Stone Cold Heart (Tracers #13)(54)
“She got something, apparently. The note said, ‘Trace blood recovered. Analysis underway. Results TK.’?”
“Damn, that’s big. Huge, possibly, if the blood belongs to our killer.”
“Our killer? You think you might be getting a little obsessed with this, Sara?”
“Not at all.” Sara spied a gas-station sign and shifted into the right lane.
“Well, you seem very focused on it.”
“Focused is different from obsessed.”
“True. And how much of your personal money are you spending going to Springville? This is your third trip out there, and I’m sure you saw the director’s memo about travel expenses.”
Sara swung into the gas station and pulled up to a pump. The fuel prices were attractive, but the gas station itself was a dump. The pumps looked ancient, and a hand-lettered sign in the window said NO BATHROOMS!!
“Listen, Aaron, I have to run.”
“Nice dodge.”
“What?”
“Forget it. I’ll see you Monday. Unless something comes up, in which case you’d better call me.”
“I will.”
She hung up and got out. Grabbing a nozzle, she turned around to unscrew the gas cap. As she twisted the lid, her gaze landed on a white SUV pulling out of the lot.
CHAPTER 16
Sara stared after it.
“Holy crap. Holy crap.” She spun around and slammed the nozzle back into place. It was a white Chevy Tahoe, around ten years old. She could tell from the vehicle’s shape.
She twisted the gas cap back on and jumped behind the wheel. She hadn’t gotten a look at the driver. Or the license plate. But she could follow it and get both.
Although, of course, it might not be him.
It probably wasn’t, but . . . she had to follow up. She should at least get a plate number. She started her engine and shot a look at her glowing fuel light.
Screw it, she could gas up later. Nolan would want this lead. She whipped out of the lot as the white SUV became a dot in the distance.
Nolan would not want this lead. Not from her, not if it meant her chasing after a potential murder suspect.
Potential. That was the key word.
Really, what were the odds? Investigators were looking for an old white Tahoe somewhere near Springville. This area was the killer’s comfort zone. Not only that, but Sara was on her way to a park where she suspected the killer might be scoping out a new dump site for his next victim.
She grabbed her phone and found Nolan’s number. Damn it, he was probably in his meeting by now. She called and waited for his voice mail, but instead he picked up.
“It’s me,” she said quickly. “I just spotted a white Tahoe that fits your description at the gas station on Highway 194 near Stony Creek Park.”
Silence.
“Nolan?”
“What are you doing at Stony Creek Park?”
“I’m not there yet. I’m on my way. I pulled in for gas and saw this Tahoe. It’s the right color, age, everything—”
“Where are you now?”
“About a hundred yards behind it.”
“Pull over.”
“What?”
“Pull the hell over. Don’t follow him.”
“Don’t you at least want a plate number?”
“Not if it means you getting hurt.”
“Nolan.”
“Seriously, Sara, pull over.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I can get a plate number. He’s right in front of me.”
“Sara.”
She pressed the gas, gaining on the SUV. She was closer now, but a black pickup pulled onto the highway, blocking her view.
“Shit.”
“Sara? Are you pulling over?”
“I will, but I want to get a license plate, in case it’s him. It’s a strange coincidence that he’s out here in a remote part of the county near Stony Creek Park, don’t you think?”
“Sara, pull over now.”
“I’m about to be close enough to read the plate.”
“Would you listen to me—”
“Hanging up now. Bye.”
She tossed the phone away and grabbed the camera bag off the seat beside her. Dragging it onto her lap, she steered with one hand as she fumbled with the camera.
“Come on, move it,” she muttered as she maneuvered around the black truck. There he was. After a few moments, she eased into the right lane.
The Tahoe was in front of her, but still not close enough to read the license place. She lifted the camera, pressed the zoom button, and took a few quick shots.
She rested the camera on her lap as she leaned forward and peered through the windshield. Distance wasn’t the only problem—the license plate was brown with grime.
Sara’s heartbeat thrummed. She studied the silhouette through the back window, but the glass was tinted, and she couldn’t discern much about the driver. Based on the shape, it looked like a man behind the wheel.
The road curved right. She passed hillsides covered with thick brush. The landscape here was untamed, wild, and she hadn’t seen a house in miles. The SUV picked up speed. Sara’s pulse picked up, too. Had he seen her?
Her phone chimed, but she ignored it.