“YOU LITTLE BITCH!” JIMMY ARDMORE SCREAMED AFTER THE RETREATING vehicle as it sped off into the darkness. “You incredible bitch!”
Beyond furious and with his bare feet turning to ice on the cold, hard ground, Jimmy Ardmore limped back into the building. Twice in the process, he felt his head spinning so badly that he had to stop and grab something to steady himself—once by leaning against the doorjamb and a few steps later by grabbing on to one of the kitchen chairs.
Feeling this woozy made no sense to him. Yes, he’d had a few slugs of Jameson on the way down, but not enough to cause this. Eventually he made it back to the bed and sank onto it long enough to retrieve his clothing. When he went to pull his pants on, Jimmy discovered that his little blue pills were still working overtime, even though Latisha, damn her anyway, was well out of reach!
Not for long, he vowed. Latisha was running, but she wouldn’t get far, and once he caught up with her . . .
Yes, she had taken his truck, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t follow her. He still had the rattletrap 1998 Subaru Forester that Arthur had bought new and treated as his forever car. It was safely locked away in the garage right next door. Even with the power of attorney, selling and changing the title on the old heap over to someone else might have raised a few eyebrows and elicited some uncomfortable questions. So Jimmy still had the little green Forester. He started it occasionally and drove it some to keep it in good working order. So if Latisha was under the impression that she had left him stranded and without a useable vehicle, she was one hundred percent wrong.
It wasn’t until he had his pants on and was looking for his boots that he discovered she’d taken those, too. Since he and his half brother had worn almost the same size shoes, that was a fixable problem. Padlocking the door behind him, he raced outside and hobbled to the garage next door, where he used a touchpad to open the rolling shutters. The Subaru was parked inside, surrounded by a dozen five-gallon fully loaded gas cans. The gas cans were there for a reason. When he was ready to leave Calhoun, there wouldn’t be any evidence left behind.
He got in, started the car, and drove as far as the tin-roofed shack that had once been Arthur’s pride and joy. The clamps on the girls’ ankles had all been set to open with one key, and the padlocks opened with another. He opened the padlock on Arthur’s front door and charged inside. Since he’d left Arthur’s belongings just as they were, he had no problem locating replacement shoes. He dragged a pair of worn Johnston & Murphys—relics from Arthur’s salad days—out of the closet. As Jimmy bent over to tie the laces, he was beset by yet another bout of dizziness. What the hell was the matter with him?
At the last minute, on his way out the door, Jimmy went back and grabbed Arthur’s .22 revolver off the bedside table. Although Latisha wasn’t in very good shape, she was a lot younger than Jimmy. In a pinch she might be able to outrun him, but she sure as hell wouldn’t be able to outrun a bullet. Not that he wanted to shoot her. He had something better in mind.
At 4:45 A.M. on Sunday, a mere ten minutes after Latisha had raced out of Calhoun in his stolen pickup, Jimmy Ardmore set off after her. He stopped twenty or so yards short of the intersection where Starvation Canyon Road intersects with Skeleton Canyon Road. Exiting the Subaru, he walked forward along the shoulder, looking for tire tracks.
Jimmy had paid good money for the full set of oversize Nitto Terra Grapplers on the RAM. Yes, this was the desert, and relatively high desert as well. It seldom snowed, but when it rained, a thin layer of slime often coated dirt roadways, leaving the surfaces almost as slick as if they were covered with ice. Fortunately for him, his truck’s all-weather tires left behind a distinct, telltale pattern.
Months earlier, when he drove Latisha to Calhoun from Road Forks, he’d seen to it that she was completely out of it. He doubted she had any idea about where she was, much less where she would need to go to find help or how to get there.
Jimmy couldn’t remember where he’d heard this bit of trivia, but he was pretty sure someone had once told him that when people in unfamiliar terrain are frightened and trying to flee some perceived danger, they generally tend to turn to the right rather than the left.
Jimmy knew that a right-hand turn onto Skeleton Canyon would take Latisha back to Highway 80 within a relatively short period of time. Once she hit the paved road, she’d have a lot more options and a lot more opportunities to find help. If she turned to the left, however, she’d find herself in territory that was little more than empty wilderness. That would leave her almost entirely on her own. The roadway between Calhoun and Douglas made for especially rough going. An experienced driver might be able to make the trip in under two hours. An inexperienced driver would take much longer.
When Jimmy reached the intersection and saw the distinctive tire tracks make a wildly unsteady turn to the left, he couldn’t help smiling. The arc of the turn said it all. Obviously Latisha wasn’t a very good driver. In addition, she had no way of knowing that Jimmy, with another vehicle at his disposal, was already hot on her trail.
Jogging back to the Forester, Jimmy hopped in and hit the gas. The turn he made onto Skeleton Canyon wasn’t much better than Latisha’s had been. Her wobbling had been due to her being an inexperienced driver. His had everything to do with speed.
Jimmy Ardmore was coming for her, and she damned well wasn’t getting away.