Finders/Keepers

Nine

“Babysitting never used to be this hard,” Dwight said. “You know how many hiccups we’ve had since we started this gig?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?” Allie asked.

“One. A big ol’ once-o. You wanna guess when that was?”

She didn’t bother replying this time and instead unzipped her jacket halfway down to let the cool air in. It felt good to be outside again, maybe because she had spent too much of the day locked inside a car with two men she wanted to kill so badly.

“Tonight,” Dwight said, and smiled at her, though there was little charm in it. “I told him we should have gone with someone else — maybe even skip the mother hen this time — but he insisted Juliet’s recommendation could be trusted. It’s a weakness of his; Reese can sometimes be too loyal for his own good.”

“And here I thought loyalty was a good thing.”

“Not in this business, Alice in Wonderland. In this business, loyalty gets you screwed in the front and back.”

“Sounds painful.”

“It is, believe me.”

“Are we talking from personal experience here?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“What exactly have I done that makes you think I shouldn’t be trusted, Dwight?”

“Besides the fact I’ve never seen or heard of you until you slipped into our car?”

“Besides that.”

He shrugged. “I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”

“Are you worried I’m going to try to take Reese from you?”

“I don’t fuck the guy, I just work with him.”

“Hey, what the two of you do between the sheets is your business.”

He grunted but otherwise didn’t take her bait.

She kept her eyes fixed forward, even though it was difficult to ignore his presence leaning against the side of the car next to her. There were just the two of them at the moment, and she ran the odds through her head for the fifth time in as many minutes: If she went for the holstered gun behind her back right now, could he react in time? At this range, it would take a miracle to miss Dwight’s big head.

Bright headlights washed over her as another semitrailer pulled into the truck stop and went in search of an empty spot among the well-lit gas pumps. They were far enough from the bright lights at the center of the wide-open parking lot that they could have passed for Peeping Toms watching the rest of the world go about their business.

It wasn’t hard to pick out Reese as he emerged from the main store next to the pumps. He was the only tall man in a black suit and black tie, and he stood out among the truckers in jeans and weary travelers stopping for some gas and food. He dodged the fleet of parked vehicles and jogged his way back to them, slipping in and out of the bright pools of light. New cars were entering the lot, while others left, every other minute.

The black and red semi, with Sara and the others inside, was parked thirty yards to her right, nestled among truckers who had decided to shut down for the night. The vehicle and its contents were so close and yet so far away.

You should have saved them back at the drive-in movie. You blew your best chance.

Maybe she had, and maybe she didn’t. She was only sure of one thing at the moment: She was still alive, and so were Sara and the other girls, and her chances of locating Faith remained in play. It was still a long shot — when had it been anything but? — but a long shot was better than no shot at all.

Yeah, keep telling yourself that.

Reese finally reached them, swinging a plastic bag in one hand. He was breathing noticeably hard from the long jog across the parking lot.

“Listen to you, all out of breath,” Dwight said.

“We should have parked closer,” Reese said.

“No, you just need to work out more.”

“That too.”

Reese dug out a wrapped sandwich and bottle of water and handed them to Allie. He took out another sandwich and bottle for himself before surrendering the rest of the bag to Dwight, who put it on the hood and fished out a large can of Red Bull.

She took one bite from her sandwich, decided she liked the chicken salad, and took another one. She was swallowing when a station wagon entered the lot, and as it drove past her, Allie saw a bored teenage girl in the back staring out at her, and suddenly the sandwich didn’t taste nearly as good anymore. She forced the piece she’d already bitten off down anyway, but she might as well be swallowing rocks.

“Not good?” Reese asked.

He had leaned against the car next to her, taking Dwight’s place after the other man had wandered off to sit on the hood, facing away from them.

“It wouldn’t have been my first choice,” she said.

“Should have come inside with me and picked for yourself.”

“What else is on the menu?”

“Too many to list. It’s not a bad setup, actually. The diner next door is packed.”

It’s not the food, it’s the company, she thought, but said, “Chicken salad’s fine,” and took a third bite and forced it down, too.

Reese unwrapped his Sloppy Joe and took a big chomp, then smiled blissfully. “Good stuff. I don’t think I’ve found it anywhere outside the States. Could be wrong on that front, of course. It’s not like I’ve been everywhere.”

“I don’t know how you can eat that slop,” Dwight said. He was sniffing the air, not bothering to turn around.

“What’s more American than Sloppy Joes?” Reese said as a chunk of ground beef and strips of onion fell from the buns — not that he seemed to notice. Instead, he took another huge bite.

“What about the girls?” she asked. “You wanted me to check on them earlier.”

“Not here,” Reese said. He wiped at his mouth with a napkin. “Too many people. Too many cameras. You can check on them when we’re swapping vehicles later.”

“Which is when, exactly?”

“We’re in uncharted territory, which unfortunately means things will happen when they happen.” He took out his cell phone and placed it on the hood between them. “Until then, we’ll push on ahead to the alternate location. If we’re fortunate, the new Vanguard will beat us there with new vehicles.”

“But they’re late.”

“They’re late,” he nodded. “They shouldn’t be, but they are.”

“This night just keeps getting better and better,” Dwight said from the front of the car.

“We’ve dealt with problems before.”

“Not shoot-two-troopers-dead problems.”

“Yes, well, what’s that you like to say? If it were easy, then anyone could do it.”

Dwight harrumphed but didn’t say anything.

Reese went back to finishing his Sloppy Joe and wiping his fingers on the napkin while she did her best to ignore the aroma of beef and onions coming from him. Dwight seemed content to drink his Red Bull and stare off at nothing in particular on the other side of the car. Allie was grateful for the silence, with the only noises coming from the vehicles entering and leaving the truck stop around them—

A buzzing sound coming from the vibrating phone on the hood of the car next to her ruined all of that.

Reese picked up the phone and answered it without bothering to look at the number. “Yes.” He listened for a moment, then said, “That’s unfortunate.”

Dwight hopped off the hood and looked expectantly over, but didn’t interrupt.

“All right. Keep me updated,” Reese said, and put the phone back into his jacket pocket.

“Let me guess: More hiccups?” Dwight asked.

“It would appear so,” Reese said. He opened his bottle of water and took a slow, measured drink. She couldn’t tell if he was doing it on purpose while he searched for the right words to explain the call or if the man really was just that unflappable despite what had just been, apparently, more bad news.

“Well, what the fuck did they say?” Dwight said impatiently. “Are they coming or not?”

“They are…eventually,” Reese said. “The state police started putting up road blocks along the interstate. They’re searching for Vanguard’s van and, apparently, also focusing on semitrailers now. It looks like they’re going to be delayed for an unspecified amount of time.”

Lucy.

It had to be. Somehow, Lucy had convinced someone in the state police to add hauling trucks to their searches. The only way she would be able to achieve that was…

Hank Pritchard.

What other explanation was there? Who else could get law enforcement to expand their search? Someone had to have informed them, and there were only two people who knew — she and Lucy. Allie didn’t think the teenager had a chance in hell of convincing the authorities, especially over the phone. But someone like Pritchard, who had a history with them…

It had been a long shot (So what else is new today?) when she had quickly scribbled the number onto an order slip and sneaked it into the retired statey’s pocket while she was searching him for a cell phone. But she’d be damned if it hadn’t paid off. Hank Pritchard wasn’t just an ex-trooper; he had a long and distinguished career until his retirement six years ago. Even so, she hadn’t counted on anything coming from it and had all but assumed there was an injured old man out there somewhere trying to figure out why someone had slipped a phone number into his pocket.

So what else were Hank and Lucy doing right now? Even more importantly, how was she going to use all of this to her advantage?

Allie sneaked a look at the red and black semitrailer partially hidden in shadows next to them. It hadn’t moved since the last time she looked, and it wouldn’t until Reese made a decision about how to proceed.

Hold on, Sara. Hold on just a little longer…

“When it rains shit, it pours poop,” Dwight was saying.

“Colorful,” Reese said. He crumpled up his sandwich wrapper and flicked it into the bag sitting on the hood behind him.

Jesus Christ, he’s calm.

“So I guess this means the authorities know what we have in there,” Dwight said, jerking his head at the semi.

“That seems likely.”

“That means it won’t be long before they know, too.”

“Again, very likely, yes.”

Allie didn’t have to ask who “they” were. Dwight and Reese were talking about their employers. The men behind all of this. The men who would have the information she needed to find Faith. At least, that was her hope, because if there wasn’t, then it would mean all of this would be for nothing.

Well, that’s not entirely true.

She looked over at the semi and tried to imagine Sara and the twenty-two others in there, huddled in the darkness, already hungry after their last (and only) meal earlier today. She glanced down at the half-eaten sandwich in her hand and wanted to vomit it all back up.

What to do, what to do?

Sara and the others were here, right now. Meanwhile, Faith might be at the other side of this trip.

Might. Might.

She had promised the girl’s mother. She had given her word.

But one was here, and one was (maybe) out there, somewhere. No, that wasn’t true. It wasn’t one that was here, it was twenty-three lost, stolen souls.

You know what you have to do, don’t you?

So do it.

No more excuses. No more excuses…

“Gonna get real tricky from here on out,” Dwight was saying, his voice bringing her back to the shadowy edge of the truck stop parking lot. “Not that it wasn’t real tricky already, mind you, but it just got much, much trickier.”

“We can handle it,” Reese said.

“Not the point.”

“What is the point?”

“The point is, this was supposed to be an easy gig. In and out. Collect money at the end of the rainbow. Head to Vegas. Get a high-priced escort and a suite, and if all goes well, blow the whole thing at the tables. You know, the usual.”

Reese smiled. “That’s not my usual.”

“I mean the usual for someone who knows how to have a good time. You were automatically exempted.”

“Good to know.” He looked over at her. “You’re being very quiet, Alice.”

“I have to go to the ladies’ room,” Allie said.

Dwight chuckled. “Sounds like one of your plans, Reese. Full of piss and shit.”

Reese ignored his partner and said to her, “So go.”

She looked over at Dwight, expecting him to protest, but he only shrugged back at her. “What, you want me to hold your hand while you do your business?”

“If you insist.”

“Ask nicely, and I might think about it.”

“Maybe next time,” she said, and pushed off the car and began walking away.

“Promises, promises,” Dwight said after her.

She could feel eyes on her — maybe Reese’s, maybe Dwight’s, maybe both of them. She kept moving, forcing her legs to stride at a normal pace — one after another after another. Every part of her being wanted to pick up her speed; after that, it wouldn’t be difficult to transition into a jog before finally slipping into a fast run toward the bright lights.

“Alice,” Reese called from behind her.

She stopped and looked back at him.

“Grab me an extra bottle of water, would you?” he said.

“Anything else, master?”

He smiled. “No, that’ll do for now. Thanks much.”

“What about you?” she asked Dwight.

“Another Red Bull wouldn’t hurt,” Dwight said.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

She turned around and resumed walking toward the lights.

Keep walking, girl. That’s it. You’re doing fine. Now just pretend like your insides aren’t so twisted into knots that you can barely breathe and you’re either about to save twenty-three little girls or get them all killed, along with yourself in the process.

Yeah, no pressure.