The man pulled back onto the road. I slipped in behind him, and the chase was on.
“Did you hear all that?” I asked.
“Every word,” James said. “We recorded it.”
“You wouldn’t happen to recognize his voice?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I have his license plate number.”
“Good work. Give it to me.”
I gave it to him.
“I’ll pass it along,” he said. “See what we can find out.”
“How’s Grace? What happened?”
“She’s fine, for now. I’ll fill you in later. We’re still several minutes away. Where are you right now?”
“On the road again. He’s in front of me.”
“Be careful, Sloane.”
“Always.”
No sooner had the word left my lips than the man made a sharp, right-hand turn, his car diving into what appeared to be nothing but a grove of trees. I jerked the car around and circled back, entering where he had. In front of me was a dirt road. I followed it for a couple of minutes, but there was no sign of his vehicle anywhere. A minute later, the road came to an abrupt end.
I got out of the car, scanning the area, but saw nothing.
I was empty-handed.
He was in the wind.