The Silence (Columbia River #2)(58)

“You should have a patrol vehicle joining you at any moment.”

Mason checked his rearview mirror. Nothing. “Did you reach Ava?”

“I left her a voice mail. I’ll send her a text too.”

The Mustang’s brake lights flashed, and the car took a hard left into a lot full of warehouses.

“He’s cutting through the Robinson distribution complex.”

Nora relayed the message to the dispatcher.

Mason slowed and took the turn, a back tire slamming against the curb, making his truck violently jerk. He ignored it. His need to stay on the Mustang was stronger than his need to take care of his vehicle.

The huge warehouse complex was well lit, and the Mustang shot straight ahead between two warehouses lined with dozens of loading dock doors. Mason followed, glad the businesses appeared to be shut down for the day. The Mustang’s tires screeched as it turned at the end of the long warehouse and disappeared. Mason held his breath as he approached the turn, hating to have the vehicle out of sight.

He took the turn and didn’t see the car. “Where’d he go?” Ahead of him was a road with a dozen warehouses lining each side. The car could have turned at any of them. He rolled down his window and listened.

The throaty roar of the Mustang’s engine sounded from far away. But where?

Mason kept going forward, craning his neck to look right and left between the warehouses as he passed. Some of the warehouse alleys were lit, some not. I’m going too slow. At the far end of the warehouses on the right he faintly saw a tall concrete wall that separated the property from the freeway.

He glanced down a dark alley just as brake lights flashed at the far end and turned to drive parallel to the concrete wall. He yanked his wheel to the right and floored it down the alley, his truck rocking as he shot through sloped areas with drains. “He’s on the south side of the complex!”

“Got it,” said Nora.

Approaching the end, Mason decelerated to take the left turn and sped up as he came out of it. Up ahead the Mustang flashed in and out of sight as it sped through dark and lit areas.

Mason took a deep breath, his vision locked on the car. The Mustang was nearing the end of the complex. He was nearly past the warehouses on his left, and the concrete wall on his right stopped just beyond the last building. The Mustang turned left past the last warehouse, vanishing again.

“This is getting old,” Mason stated. He took the same turn.

Too fast.

The back end of his truck seemed to float, and he tried to steer out of the slide.

Oil?

The truck continued to slide, and the right back end dropped. A horrific scraping sound vibrated through his seat and steering wheel before the truck slammed to a stop. Mason’s head whipped forward, his body held in place by his seat belt.

Shit.

His back end was in a deep ditch. Frustrated, he punched the accelerator and rubber burned. The vehicle lurched but stayed in the ditch. He slammed his hands on the steering wheel.

Far ahead, the signature taillights flashed as the Mustang turned out of the complex.

“Mason?” asked Nora. “What was that?”

“That was me going into a ditch. He’s headed west on the road in front of the complex.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. My truck isn’t.”

Nora spoke into the other line, informing the dispatcher of the Mustang’s direction and that Mason was in a ditch. “I’m getting you a tow truck,” she told him. “I’ll run you home.”

“You don’t need to do that. I can call Ava.” He climbed out of the truck.

“She’s waiting for officers outside the house. I can be there in fifteen minutes.”

Mason scrutinized his truck, its back end several feet into the ditch.

Ava will give me a hard time for months about this.

He sighed and reluctantly agreed with Nora.



It was nearly midnight as Ava leaned against her car’s door, waiting for the officers to finish clearing her house as Bingo barked nonstop from the backyard. The two officers had adamantly insisted she wait out front. She’d argued and then let them have their way. Clearly Bingo was fine, and that was all she truly cared about.

Mason had called, updating her on what exactly he had seen on their street and then admitting he’d put his truck in a ditch.

She’d wanted to tease him, but his frustrated tone made her hold back.

Headlights shone as a vehicle turned on her street, and a moment later she recognized Nora and Mason. Nora parked behind her at the curb, and Mason opened his door. Ava met him halfway, wrapping her arms around him. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Positive. Whipped my head a bit, but I’ve had worse.”

“You sure it was Shawn Braswell?”

He grimaced. “I didn’t see the driver. I could tell there was one male in the car, but that was it. Why else would he take off?”

“Because he had stolen plates?”

“Why worry that the person behind you in a pickup would know anything about stolen plates unless you recognize the truck as the personal vehicle of someone in law enforcement?”

Ava frowned. “You think he knows what you drive?”

“I think he knows a lot of things.”

Ava turned to look at the house, her stomach tightening. “Mason . . . how does he know where you live?” she asked softly.