In Her Tracks (Tracy Crosswhite #8)(81)

“I let them search the house like it’s n . . . n . . . no big deal.”

“And if they ask why you missed work Sunday and Monday?”

Carrol continued stuttering. “I tell them that I called in sick, but that I really w . . . w . . . went down to Vancouver to hunt elk. I went by myself and don’t recall seeing anyone. I hunted until dusk, came home, and w . . . w . . . went back down Monday.”

“And what else?”

Carrol looked confused.

“What do you say if they say I told them you were sick?” Franklin asked to prompt him.

“Oh yeah.”

“Oh yeah,” Franklin mimicked. “You forgot the most important thing.”

“I t . . . t . . . tell them that I didn’t tell you I was going hunting. I told you I was sick and not feeling well.”

“Why?”

“Because you’d get angry. Because you’re the one always doing all the work around here and buying all the groceries.”

“And if they ask you to call me on my cell phone?”

“I t . . . t . . . tell them the hunting camp is out of cell range but give them your number and tell them they’re w . . . w . . . welcome to try.”

“You sure you can remember all of that?”

“I can remember.”

“You screw this up and we’re both going to prison.”

“What are you going to do with the girls?”

“I haven’t made up my mind yet. I’m gonna play it by ear—wait and see if those detectives come and search the house.”

“And if they do?” Carrol asked.

“Well then, I don’t have much choice now, do I, brother? Would simplify my life if I just killed you and Evan with them and buried all your asses up there.”



Stephanie and Angel Jackson finished a thirty-minute workout followed by thirty minutes of yoga and a twenty-minute meditation. The workouts were getting harder because Stephanie was becoming weaker from a lack of food and water. What the men had left them wasn’t much and mostly junk food. Angel and Donna said back in the basement they had been relatively well-fed. Donna said Carrol once told her that he and Franklin liked their women with a little meat on the bones. They didn’t like skinny women.

“It’s another indication they’re going to kill us,” Donna said. “They don’t care anymore.”

Stephanie reached under the hay the men had left and pulled out the six-inch piece of wood she’d managed to break off from one of the boards of the barn. She pushed hay up against it so it wouldn’t be noticeable. She picked up her rock and started to run the sides of the piece of wood along the stone.

“You’re dreaming, girl,” Donna said. “You couldn’t stab nothing with that. You can’t get it sharp enough.”

Stephanie suspected she was right. The piece of wood didn’t seem to be getting any sharper, which was why in between running the stone over the wood, she used the stone to pound a link of the chain against another rock, hoping to weaken it and maybe pull it apart. That, too, was slow going. Maybe too slow. The men had left them, but for how long? And even if she could break a link in the chain, where would she go? She shook off tears. One thing at a time. One step at a time. So she didn’t become overwhelmed and feel her situation was hopeless.

“Leave her to it,” Angel said.

“It’s a waste of time,” Donna said.

“For you. Not for her. Leave her be.”

Stephanie ran the stone over the edges of the piece of wood. She needed to get the shackles off first. If the man came for her and released her shackles, then she’d use the wood.



Just after noon, the woman who had hugged Aileen Rodriguez stepped out the glass door and made her way to a dated Subaru parked along the side of the concrete masonry building. The Subaru backed from its spot, then turned right on East Yakima Avenue. Tracy followed. East Yakima Avenue was four lanes wide, with a center lane for cars to turn left or right into the businesses. Tracy remained several car lengths back and in the far right lane, figuring that if the woman turned left, she could easily follow, but if she suddenly turned right, she might not have enough time.

The woman turned left into a Subway sandwich store parking lot. Tracy drove past, keeping an eye on her rearview and side mirrors, making sure the woman didn’t double back. She didn’t. She parked and went inside. Tracy made a U-turn and parked so she could see inside the plate-glass windows.

She did not immediately go inside; she wanted to be sure the woman wasn’t picking up an order to go. The woman stepped to the counter, then moved down the line as she instructed a young man what type of vegetables and condiments she wanted. She paid, then carried her bag and her drink to a table at the far end of the store. She sat alone, with her back to the entrance.

Tracy waited to see if anyone met the woman. When no one did, Tracy stepped from the car into a biting wind. She entered and stopped just short of the woman’s right shoulder. About to speak, she saw her business card on the table.

“Hello, Detective,” the woman said.

Tracy moved around the small, narrow table to the chair on the opposite side. “May I sit?”

Lindsay Sheppard nodded to the chair.

Tracy sat. Up close, Sheppard and her sister did indeed look alike, though Aileen had more wrinkles. “You knew I was waiting for you?”