Page 133 of Blood Moon

He went over to the rookie who had called to alert him to what was taking place inhisdepartment. Because ofBowie. The man was like a plague. Pervasive. Tenacious. Crippling. “Where is he, Clarkson?”

The young officer’s eyes darted guiltily around the room, where everyone was looking at him with hostility. “They’re saying now that his daughter didn’t run off, that she was kidnapped last night as she left the Chop House. Bowie is hot on the trail of the man he suspects of taking her.” Stammering, he told him about the license plate and the man’s name.

“Why wasn’t I notified?”

The rookie said, “I don’t think… I don’t think Detective Bowie trusted you to handle it.”

“There is noDetectiveBowie,” Tom shouted. “Is that understood? This kidnapping crap is just that. His kid ran off, like she’s done before. Probably to escape him. Now, tell me where he is.” Again, he was met with silence. “I demand it!” he roared.

Clarkson swallowed hard. “I haven’t heard anyone say. I don’t think anyone knows.”

Tom surveyed the stonewalled faces. If they knew Bowie’s whereabouts, they weren’t saying, and, although it was humiliating to admit, he feared that his continued attempt to beat it out of them would be futile.

He straightened to his full height and addressed Clarkson. “Since Bowie lives outside the city’s jurisdiction, call the sheriff’s office, have them dispatch deputies to see if he’s at home.”

He stabbed the young cop in the chest with his index finger. “Remind them about the arrest warrant for assault. Also inform them that he’s currently impersonating a police officer.”

He headed toward his office but, after a few steps, stopped and turned. “Has Frank Gray come in?”The rookie shook his head. “Then see if you can get hold of him. He’s not answering his phone.”

Tom heard someone say under his breath, “Can’t blame him.”

Ignoring the snickers that followed, he slammed his office door. The original crack in the window sprouted an offshoot.

Since John was concentrating on driving, Beth answered an incoming call from Mitch. Without preamble, he said, “Our target just sped past me. I could tell he was coming right at me, so I’d pulled into the ditch, opened my hood, and was bent over it as he went by. The license plate was his.”

“Any sign of Molly in his car?” John asked.

“No, but we have him in a hot box now. He’s between us, still traveling on thirty-four. Where I am, it’s so narrow it doesn’t even have a stripe. Isolated area.”

“Are you turning around?”

“Already have.”

“Don’t get too close.”

“I’m following his pings, not his car, which is a gray Honda. Have you got to the turnoff yet?”

“Beth says we’re close. But, damn it! Not close enough. If he stops at a place that looks dodgy, don’t wait for me to go in.”

“Roger that,” Mitch said. “His kidnapping days will be history.”

Just as they disconnected, Beth exclaimed, “There’s the road!”

She braced herself as John turned the car sharply to the right, toward the east… and straight into a blinding sunrise.

“Damn!” Reflexively he turned his head away from the disk of eye-piercing light.

Otherwise, he might have missed it.

He slammed on the brakes and swerved to the side of the road.

Beth cried out, “What?”

“Tin roof. The sun hit it just right. There’s no car there. Get Mitch.”

She had him on the phone in under three seconds. John shouted, “Spotted a dodgy place. Gonna check it out. How far away is he from us?”

Mitch said, “About to close on you.”

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