“What the fuck is this?” one of them asked. “I don’t see anybody.”
They each took up stations around the can and began tossing out trash, spreading refuse on the ground as they frantically searched for the piece of jewelry that had led them to this spot.
“Where’s the damn locket?” one of them asked.
“Don’t see it. It must just be the frigging tracker in here, and we probably already tossed it out.”
While they were busy, Zane began moving, staying low as he inched his way to the far side of their vehicle. He kept checking his progress, making sure that the guys were still searching. Finally he reached the car. With the army knife Francesca had returned to him, he slashed the tires on that side of the vehicle.
As he finished, he could still hear them talking around the trash can.
“Okay, so they ditched the tracker, but they gotta be around here. They didn’t get that much of a head start.”
One of his companions answered with a curse. “Then where did they go?”
“Off into the woods.”
As he’d hoped, they started walking along the path through the greenery, heading away from the water, searching for the fugitives.
Staying in the underbrush, Zane backtracked toward his rental. It seemed to take forever to reach it because he was afraid to do anything that would attract their attention. When he finally reached the car, he took a deep breath and slipped behind the wheel. As he started the engine, he looked back, scanning the way he’d come.
The thugs were out of sight, and he pulled out of the parking lot, heading for the previous parking area—where he’d left Francesca. At the spot where he’d left her, he called, “Honey,” praying that the toughs weren’t going to hear him and come running back. For long moments, nothing happened, and he felt his heart rate accelerate as he called out again.