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Authors: Janci Patterson
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crime after all? I didn’t know much about stealing things, but I knew you didn’t want to be around when other people did it.
I looked back at Dad to see if he was worried. He’d know what we could and couldn’t get in trouble for.
Dad was already jerking the gas hose out of the pump. As he leapt for the cab, his hand went to his pocket. He patted one pocket, then the other, and then jumped out of the truck to check the back ones. He swore, reaching for the ignition and checking the crack in the seat, but came up with nothing.
“Son of a bitch stole my keys,” Dad said.
That must be how he got the cuff unlocked. He probably grabbed the keys from Dad’s pocket before he went in.
“So we’re stuck here?” I asked.
Dad shook his head, holding out his hand. “Not unless you’ve lost your set.”
“All I’ve got is the trailer key.”
“There’s a spare truck key in the back.”
I handed Dad my key, and he opened the trailer door, then handed it back to me.
Ian had seen his chance, and he’d taken it. Now he was gone, and I was still stuck here with Dad, no better off than I had been before.
That’s when the girl in the UW sweatshirt came out of the station, her hair pulled into a ponytail. She gaped at the place where the car had been, and then looked around the parking lot at the other cars.
“What the hell?” she asked, looking at Dad. “Where’s my car?”
Dad looked at the empty space where the car had been, and then at the road where Ian had pulled away. He sighed.
I hopped up into the truck and sat back on the bench seat, feeling my heart rate begin to slow. I could tell what Dad was thinking. We weren’t going to catch him, even if Dad had been up to the chase.
Still, that would have been a good story to tell Jamie—the kind of story he wanted to hear about my exciting new life.
Jamie. My face flushed as I thought about Ian, and the way I’d liked having his breath on my neck and his knees pressed against my back. Mom always said that cheating was bad karma, and even if I wasn’t technically cheating, I really didn’t want to risk it. I’d have to send him an extra-long e-mail next time I got to a library to make up for it.
Cheyenne, Wyoming.
Minutes since Ian ran: 1.
Distance from Salt Lake City, Utah: 441.44 miles.
7
The girl in the sweatshirt swore, reached for her pocket, and swore again. She looked over at Dad. “Someone stole my car.”
“Yup,” Dad said. He reached for his pocket and pulled out his ID. “I’m a bail enforcement agent, and that man who took your car escaped from my custody.”
I looked back at Dad. Couldn’t he get in trouble for admitting that?
“The more information you can give me about your car, the better the chances are that I can find him, and it.”
She wrinkled her eyes at him, looking at his ID. “So, you’re a cop?”
“No,” Dad said. “I’m a bail enforcement agent.”
She cocked her head at him, like she didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. “He’s a bounty hunter,” I said from the cab.
The girl’s eyes widened, and Dad shot me a shut-up look.
“Think of me as a private investigator,” Dad said. “I’m chasing the guy who took your car, so I’ll probably find the car in the process. Any information you can give me will make you that much more likely to get your car back.”
“I think I should call the police,” she said.
“Yes, you should. But the cops have a million other things to do, so unless someone calls in an abandoned vehicle or the thief breaks some other laws, they aren’t likely to find it in any kind of hurry. That’s where I come in.” He held out his hand to shake hers. “I’m Robert Maxwell. What’s your name?”
“Caroline,” she said, hesitantly accepting his hand.
Dad reached for his clipboard and pulled a certificate and a business card out of the papers at the back. “This is my Colorado license,” he said, “and the card of the bondsman I work for. You
I looked back at Dad to see if he was worried. He’d know what we could and couldn’t get in trouble for.
Dad was already jerking the gas hose out of the pump. As he leapt for the cab, his hand went to his pocket. He patted one pocket, then the other, and then jumped out of the truck to check the back ones. He swore, reaching for the ignition and checking the crack in the seat, but came up with nothing.
“Son of a bitch stole my keys,” Dad said.
That must be how he got the cuff unlocked. He probably grabbed the keys from Dad’s pocket before he went in.
“So we’re stuck here?” I asked.
Dad shook his head, holding out his hand. “Not unless you’ve lost your set.”
“All I’ve got is the trailer key.”
“There’s a spare truck key in the back.”
I handed Dad my key, and he opened the trailer door, then handed it back to me.
Ian had seen his chance, and he’d taken it. Now he was gone, and I was still stuck here with Dad, no better off than I had been before.
That’s when the girl in the UW sweatshirt came out of the station, her hair pulled into a ponytail. She gaped at the place where the car had been, and then looked around the parking lot at the other cars.
“What the hell?” she asked, looking at Dad. “Where’s my car?”
Dad looked at the empty space where the car had been, and then at the road where Ian had pulled away. He sighed.
I hopped up into the truck and sat back on the bench seat, feeling my heart rate begin to slow. I could tell what Dad was thinking. We weren’t going to catch him, even if Dad had been up to the chase.
Still, that would have been a good story to tell Jamie—the kind of story he wanted to hear about my exciting new life.
Jamie. My face flushed as I thought about Ian, and the way I’d liked having his breath on my neck and his knees pressed against my back. Mom always said that cheating was bad karma, and even if I wasn’t technically cheating, I really didn’t want to risk it. I’d have to send him an extra-long e-mail next time I got to a library to make up for it.
Cheyenne, Wyoming.
Minutes since Ian ran: 1.
Distance from Salt Lake City, Utah: 441.44 miles.
7
The girl in the sweatshirt swore, reached for her pocket, and swore again. She looked over at Dad. “Someone stole my car.”
“Yup,” Dad said. He reached for his pocket and pulled out his ID. “I’m a bail enforcement agent, and that man who took your car escaped from my custody.”
I looked back at Dad. Couldn’t he get in trouble for admitting that?
“The more information you can give me about your car, the better the chances are that I can find him, and it.”
She wrinkled her eyes at him, looking at his ID. “So, you’re a cop?”
“No,” Dad said. “I’m a bail enforcement agent.”
She cocked her head at him, like she didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. “He’s a bounty hunter,” I said from the cab.
The girl’s eyes widened, and Dad shot me a shut-up look.
“Think of me as a private investigator,” Dad said. “I’m chasing the guy who took your car, so I’ll probably find the car in the process. Any information you can give me will make you that much more likely to get your car back.”
“I think I should call the police,” she said.
“Yes, you should. But the cops have a million other things to do, so unless someone calls in an abandoned vehicle or the thief breaks some other laws, they aren’t likely to find it in any kind of hurry. That’s where I come in.” He held out his hand to shake hers. “I’m Robert Maxwell. What’s your name?”
“Caroline,” she said, hesitantly accepting his hand.
Dad reached for his clipboard and pulled a certificate and a business card out of the papers at the back. “This is my Colorado license,” he said, “and the card of the bondsman I work for. You
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