The Girl With No Name

Chapter Sixty-Three

Spraying gravel from beneath her back tires, Josie flew out of the lookout, her foot pressed against the gas pedal. The winding road went on for several miles and she was confident that Rowland would still be on it. Her speedometer jumped upward and she white-knuckled the steering wheel, taking the curves as fast as she could without losing control of the vehicle. She spoke into the silence of the car. “Noah, do you have eyes on Rowland?”

“They’re following him. He’s driving erratically.”

She flew past a mile marker and read it off to him. “How close am I?”

“You should come up on them around the next bend. A half mile.”

Josie’s Escape tore around the next curve in the road, coming up fast on the unmarked car her officers were in. She slowed behind them and looked ahead. Rowland’s Mercedes-Benz jerked violently from side to side.

“What the hell is going on?” she said.

“They’re arguing,” Noah said. “Boss, Rowland lied. It’s not good. He—”

But Josie stopped listening as Rowland’s vehicle jerked once more to the left, the wheels on the passenger’s side lifting from the ground. In an instant, the small car flipped over onto its roof, crashing through the guardrail and rolling down the steep embankment, out of sight. The sound of metal crunching and glass shattering split the morning silence of the lonely road.

“Oh my God,” Josie said.

In front of her, her officers pulled over and hopped out. Josie followed suit. They ran to the edge of the road, standing amidst what was left of the guardrail. It wasn’t a sheer drop-off like Red Hawk Lookout, but it was steep, and Josie estimated the car had rolled the length of a football field. It looked tiny crumpled below them, thin wisps of smoke escaping from its mangled hood. It had, at least, landed upright, the driver’s side crushed against three tree trunks.

“Let’s go,” Josie said. “We have to get them out of there in case the car catches on fire.”

They started picking their way down toward the car. The smoke thickened as they approached. The smell of burning metal, rubber, and chemicals clung to the back of Josie’s throat. Suddenly, one of her feet slid in the grass and she fell, tumbling the rest of the way down, her body scraping over rocks, twigs, and glass from Rowland’s Mercedes-Benz. She landed a few feet from the car, her breath coming in labored gasps. From above, her officers shouted. She waved toward them to indicate she was okay and rose to her feet. Blood streamed from a gash on the back of her right hand. She swiped it on her jeans. Her whole body felt bruised and shaken, but aside from the gash she didn’t think she was injured. She moved to the car. Peter Rowland’s side was crushed against the tree trunks, so Josie tried the passenger’s side door. It opened with a groan and Kim Conway tumbled out. Her blond hair glittered with pieces of glass and thin streams of blood leaked from her scalp down her face. Josie laid her out flat on the ground and felt for a pulse. It was strong.

“Kim,” Josie said. “Can you hear me?”

Her eyes opened. She tried to take a deep breath and moaned in pain. “Stay still,” Josie told her. “Just keep still, okay? We’re getting you help.”

Kim lifted an arm toward the car. Josie had to put her ear to Kim’s lips to hear her words. “He lied.”

“I know,” Josie said.

As her officers reached the scene, Josie climbed into Rowland’s car. Glass crunched under her kneecaps as she maneuvered across the passenger’s seat. Rowland was slumped over the steering wheel, his arms slack at his sides. Josie pressed two fingers to the side of his neck. “Thank God,” she mumbled when she felt his faint pulse. She turned her head and yelled to her officers, “We need two ambulances!”

“On their way, boss,” one of them hollered back.

Josie nudged Rowland’s shoulder. “Wake up,” she said. “Mr. Rowland.”

The smoke from the hood now formed a thick, black column. Heat radiated from the front of the car. The smell was unbearable. Josie tried to unlatch his seat belt, but the mechanism was stuck. “Son of a bitch,” she said. “Mr. Rowland, I need to get you out of this car.”

No response. She pulled at his shoulders. His head lifted. Blood trickled from his ear. An ugly bruise was already darkening his temple. She turned and yelled for one of her officers. “I need a knife!”

One of them poked their heads into the car. “We don’t have one, boss,” he said.

“Then help me,” Josie yelled. “Help me get him out of here before this car goes up.”

He squeezed inside with her and together they tried to pull Rowland out of his seat. The strap that went over his chest was easy enough to extricate him from, but his lower body was stuck under the taut lap belt. Both Josie and her officer were covered in sweat and coughing. “Boss, we can’t stay in here. This car is going to explode. It’s not safe.”

Josie clutched Rowland’s shoulder. “I can’t leave him here.”

They tried pulling him again, but he was stuck. In the distance, sirens blared. “I’ll see if one of the EMTs has a knife,” her officer said, scrambling out of the car.

Josie shook Rowland. His head lolled. Lightly, she slapped his cheek. They couldn’t wait for the EMTs. There was no time. Fire engulfed the hood, leaping toward the windshield, flames licking the inside of the car where the glass had broken. “Rowland,” Josie shouted. “Where are they? Where are Luke and Victor?”

She slapped him again. His eyes opened to narrow slits. She cupped his cheeks with both hands, turning his head toward her, keeping it still. She shouted into his face. “Where are they? Where are Luke and the baby?”

His eyes glanced to the windshield. Fear enlivened them for a split second. He looked back at her. “This is your last chance,” she told him. “Do the right thing. Where are Luke and the baby?”

“P— Puh— Patio… Mo—”

Something beneath the hood of the car exploded, shooting flames and engine parts upward. Josie felt an arm circle her waist and pull her back, out of the car. Then she was being dragged back up the rocky, debris-strewn hill. She heard shouting and sirens and the roar of the fire as it engulfed Peter Rowland’s vehicle. As her body bounced along the uneven terrain, she craned her neck, twisting her body to watch as Rowland was swallowed up in the flames and smoke.