The Boy from the Woods(97)

“Got it.”

When they reached the end of the ramp, Wilde told her to veer right and then take the first right turn. He looked out the window and told her to slow down.

“See that Dairy Queen on the right?”

“Are we stopping for an Oreo Blizzard?” Rola asked.

“Your comic timing,” he said. “It often sucks.”

“Good thing I’m cute then.”

“Uh-huh. Head to the rear. The lot should back up directly behind that rest stop.”

Rola made the turn. No cars were parked behind the Dairy Queen. Wilde hit the button to lower the window. He looked up the hill and bingo—he spotted the back of the closed gas station.

“Stay here,” Wilde said, reaching for the door handle.

“No way.”

“Fine. Get an Oreo Blizzard.”

Rola frowned. “My comic timing sucks?”

“If I don’t check in every ten minutes, call the police.”

“I’m going.”

“I need you to—”

“—call the police if you don’t check in every ten minutes,” Rola said. “I heard you. I’ll have Zelda do that via her phone. I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t want you going in unarmed.”

“Fine, give me your gun.”

“No offense, Wilde, but you’re trash with a gun,” she said. Which was true.

“This could be dangerous.”

“I love danger.”

“You have k—”

“Stop,” Rola said, holding up her hand for emphasis. “If you’re going to say I have kids or a family or any other sexist bullshit, I’ll shoot you myself.”

He said nothing.

“I’m going, Wilde. This is nonnegotiable, so let’s stop wasting time.”

Rola got out of the car. Wilde quickly followed and put a hand on her shoulder. She got it. Driving might not be his forte, but approaching quietly was. He should lead. She should follow.

They started up the hill, staying low. Rola took out the gun and kept it in her right hand, just in case. When they reached the top of the hill, they were maybe thirty, forty yards from the closed gas station. The back wall was cinder block and covered in graffiti, most of it a big bubble-letter tag spelling out the words SPOON and ABEONA.

Wilde crept closer, his gaze constantly on the move. No signs of life. No signs of a car. He risked a glance at the GPS locator on his phone’s screen. No question about it. The car was right near here.

He moved toward the back of the gas station. When they were in the clearing, he picked up speed, hoping no one would spot them. Rola kept pace. They reached the cinder block and pressed their backs against it.

Rola gave him a look that said, Now what?

He mouthed, Wait here. He slid toward the side. The grass was overgrown enough to lose a third grader. He could see tires strewn about it, a few crowbars, a variety of rusted engine parts. On the side of the concrete wall, someone had long ago painted the words TIRE SERVICE in red and blue. The letters were faded now, beaten and stripped by years of sun.

Wilde stayed low and moved to the front. The garage bays were closed. Wilde looked at the bottom of the doors. Wind had covered one up, sealing the bottom. The other garage door though had a solid crack opening.

Someone had not shut it all the way.

There were tire tracks in the dirt leading up to it.

Wilde had been confused when he’d first seen that the rest stop was closed. He’d figured that this had been a meeting place, a spot they could come and hash out their kidnapping plan without drawing attention. He figured that maybe he and Rola would park and wait and follow—and that the car would lead him to Crash.

This, of course, was better.

Wilde lay on his stomach and moved closer to the opening in the garage door. He peered in. Yep. Just as he expected.

The car.

He was here.

Wilde moved back to the side of the garage. He peeked around the corner, taking it all in, before he saw something that made him pull up. The old Dunkin’ Donuts hut. At first glance there was nothing remarkable about it. The windows were covered by plywood. A sign was hanging by one nail. It was run down and beat up and one day a wrecking ball would end its existence mercifully and effortlessly. There was only one odd thing.

The air-conditioning unit in the window toward the back.

It looked new.

Wilde’s heart started pounding. He headed back to Rola. She greeted him with a What gives? shrug. He signaled for her to follow him. They slid along the back wall. When the Dunkin’ Donuts came into view, Wilde pointed to the air conditioner. It took Rola a second to get it, but then she gave him a thumbs-up.

Wilde checked the locator app again. They still had ten minutes. As he put the phone back in his pocket, Rola again gave him a look as if to ask, What was that? He shook it off. No time.

They’d be out in the open. There was no way to avoid that. Rola had the gun out. Wilde gestured that he’d go first. If someone took a shot at him, Rola should be at the ready. She reluctantly agreed. Wilde made the sprint, and as he did, he heard a sound that made the blood in his veins hum. Over the sounds of the cars speeding by on the nearby highway, Wilde could make out the air conditioner.

It was on.

Someone was in that Dunkin’ Donuts back room.