Blind Pursuit

43

Annie drove aimlessly for a half hour before conceding defeat. She’d lost her quarry. Gund’s van was gone.

She was certain she’d seen the Chevy swing west onto a dark side road. Yet by the time she turned the same corner a minute later, the van was lost to sight.

At first she’d thought Gund had pulled off into the desert. But the low, sparse scrub wouldn’t conceal the vehicle. And the land was flat-no hills or ridges to hide behind.

A mystery.

One thing was evident, though. Despite her precautions, Gund had realized he was being followed. And he had executed some sort of maneuver to shake off his pursuit.

His behavior was not that of an innocent person.

Besides-she thought restlessly as she guided the Miata down random roads, headlights sweeping yards of pitted asphalt-if he was innocent, if her suspicions were completely unfounded, then what was he doing out here in the gray wastes of the desert? Enjoying the scenery? In absolute darkness?

“Face reality,” she ordered herself, mildly startled to realize she’d expressed the thought aloud.

Harold Gund had kidnapped Erin. Was holding her prisoner someplace in the miles of undeveloped desert land.

If he’d paid a visit to Erin on his lunch break, which seemed likely, then he’d been able to drive from the shop to the hiding place and back in little more than an hour. That meant his hideaway probably was somewhere nearby, but where precisely, Annie couldn’t guess.

So what do I do now? she wondered bleakly as she picked up speed on a newer stretch of road, the warm night air whistling through the dashboard vents. Call Walker?

Sure, call Walker. Tell him she’d been playing Nancy Drew and was convinced her assistant at the flower shop was the kidnapper. Her evidence, stated objectively, was worthless. A bit of turquoise that could have come from anywhere. A van that dematerialized like a mirage. And as for Harold’s lie about the body shop-did she honestly think there was an employee anywhere who’d never fibbed to the boss in order to take an extended lunch break?

Walker wouldn’t listen to her. No way. Not without proof.

Well, what would constitute proof? Erin’s head on a plate? Or would Tucson P.D. insist on having the whole body, no missing parts, before opening an investigation?

“Quit it,” she whispered when she noticed that her hands had clamped on the wheel in a paralytic’s frozen clench.

This was just like her-to lose control, become hysterical, act like an idiot. Helpless Annie. Scatterbrained Annie who never could find her keys or organize her files or balance her checkbook. She’d depended on Erin to be her anchor, her rock of stability, but now…

“Now Erin’s depending on me.” Her voice was a breathless murmur, swallowed by the engine hum.

Evidence. She needed evidence. Something to change Walker’s mind, get the police involved.

Gund’s apartment.

She knew his address.

He’d lived alone ever since his wife had died. If he’d ever had a wife. If he hadn’t been lying about that, too.

And tonight he was out. Wherever he’d been headed, he was unlikely to be back for hours.

She could drive there now. Break in, search the place Break in?

“Crazy,” she said with a clipped, nervous chuckle.

But it wasn’t crazy. Just desperate. There was a difference.

She spun the wheel, executed a sharp U-turn on the empty road, and sped north, toward the distant lights of town.