Agent to the Rescue. Lisa Childs
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Bell nodded again. “Stryker and Campbell were marines together.”
The two marines had known each other longer than Dalton had known either of them. So he was pretty sure that Blaine Campbell had been Ash’s first choice, but somehow he had wound up with the honor. Ash and Claire had told him it was because they probably wouldn’t have made it to the altar without him. A lot of people had recently been trying really hard to kill them. He had helped out, but he’d only been doing his job.
A job he loved. He still couldn’t believe that Ash was cutting back—no longer going undercover. Dalton shook his head and sighed. He had wanted to stand up as best man for Ash, but he didn’t agree with him.
His cell rang, saving him from making a reply to Jared Bell. He fished his phone from the pocket of his black tuxedo jacket.
“Good thing it didn’t ring in the church,” Bell remarked drily.
Dalton nodded in agreement. He probably would have been fired on the spot from his position as best man. He glanced at the screen of the cell phone. Why would the local police-post Dispatch be calling him?
“I have to take this,” he said “But I hope we get a chance to talk some more at the reception.”
Bell sighed. He probably thought Dalton wanted to talk about what everybody always wanted to talk about—that case that had never been solved.
Dalton clicked on his phone. “Agent Reyes here.”
“This is Michigan state trooper Littlefield,” a male voice identified himself. “I heard you might be in my area for a wedding.”
Littlefield had helped Campbell, Ash and Reyes apprehend some bank robbery suspects at a cottage in a wooded area nearby this chapel. It was how Ash had heard about the wedding venue. And Littlefield must have heard about the wedding because he’d been invited.
“I’m in your neck of the woods,” Dalton admitted. “Why aren’t you at the wedding?”
“I’m working,” Littlefield said. “I couldn’t get off duty. I had Dispatch patch me through to your cell. Are you working?”
Harder than he’d thought he would have to as best man. “Not at the moment...”
“What I mean is,” the trooper clarified, “are you still working that car theft ring?”
It seemed as if he was always working a car theft ring. He would no sooner shut down one operation before another would spring up. Sometimes he went undercover himself; sometimes he used informants, but he hadn’t failed yet to solve a case. This case was giving him trouble, though—probably because the operation was a lot more widespread than he’d originally anticipated.
“Yeah, I’m still working it.” He had recently put out a bulletin to state police departments and sheriffs’ offices to keep an eye out for any suspicious vehicles.
“I just passed a strange Mercedes heading down a dirt road,” Littlefield shared, his voice full of suspicion. “It looked vintage.”
A vintage Mercedes on a dirt road? It was unlikely that the car owner would have risked the paint or the suspension of the luxury vehicle.
“Where are you?” Reyes asked. “And how do I get there?”
“Aren’t you at a wedding?”
Ash would understand. Maybe.
Dalton had been chasing these car thieves for a while. But he hadn’t caught them—probably because their chop shop was off some dirt road in some obscure wooded area.
Like here...
He tugged his bow tie loose as he headed for his SUV. With its power-charged engine, he should be able to catch up to that Mercedes in no time.
* * *
THE BRONZE-COLORED MERCEDES fishtailed along the gravel road, kicking up a cloud of dust, as Dalton pursued it. He had caught up to it in less time than he’d anticipated. Now his anticipation grew. If he could follow it back to the chop shop...
But the driver must have spotted Littlefield’s patrol car following at a discreet distance. And the Mercedes had sped up to lose the trooper. The Bureau SUV was more powerful, though, and had easily passed the patrol car. Dalton had caught sight of the Mercedes, but had the driver caught sight of him yet?
Could he see the black SUV through the cloud of dust flying up behind his spinning tires?
Even if he hadn’t seen him, the driver wasn’t likely to go back to the chop shop now. He was more likely to try to dump the car since a trooper had seen it. Littlefield hadn’t gotten close enough to read the plate, though.
Dalton was getting close enough, but too much dirt obscured the numbers and letters. Actually, he couldn’t even tell if there was a plate on the car at all. Then the Mercedes accelerated again. The driver must have seen him.
Dalton pressed on his gas pedal, revving the engine. But his tires slid on the loose gravel. The road wasn’t driven that often, so it wasn’t well maintained. There were deep ruts, and the shoulders of the road had washed out into water-filled gullies on either side. If he lost control, he might wind up in one of those gullies. So he eased off the gas slightly and regained control.
A city kid born and raised, Dalton wasn’t used to driving on dirt roads. The driver of the Mercedes had no such problem. Maybe he had grown up around this area, because the car disappeared around a sharp curve in the road.
Dalton cursed. He had been so close. He couldn’t lose him now. He sped up and fishtailed around the curve, nearly losing control. The SUV took the corner on two wheels. Worried that he was going to roll the vehicle, he cursed some more. Then the tires dropped back down and the SUV skidded across the road—toward one of those gullies.
He braked hard and gritted his teeth to hold in more curses as the SUV continued its skid. He grasped the wheel hard and steered away from the ditch. Finally he regained control only to fight for it again, around the next curve. He skidded and nearly collided with the rear bumper of the Mercedes; it was the only part of the luxury vehicle that wasn’t in the ditch.
Maybe its driver hadn’t been as familiar with the roads as Dalton had thought—since he’d gone off in the gully himself. The tires of the SUV squealed as he braked hard again. He shoved the gearshift into Park and hopped out of the driver’s side. His weapon drawn from beneath his tuxedo jacket, he slowly approached the vintage Mercedes.
Its engine was still running, smoke trailing up from beneath its crumpled hood. The water in the gully sizzled from the heat of it. The Mercedes wasn’t going anywhere now. But the driver was gone—probably out the open passenger’s window.
Dalton lifted his gun toward the woods on that side of the road. The driver had disappeared into them. But he could be close, just hiding behind a tree. Or he could be following a trail through those woods to that chop shop Dalton was determined to find. Since he was a city kid, he would probably get lost. But he started down toward the ditch, anyway, to follow the driver into those woods.
Then the smooth soles of his once-shiny black dress shoes slipped on the loose gravel and the muddy bank. He started sliding toward the water—which he wouldn’t have minded falling into if the damn tux wasn’t an expensive rental. To steady himself, he grabbed at the Mercedes and braced his hand on the trunk. But then his hand slid the way his shoes had. He glanced down and figured out why when he saw the blood on his palm. It was also smeared beneath the dust across the trunk lid.
Dread tightened his stomach into a tight knot. Growing up where he had and working in the division he worked, he had already found more than his share of bodies in car trunks. But he suspected he was about to find another.
He had nothing on him to pry open the lid or to break the lock. So he took the easy way and kicked in the driver’s window, which started an alarm blaring. Then he reached inside for the trunk-lid release button. Fortunately the car wasn’t so vintage