worry crossing her face.
“We’re sorry to bother you,” Jonas said, “but we’re trying to locate your husband. Ryan Phelps.”
She tugged at the end of her ponytail. “Is something wrong?”
“We’re not sure at this point. That’s why we’re here.”
The squeals of kids playing got louder as one of the children ran through the entryway, flying a LEGO plane.
She glanced back into the house. “Can we talk out on the porch?”
“Of course.”
Madison took a step back, making room for the woman, who shut the front door behind her.
“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?” she asked.
Madison glanced at Jonas. “Why do you say that?”
“My husband was supposed to be back two hours ago. He’s never late like this. And now two marshals show up on my doorstep. What am I supposed to think?”
“We honestly don’t know where your husband is at this time, but we do need to ask you a couple questions.”
The front door flung open, and a girl around fourteen stumbled out with a scowl on her face. “Mom, the twins are driving me crazy. Will you please make them stop?”
“I’ll be there in just a minute, Krissy.”
The young woman stopped short. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing. But if you’ll get the twins washed up, we’ll eat in a minute.”
“Mom—”
“Just do as you’re told.” Mrs. Phelps waited for the door to shut, then turned back to the marshals. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s fine.”
“What do you need to know?”
“Was your husband driving a gray Ford rental car?”
“Yes.”
“Ma’am.” Jonas hesitated for moment. “We have reason to believe that your husband’s life is in danger.”
Color drained from Katy’s face. “What do you mean?”
Madison let out a sharp breath, hating this part of the job. “We’re searching for an escaped felon, and we think it’s possible your husband picked him up.”
“No. That’s not possible. My husband doesn’t pick up hitchhikers. He never has.”
“We aren’t sure what compelled your husband to pick him up this time, but we do have a witness who says he did.”
“No.” The woman shook her head. “There must be some mistake. You’re telling me my husband picked up a felon and is now missing?” She pulled her phone from her pocket, swiped it on, then placed a call. “Pick up . . . pick up . . .” Katy’s eyes widened in fear. “He’s not answering. Why would he not answer?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Madison said.
“Can you track his phone?”
“We’re working on that right now as well, but his phone has been off.”
“What am I supposed to tell my kids? That their father might not come home?”
“We don’t know that anything has happened to your husband. We just want to make sure he makes it home safe.”
“So what do I do now?”
“Go eat lunch with your kids, and we promise we’ll be in touch as soon as we know something.”
Madison headed back to the car with Jonas, praying that the next time she saw Mrs. Phelps, it wasn’t to tell her that her husband wasn’t coming home.
Fourteen
Pizza boxes lay spread out across a desk inside the sheriff’s office as they worked through their next move. They’d updated the BOLO issued to law enforcement officers across the state with photos and background information. On top of that, they were working with other law enforcement agencies who had dealings with Barrick in the past to ensure the information they had was complete. An extensive dossier was a first step in figuring out where he would go for help.
“His mother lives in Denver,” Jonas said, writing the name of the woman on the whiteboard along the far wall of the room. “She works as a receptionist for a local dentist office.”
“He’s going to need cash,” Madison said, “but he knows we’ll go to her first.”
“Along with everyone else on this list,” he said as he added to it.
She pulled out information on the last place he’d rented and double-checked the landlord information. It was the tedious part of working a manhunt. They talked to family members and neighbors. Checked credit card activity, phone activity, and bank records.
“We need to have the top five names brought in for questioning by local law enforcement and find out if he’s contacted them,” Jonas said. “But my gut tells me he’s going to try and go to someone he thinks we don’t know.”
“Or strangers like he’s already done.” Madison tapped her fingers on the table.
The prepaid phone she’d bought in town vibrated in her back pocket. Madison pulled it out and checked the call log. There were three missed calls