Whirlwind

65

Near Lubbock, Texas

“It’s not Anton!” Kate said.

“What?”

In the chaos following the attack on her, Kate had forgotten that she’d jotted notes of the dying man’s last words on the back of a business card she’d jammed into her pocket. Studying the card, she’d deciphered her notations as “A-F ton,” not “A-N ton”-and the map confirmed it.

Blake and Jenna turned to look at Kate in the backseat of the SUV. They were on U.S. Route 84 coming up on Post about forty miles south of Lubbock when Kate circled a spot on her map.

“It’s not Anton. It’s Afton! Take the exit here at Post for Afton!”

“How did it become Afton?” Blake entered the town’s name into the GPS. “Are you sure?”

“I took notes, just a couple of the wounded man’s last words.” She held up the business card. “I completely forgot when the suspects hit me. I was wrong about Anton. The wounded man was trying to tell me that it was Vickson’s Farm in Afton!”

“Look.” Blake was tapping the GPS. “There’s Afton, there’s East Afton, there’s Anton, there’s Anson, there’s Arden! Christ, how can we know now where to go?”

“Blake.” Jenna touched his shoulder and looked at Kate. “How do you know it’s Afton?”

Kate shut her eyes. “I’ve replayed it a million times, and when I saw Afton on the map it connected with me. I can’t explain it, Jenna, it just did. That’s what he was trying to tell me. It’s Vickson’s Farm in Afton. You’ve got to trust me.”

“All right,” Jenna said. “Take the exit, Blake.”

He shook his head as he consulted the GPS.

“It’s at least sixty miles each way,” he said. “We’re going to lose two hours if it turns out to be Anton all along.”

“Do it, Blake,” Jenna said.

“Why?”

“Because I trust her. Kate found Caleb’s blanket…she found the house in Fate. She got us this close. I trust her.” Jenna cupped her hand to his face. “Do it, please, Blake.”

They left U.S. Route 84 at Post for Afton.

It rained off and on as they took a number of connecting state county roads with Blake driving as fast as he could wherever he could.

As they traveled farther, the area became sparse; the land was flecked with tired-looking farms and ranches. They followed the weatherworn signs to Afton, which was little more than a collection of a few lonely homes, an old school and a store: L. T. Smith’s Store and Gas.

“Stop at the store,” Kate said. “We’ll ask for directions to Vickson’s Farm.”

Blake parked in front by the gas pumps. Gusting winds blew dust down the deserted street and a heavy blanket of clouds churned above them when they entered the store.

No one seemed to be around.

A radio somewhere was broadcasting storm updates.

“Hello,” Kate called.

A man in his sixties came from the back with a cat in his arms.

“Hello, folks,” he said. “I’m sorry, I’m closing up now because of the coming storm. They say there could be a bad twister headed our way.”

“We’re hoping you can give us some directions?” Kate said.

“For shelter? Because you’re welcome to come to my storm cellar. It’s in the backyard of my house across the street. Buttons and I won’t mind.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind,” Kate said. “But we’re looking for a Vickson’s Farm, or Vickson’s Ranch? Would that be near here?”

The man stroked the cat and looked at the ceiling for an answer then shook his head. “No, there’s no place called Vickson’s. I’m sorry.”

Blake shook his head and cursed under his breath. His keys jingled. “Let’s get going to Lubbock,” he said.

At a loss, Kate searched the store. “Okay, thank you,” she said, joining Blake and Jenna at the door.

“There’s Dixon’s, though,” the older man said.

Everyone froze at the door and turned back.

“Dixon’s Ranch,” he said. “It’s an old abandoned place about a mile down that way,” he nodded.

“Thank you!” Kate said.

“Funny,” the man said, “but not too long ago a young woman was in here, and I think she was headed that way, too.”

Kate exchanged excited looks with Blake and Jenna. “Did she have a baby with her?”

“No, but there was red pickup truck out front and I think people inside it waiting for her.”

“Was there a baby in the truck?”

“I couldn’t see.”

“A man with tattoos? I’m sorry, but this is important.”

“Goodness, no, I couldn’t see.”

Jenna pulled an FBI poster from her bag, showing sketches of a woman with short spiky red hair and with shorter dark hair and dark-framed glasses.

“Did she look like this?”

“Oh my, are you with the FBI?”

“No,” Kate said. “Please help us. Did she look like this?”

The man shook his head. “She had long blond hair.”

“Long blond hair?”

“Yes.”

“It’s her,” Kate said to Blake and Jenna. “It has to be her.”