They bolted out the door and down the stairs, trying to see where the sedan had gone.
Only Aurora waited, calling out, “I'll stay here . . . in case someone calls or . . .”
Looking back, Cage watched her shrug and heard what she didn’t say, In case Sarah comes home.
Malcolm looked like he would have turned back to give her a quick peck on the mouth, but there wasn't time. Joule was already at the bottom of the stairs; Cage lingered at the back of the little brigade.
Joule was clicking the button on her keys as he heard the telltale sound of it unlocking. Then she was sliding in behind the wheel and pulling out. He barely made it into the back passenger seat, his foot leaving the gravel of the parking lot even as the wheels rolled beneath him. Cage tugged the still-open door, holding on against the forces of her turn as he finally managed to pull it shut.
“Slow down!” he cautioned her. “If he realizes we're following him, we're in trouble.”
“It's worse than that,” she said her hand clenched on the wheel as she kept the car straight on the narrow road. “If this isn't one-oh-four, then he’s probably watching from his window. He saw us peel out after someone else.”
She let the idea hang as Cage swore a blue streak in his own head. He hadn't counted on that possibility. They should have stayed and waited. If this was him, they could have caught him when he came home, seen his license plate, maybe his face again.
His brain churned with possibilities. They could talk to the building manager, maybe cajole some names of people in the rental units. They should definitely figure out how to do a reverse search on a license plate.
But all those ideas were moot. They were following the sedan at what he hoped was a reasonable pace. As always, when he was a passenger, he was simultaneously convinced that he was going to die, and that Joule was going too slow.
The car got further and further in front of them. It had once been white, but time and dust had mottled the color until it almost disappeared into the desert road. Only the chrome of the bumpers and the black of the tires kept them paced behind it.
“Stay closer,” Malcolm said.
“I'm trying not to let him know we're following him,” Joule replied softly, as though the man might hear them from the car in front. Her knuckles were still white. Had she even put her seatbelt on?
Cage looked over and saw that, of course, she had. She’d probably done it from rote habit. Same as him.
Up ahead, the car took a turn onto a road he couldn’t see. It looked as though it had just turned right into the scrub brush and decided to drive that way. But his barely fourteen hours in town had told him there were roads like that here . . . or paths . . . or even just ruts.
Cage wished he had binoculars, so he could see who the driver was, see if anyone else was in the car with him.
Had anyone else been in the apartment?
The man had clearly known Sarah, but maybe other people lived there and knew her, too.
Though there were trees in the area that grew almost the height of a one-story building, most of what was out here was low, scraggly brush. It covered the ground but lacked the bushy greenery he was used to from home. There were no hedges a person could hide behind. Even from a distance, they would likely be seen. The better bet was to stay still, rather than to crouch behind something. Cage tucked the thought away for later.
He watched up ahead, making more mental notes. The car was from the eighties or even seventies, with its rounded edges and silver trim. Maybe an old Chevy Malibu or such. It was dirty enough now that it threatened to disappear into the landscape.
He'd once driven a blue grey car that, in the evening, he couldn't distinguish the hood from the road in front of him. Now he saw the miracle of camouflage ahead of him and he had to wonder if it had been done on purpose.
Were they even chasing the right person? Though the man knew Sarah, he hadn't left immediately after Cage and Joule had shown up at his door. He’d waited a good hour or so. Likely, wherever he was going right now, it didn’t have anything to do with them or Sarah.
“I'm going to try to get close enough to see his license plate,” Joule announced.
Luckily, she had excellent vision, and it wouldn't have to be too close. Then she asked back over her shoulder. “Can you set up a hotspot out here?”
“Good thought.” Cage pulled out his tech and struggled a bit for the connection as they slowly gained ground on the car in front of them. No one else was out here, they were obvious in the landscape and likely obviously trailing him.
Joule was having the same thoughts . . . “I think once we get the plate, we should take a turn and let him go, pretend that we're not actually following him.”
“Really? Just the plate?” Malcolm asked. He could have taken over, but Cage was glad he was trying to be part of the team, understanding that it wasn’t his car being driven and his car someone might target if they’d followed the wrong kind of person—even if it was his daughter that was missing.
“The license plate should give us a lot of information,” Cage assured him. “And if he knows he's being followed, I don't think he's going to take us to the right place, anyway.”
“We've got a general direction.” Joule added, though she was leaning forward, and rattled off the first three letters.
She squinted. “I can’t tell if the next one is an eight or a B.”
It was clear Malcolm didn't like the plan, but he stayed quiet, leaned forward like it might get him farther down the road, one hand braced on the dash as if ready for impact.
For a moment, Cage thought he couldn't imagine what it must be like to have his child go missing. But then he realized to a certain extent, he absolutely could. Not a child but a parent. He thought of the ID that he still carried for his dad. About the death certificate they'd finally gotten, and the small ember of hope that burned in him. He knew it burned in Joule, too, that they might one day find their father alive.
If anyone could survive, Nathaniel Mazur was at the top of the list. But if anyone was ever going to voluntarily leave their children behind, Nathaniel Mazur was at the bottom of that list. That was one of the things that convinced Cage his father was dead.
It was that same reasoning that convinced him now that Sarah had not left of her own accord.
He knew her well enough to believe that she would not do this—not even to her roommates, let alone them or her parents. He searched for information frantically. They had to find Sarah.
“The first three spaces on a Texas plate are letters,” he announced to the front seat. “The last four are numbers.”
“Then it’s an eight,” Joule declared before rattling off the string of four numbers.
He typed them onto a blank note in his phone just to hold onto them until he could get some information. Even with the hotspot, connection out here seemed sketchy. Things loaded slower and slower the farther they got from the very tiny town of El Indio.
Joule took the next left turn, heading away from the car they had been tailing and hopefully convincing the driver that they had not been followed.
“Are we headed toward the worksite?” he asked her. They hadn't been initially, but if they were close enough, they could just head over and finally talk to Dr. Murasawa.
They’d planned on checking in that morning but had messaged her when they decided to stay at the apartment.
“I don’t know. Let’s get farther away, somewhere with a real road, then we can check.” Her fists still clenched the wheel fiercely, the driving bumpy on the non-road.
Next to her, Mr. Walker finally leaned back in his seat, the lead they’d followed played out for now.
Cage continued to check what he could. Though the internet was sketchy, it slowly pulled up information. He managed to find a site that offered him the make and model of the car. “It’s a Chevy Laguna.”
They didn’t respond from the front seat. But what he was seeing meant the plate matched the car. So, it probably wasn’t stolen.
From there he began searching furiously, trying to figure out who it was registered to as his fingers mistyped and jolted around until Joule managed to get them back onto a real road.
This still wasn’t paved, but at least was hard packed which made it sturdier. They passed three low, one-story houses, two with metal roofs, one caved in and appearing unlivable, despite the car parked out front.
“Anything about the owner?” Joule asked.
“Not yet.”
But then he got an idea.