Now, he tried to remember Cathy’s prayer. She had spoken like she was writing a letter—
Dear Heavenly Father, we ask for your blessing in this time of need.
Will had known to bow his head, but he had looked to Tessa for further guidance. Her eyes had been closed, so Will had closed his eyes. She had kept silent, so Will had kept silent. The ritual of the prayer had been comforting. The soft cadence of Cathy’s voice. The closeness of other people who cared about what he cared about.
This was what Will worried about as he held on to Cathy’s small hand:
That he would not find Sara. That it would be his fault that her family would never see her again. That Gerald would kill him at the Citgo. That Dash would shoot him before he got to see Sara. That Michelle Spivey would recognize Will and wig out on him the same way she had with Carter. That Dash wouldn’t kill Will right away because he wanted to make Sara watch him die.
Then there was the worst-case scenario:
Will would beat all of the odds, making it past Gerald, talking Dash into welcoming him into the fold. He would finally find Sara, but he wouldn’t be able to help her because he was too afraid.
Will felt tortured by the fear that had gripped him at the scene of the car accident. He had been reaching into Sara’s BMW, inserting the key into the glove box, when he’d seen Hurley holding a gun to Sara’s head. Instead of reacting, instead of turning the key, grabbing his Glock and killing them all, Will had frozen.
Because he was afraid.
Will clenched his teeth. Major Jack Wolfe. Airborne. Two deployments to Iraq. Two DUIs. One restraining order from his last place of employment. Over $36,000 in credit card debt.
The taxi coasted onto the exit. Will recognized the logos for gas stations and fast-food restaurants. Exit 129 would take him into Braselton. 12.5 square miles spread across four counties, all of them within Atlanta’s Metropolitan Statistical Area. Less than 10,000 inhabitants, 83 percent of them white, 4 percent living below the poverty line. One police station. Four cops. One hospital. One upscale winery. The terrain was lush and hilly. Most of it was still thickly forested, like every other Georgia town this far into the Appalachian Mountain chain. The Chattahoochee National Forest hovered at the top of the state like an upside-down umbrella.
The Citgo sign was two red lights away. Will listened to the taxi’s engine idle at the stop. It was only now that it was too late that he let his mind wander into the worst worst-case scenario:
Dash could’ve been pretending to be knocked out at the car accident. He could’ve seen Will’s face. He could know exactly what was coming at him and already be planning a way to neutralize the threat.
Will’s thoughts spiraled down even lower:
Sara could already be dead.
The taxi driver pulled into the Citgo. There were four cars at the twelve pumps. Will recognized one of the men as a GBI agent from the southern region of the state. Faith’s red Mini was parked in front of the Dumpster. She had a blanket over her shoulder. She was pretending to nurse a baby. Amanda would be inside the store using a cane, bent like an old woman to render herself virtually invisible. There were unmarked cars at each end of the road that ran in front of the gas station. Two agents were hidden in the woods behind the building.
Amanda hadn’t been content to leave it at that.
Will had a GPS tracker inside the leather holster at his back. The slim chip of plastic was sewn inside the liner. The power was off in case he was searched for a signal again. Will had spent half an hour blindly reaching behind him and pressing the power button so that the motion was locked into his muscle memory.
He wasn’t going to touch the damn thing unless he was looking directly at Sara. There was no guarantee that Dash was keeping her close by. For all Will knew, Sara could be stashed two hundred miles away. If he brought in backup too soon, she could be lost forever.
“This good?” the driver asked.
Will paid the man $120, which hurt like hell, even though it wasn’t his own money. His legs were stiff when he climbed out of the car. He stretched out his spine, arms in the air. He adjusted his holster. He looked around, trying to spot Gerald. He looked at his watch.
3:02 p.m.
Another car pulled in to the station to fill up. Someone else went into the store. Will walked over to the air pump. He stuck his hands in his pockets. He kicked at the curb. He was wearing the same outfit that the kids from the warehouse seemed to favor. Black pants and long-sleeved shirt. Black combat boots. The idea had seemed like a good one until he stood out in the open. Given his height, muscle mass and complexion, he looked less like a ninja and more like a guy who was probably going to start shooting people.
“Wolfe?”
Will recognized Three from the day before. The kid had changed into shorts and an Usher concert T-shirt. His ride was a bright red Kia Soul. Not the best car to blend in, but it worked with the Usher vibe. If a cop pulled him over, Three would look like any other spoiled punk from town.
The kid told him, “Go inside the store. Wait by the back door.”
Before Will could respond, Three peeled away.
The GBI agent at the gas pump got into his car and followed the red Kia toward the interstate.
Will walked toward the store. He could feel Faith’s eyes following his progress. The building was a typical interstate convenience store, wide but not deep, with a low ceiling and glass along the front. Will smelled hot dogs roasting on rollers as soon as he opened the door. Amanda was beside the self-serve coffee machines. Her usual helmet of hair was messed up. Her reading glasses were low on her nose. She leaned heavily into her cane, pretending like she didn’t know which button to press.
The kid behind the counter glanced up from his phone as Will walked by. Two was wearing a blue polo shirt with a red-and-orange Citgo triangle on the chest. He tilted his head, indicating the back of the store.
Will found the rear exit by the refrigerated drinks. He tried the handle. Locked. One of Will’s many college jobs had been at a convenience store. He assumed there would be a long hall, a small office, and a cramped storage area. The emergency exit door would be alarmed, but you could trick the system with a magnet and a piece of gum.
He leaned against the cooler. Cold air wafted from the glass doors. He looked at his watch.
3:05 p.m.
“Young man?” Amanda called Two over to the coffee machine. She started lecturing him on how computers were ruining the world. She would have no way of knowing that Two was IPA. She was trying to justify her lingering presence in the store. Will knew Amanda kept a loaded Smith and Wesson five-shot inside a Crown Royal bag in her purse. She could draw the weapon almost as quickly as most agents could pull their Glocks from their side holsters.
Will heard two knocks on the door.
He knocked twice in return. He waited. The lock clicked open.
Will opened the door. Long hall. Small office. Cramped storage. Magnet on the exit door alarm sensor, but held in place with Scotch tape instead of gum. Probably smarter. Gum was never as sticky as you thought it was.
One was waiting for him outside. He was the youngest and shortest of the four, probably more dangerous because he had something to prove. They did not exchange words. He was holding out the wand, the one that checked for transmissions from trackers. Will held up his arms. He let the kid have his fun.
And it was clear that One was having fun. All of this Mission: Impossible drama was probably busting these kids’ nuts. If adult Will didn’t know what racist, criminal pieces of shit they were, kid Will would’ve been jealous.
One finished with the wand. He left the machine by the back door. He nodded for Will to follow him into the woods. Will stuck his hands into his pockets, the signal to the two agents hiding behind the trees that everything was good so far. Faith had gamed out the possible escape zones to within two miles. With the Citgo behind him, Will knew that the woods would lead into an L-shaped residential area. Two more chase cars were parked on the streets. That seemed like the most obvious place for Gerald to pick them up.
Sweat was dripping down Will’s face by the time they reached Chardonnay Trace. He kept his hands in his pockets as he followed One across the road. The houses were big, with deep yards. The roar of traffic from the interstate had dampened. One picked up the pace, following the line of a fenced-in backyard, heading into another forest behind the neighborhood.
Still within the escape zone.
Will oriented himself by the beeping car horns on the main road. The aerial maps had shown a lot of clear-cutting for shopping centers and outlet malls. If they kept heading straight, they would find themselves in farmland.