small pullout in the median changed his mind. Pen held her breath a moment, praying the officer didn’t have his eye on her own movements. She certainly didn’t have fifteen minutes to waste with a traffic stop. The cruiser didn’t move.

Pen was once again within a mile of Woo’s car when her phone rang.

“It is Clint,” Gracie said breathlessly. “Mary spotted him coming out of the Shell station. He’s dressed like he’s going hiking and he’s getting into a white Toyota sedan. I wish we had binoculars—we’d try to get the plate number.”

“Where are you?”

“Far side of the parking lot from him. I’ll follow. Here, Mary, take the phone.”

Pen heard a shuffle as the women switched things around.

“He’s pulling out of the parking lot. I can’t read the number on his license but it’s not Arizona. It’s a New Mexico plate—that bright yellow really stands out.”

Which made sense with what they knew of Clint’s moves. He’d flown to Albuquerque and most likely rented a car with his new identification.

“We’re following him through town. Um, wait. Looks like we’re stopping for McDonald’s.” A little muffled movement. “Yeah, I could eat. Pen, we’re getting in line behind him.”

“It’s a great ploy for following him, but you’ll lose him when he leaves the line and you wait for food. Don’t do it.”

Mary relayed the order, sounding slightly chastened. Pen, meanwhile, saw Derek Woo’s car edge toward an exit ramp. The sign said Camp Verde.

“Looks like we’re getting close to you,” Pen told them. “In case we lose phone signal out here, stick with Clint, no matter what.”

Pen hung behind Woo, who breezed past the businesses near the interchange and took a road that meandered south and eastward.

Mary’s voice came through, breaking up slightly over the sketchy connection. “Blodgett Basin,” she said. “Looks like a campground or hiking area. Clint’s driving in.”

Pen thought back to her meeting with Dave Fresnell. The U.S. Attorney would not be happy that she and her friends had gone against his orders. But they were so close—unless Clint and Woo got away completely, Pen knew Fresnell would discover what she’d done. Best to ’fess up now. Plus, even with three women against the two men, she knew better than to try to apprehend the crooks on their own.

She looked at her phone. Three bars and she was heading into mountainous terrain. She brought up Fresnell’s number and dialed.

“Clint Holbrook and his attorney are heading toward a campground called Blodgett Basin,” she blurted when he picked up.

“And how do you know this, Mrs. Fitzpatrick?”

“I, um …”

“Are you and your friends following him?”

“Well, yes.” There was no way, really, to deny it.

“Dammit, dammit.”

She could practically hear him pacing the floor in his office.

“Look, I’m issuing an order to dispatch State Troopers out to the location. Can you please, please stay out of the way and let them apprehend the suspects. I repeat, do not try to handle this yourselves.”

Pen pictured the man, practically irate, pressing charges for their meddling in a federal case. Worse yet, on a personal level, word of this little incident getting back to Benton. He had trusted her to turn it over to authorities and let them handle everything.

“Yes, sir,” she said to Fresnell.

The connection was lost when she went around a bend in the road. Ahead, she saw Derek Woo’s car crest the next hill. Mr. Fresnell, with his orders and forms and such, could take forever to respond and the situation was happening here and now.

“Screw that, as the youngsters would say.” She pushed her car to its limits and closed the gap with the Lexus.

They came out of the hilly country onto a flatter section and Woo’s car slowed. Pen eased off the gas, dropped slightly behind, saw a sign for Blodgett Basin. When Woo turned at the visitor center, it came as no surprise. A quick glance told her the parking lot was fairly full so she risked following, hoping to blend in.

Blending in, she quickly realized, would not happen here. Wearing the suit and heels she’d chosen for her visit to Fresnell’s office was, at this point, proving to be like wearing a beacon to a star-gazing party. She stood out among the visitors wearing shorts and tank tops, her Gucci bag in sharp contrast with their backpacks and water bottle holders.

There was nothing to be done but play the role her costume dictated. She picked up a folder of manuscript pages she’d meant to leave at home and adopted an officious stride as she headed toward the campground’s business office.