My mechanical heart skipped a beat. “Daniel Lusk?”
He nodded. “I was going to trace the plates but I left my laptop in the car, and I didn’t want to leave here without you.”
I didn’t know how to react. Of course I was relieved it wasn’t Holland, but I was worried, too. Was Daniel watching as friend or as foe? Was he the angry man who’d turned Hunter and me over to Quinn? Or was he Sarah’s father? I’d caught glimpses of a sensitive, caring man, just enough to reassure me he had once existed.
Lucas and I exited the store and headed for the Caprice. Lucas shoved the key in the ignition, but didn’t turn the engine over.
“What do you want to do?” he asked. We didn’t have long to figure it out.
I formulated a hasty plan. “When we see the RV come around again, pull onto the road in front of him. Cutting him off will get his attention, let him know that we’re onto him. Then let’s lead him back to that warehouse area we visited last night. See what he does.”
Daniel was following us; we had to find out what he wanted. But we’d do it on our own terms.
While we waited, I gave Lucas the abbreviated version of what I’d learned from Chloe. Montford. The Watkins Grant. Sarah’s fear and subsequent return home.
When I said Watkins Grant, he frowned. “Why does that sound familiar?”
Before he could figure it out, I spotted the RV, about six blocks away. From that distance, there was too much interference to scan for weapons or other passengers. But I was able to scan the driver’s face.
Magnify: 20x.
A familiar set of eyes drilled into my mind.
“You were right. It’s Daniel,” I said, my voice suddenly hoarse.
Once the RV was in close range, Lucas peeled out of the parking lot and jerked the car right in front of it. The RV slammed on its brakes before accelerating again and following us, weaving, back to the warehouse area we’d visited last night.
We passed the nicer section first, where some warehouses were converted into expensive lofts and restaurants. Beyond those, seediness remained. And now that Daniel knew we’d discovered him, we needed a head start. A place to lie in wait.
I pulled up a traffic map, a blue schema folding out in front of my eyes, surveying the area around us. I was able to see all the side streets, storefronts, and stoplights with 100 percent precision.
“In a quarter mile, there will be a gas station on the left. When we get there, gun it, okay?”
Lucas nodded, and then snapped his fingers. “Wait, I’ve got it! Not the Watkins Grant. The Watson Grant. I remember seeing an envelope on Holland’s desk. I wouldn’t have remembered, except it was addressed to Cynthia Gordon. That’s my aunt, but Gordon’s her maiden name. Holland’s wife.”
We didn’t have time for this now.
“It said care of the Watson Grant Committee. The font caught my eye—”
Holy crap. I turned toward him to ask more questions, but just then we reached the gas station. As instructed, he slammed his foot on the accelerator and we blew through a red light. The RV couldn’t pursue us through the intersection because of its hulking size.
He raced the Caprice down the road until we reached the turn-in on the left. A deserted driveway, leading to an even more deserted industrial area. The car’s tires screeched as he took the corner hard. The rearview mirror showed the RV, now a ways behind but still on our trail.
“That way, toward the back,” I said to Lucas, pointing past the first warehouse.
The asphalt here was so uneven that the car bumped and caught some air. He drove us between two dilapidated buildings. We knew the road continued around the back, flanked by Dumpsters overflowing with trash.
“Slow down just a little,” I said. Then I opened the door and launched myself onto the asphalt, tucking my arms tight.
Lucas continued around the corner. Once he cleared the other side, he’d stop and pull the door closed before driving back around and partially concealing the car two buildings over. Just enough to hide the fact that I wasn’t in the car.
Daniel would go to Lucas first, giving me time to scan and assess and see what we were up against. And if things went south, well—slashed tires in this neighborhood would give us a pretty big head start.