people he had seen earlier milled in the small space, as well as a few others who must have been here before he arrived. None of them were Sandra. Shit.
Going for broke, he walked up to the window.
“Where to?” the bored cashier asked as she continued to rest her cheek against her hand.
“Ahh, I’ve got a crazy question for you.” He flashed her his best smile. The girl didn’t even blink.
Okay then. Not going to be adding this one to my “gaggle of girls.”
He plowed on: “Have you sold a ticket recently to Sandra Walsh? She’s approximately five feet, six inches tall, with sable-brown hair and hazel eyes.”
“I can’t give you that information, sir,” she responded in a dead voice. “Privacy laws or some crap like that. That it, or you want to buy a ticket?”
He tapped his fingers on the counter and reached for his back pocket.
“Don’t bother if you’re about to grab your wallet as an incentive,” she said in her bored voice, and flicked a finger to a spot behind him, then to an area over her shoulder. “It’s all being recorded, so I couldn’t accept any money outside of a purchase.”
He sighed. “I’m not traveling, just looking for her.”
“Sorry,” the cashier droned, sounding everything but. “Can’t help.” She peered beyond him and called in a slightly louder voice, “I can take you now.”
Dismissed.
A handsome blond man in his late twenties to early thirties wearing a black leather jacket, open to reveal a T-shirt with the slogan SARCASM. JUST ANOTHER SERVIC E I PROVIDE , stepped around Grady. The guy dipped his chin before maneuvering to stand in front of the window.
Right. Time to go.
Ridge Creek may be a small town population-wise, but it made up for it by being expansive. He drove through all the side streets surrounding the train depot but didn’t have any luck. Twice he spotted a motorcycle behind him, but couldn’t tell in the dark if it was the same bike. Each time Grady wondered if he was being followed, the motorcycle would casually veer off and disappear down one of the side streets.
Don’t go looking for more trouble than you’ve already got, Grady.
After an hour in futility, he finally decided to wise up and pulled into a gas station. He swiped his phone awake and dialed.
“Henry? Grady. Do me a favor and text me Sandra’s address.” He frowned at the old man’s response. “Don’t give me that crap. I know your grandchildren showed you how.” More grumbling. Damn, the old man could be stubborn. “Thank you,” he replied when Henry finally agreed.
After a few long minutes, the phone finally beeped. Time for plan B: stake out her apartment.
Chapter 8
The SBG operative parked his Ninja along a parallel street to the gas station and shut the engine off. No sense in drawing any more attention than was necessary. He glanced at the phone’s screen mounted just below the ignition. The results for the Range Rover’s plates filled the display. The man driving the SUV was Casper Grady. Where had he heard that name before? And underneath were two addresses the guy was associated with: Gradwick Adventure Center and a residential listing.
In the train station, the operative had stood in line and couldn’t believe his luck when Grady described Wraith to a T, yet called her Sandra Walsh. Saved him so much time discovering the alias she was currently using. The fact that Grady was searching for her in the terminal told the operative that Wraith had indeed gone on the run again.
All right, Casper Grady, how do you know Wraith? Are you coworkers? Friends? Lovers?
That last question made him want to pound the jackass into the ground.
Before he could initiate a deeper search, the Range Rover left the gas station.
I guess I’ll find out soon enough.
The operative put his phone to sleep to stay as hidden as possible and followed on a parallel street.
Grady seemed to have decided on a destination, because they no longer randomly wove in and out of the
Going for broke, he walked up to the window.
“Where to?” the bored cashier asked as she continued to rest her cheek against her hand.
“Ahh, I’ve got a crazy question for you.” He flashed her his best smile. The girl didn’t even blink.
Okay then. Not going to be adding this one to my “gaggle of girls.”
He plowed on: “Have you sold a ticket recently to Sandra Walsh? She’s approximately five feet, six inches tall, with sable-brown hair and hazel eyes.”
“I can’t give you that information, sir,” she responded in a dead voice. “Privacy laws or some crap like that. That it, or you want to buy a ticket?”
He tapped his fingers on the counter and reached for his back pocket.
“Don’t bother if you’re about to grab your wallet as an incentive,” she said in her bored voice, and flicked a finger to a spot behind him, then to an area over her shoulder. “It’s all being recorded, so I couldn’t accept any money outside of a purchase.”
He sighed. “I’m not traveling, just looking for her.”
“Sorry,” the cashier droned, sounding everything but. “Can’t help.” She peered beyond him and called in a slightly louder voice, “I can take you now.”
Dismissed.
A handsome blond man in his late twenties to early thirties wearing a black leather jacket, open to reveal a T-shirt with the slogan SARCASM. JUST ANOTHER SERVIC E I PROVIDE , stepped around Grady. The guy dipped his chin before maneuvering to stand in front of the window.
Right. Time to go.
Ridge Creek may be a small town population-wise, but it made up for it by being expansive. He drove through all the side streets surrounding the train depot but didn’t have any luck. Twice he spotted a motorcycle behind him, but couldn’t tell in the dark if it was the same bike. Each time Grady wondered if he was being followed, the motorcycle would casually veer off and disappear down one of the side streets.
Don’t go looking for more trouble than you’ve already got, Grady.
After an hour in futility, he finally decided to wise up and pulled into a gas station. He swiped his phone awake and dialed.
“Henry? Grady. Do me a favor and text me Sandra’s address.” He frowned at the old man’s response. “Don’t give me that crap. I know your grandchildren showed you how.” More grumbling. Damn, the old man could be stubborn. “Thank you,” he replied when Henry finally agreed.
After a few long minutes, the phone finally beeped. Time for plan B: stake out her apartment.
Chapter 8
The SBG operative parked his Ninja along a parallel street to the gas station and shut the engine off. No sense in drawing any more attention than was necessary. He glanced at the phone’s screen mounted just below the ignition. The results for the Range Rover’s plates filled the display. The man driving the SUV was Casper Grady. Where had he heard that name before? And underneath were two addresses the guy was associated with: Gradwick Adventure Center and a residential listing.
In the train station, the operative had stood in line and couldn’t believe his luck when Grady described Wraith to a T, yet called her Sandra Walsh. Saved him so much time discovering the alias she was currently using. The fact that Grady was searching for her in the terminal told the operative that Wraith had indeed gone on the run again.
All right, Casper Grady, how do you know Wraith? Are you coworkers? Friends? Lovers?
That last question made him want to pound the jackass into the ground.
Before he could initiate a deeper search, the Range Rover left the gas station.
I guess I’ll find out soon enough.
The operative put his phone to sleep to stay as hidden as possible and followed on a parallel street.
Grady seemed to have decided on a destination, because they no longer randomly wove in and out of the
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