She called Rowland to send officers and EMTs, then hurried back to the trail to search the woman’s backpack for ID. Her driver’s license listed her as Anne Whitaker.
She texted Rowland and told him who the woman was, praying she would be okay.
As soon as Grayson reached the parking lot, a pickup truck driver with four passengers, men and women, looked hopeful that he would move his vehicle so they could have his parking spot. As a courtesy, he went over to talk to them. “I’ve got some guys I’m waiting on, so it’ll be about an hour or so before I can leave.”
“Thanks, Dude,” the driver said and drove off. He would have to park elsewhere, and they would have to take the shuttle in.
Grayson threw his backpack in his SUV, then went over to the green Chevrolet to see if anyone was in the back seat. No one. He was disappointed, but he hoped they could at least get some information from the teen. But then he wondered if Younger had gone to the restroom. So he sat down at one of the picnic tables and watched the restroom for a while, but no one came out.
He grabbed his backpack from his SUV, locked the door, and headed back down the trail to where Kendra waited for him.
“I got a hold of Rowland. He’s coming. I didn’t tell him about the poop incident. What about the other guy?” Kendra asked, looking relieved to see Grayson.
“If he had been with the teen, there was no sign of him.”
“Okay, I found the woman’s ID. She’s Anne Whittaker.”
“She still appears to be out of it.” Grayson tried to wake Anne up.
“Yeah, I don’t have anything to bring her to.”
“The EMTs will have to take care of her. It appears the teen came on his own to meet with Ivy, then went after you instead when she didn’t show up. He and Younger probably figured there was a good chance Ivy wouldn’t come, so when you hid with me in the forest, he saw a single female who looked like an easy target, and they switched plans.”
“Did he have any ID on him? I couldn’t find any,” Kendra said.
“Not that I could find. Maybe in the car. Hmm, I could return to the car with his car keys and check.”
“Or let Rowland do it. He’ll tell us what he finds.”
Grayson found the teen’s keys. “Patience isn’t one of my virtues.”
“Mine either.”
“I’ll be right back.” Grayson stalked off and finally reached the car. He unlocked it and smelled the scents inside. Two males, one younger, the teen, and one older, smelling of beer, like Ivy had said the older man smelled like. Grayson checked the glove box and found a car registration belonging to Mimi Younger. Her home address was Kalispell.
He looked in the console and found an insurance card for the same woman listed on the car registration for Montana. He didn’t see any ID for the teen, but he found more zip ties, another gun, gloves, and IDs for three women, all about Ivy’s age. Hell.
Grayson searched through the rest of the vehicle, finding discarded bags of fast-food hamburgers and fries, empty beer bottles, empty soda cans, ketchup-, mayonnaise-, and mustard-stained paper napkins, the smells filling the stuffy air.
Dirty, wet socks were lying on the passenger’s floor and smelled like funky toe jam.
He took pictures of the license, registration, and the women’s IDs, then he popped the trunk. He had just left his crouched position inside the trunk filled with camping gear when he heard movement, saw a shadow cast over the car, and a fist struck him solidly on the side of his head with a thud.
Grayson saw stars and turned to face a wild-eyed, beer-bellied Younger—from the description that Ivy had given—who had biceps that rivaled Grayson’s own. Grayson blocked another blow to the head and struck Younger in the throat.
Younger grabbed his throat, gasping for air.
Grayson was about to take him into custody, but before he could get the cuffs on one of his meaty wrists, Younger slammed his fist at Grayson’s left eye and followed up with another fist to Grayson’s head.
The pain and sprinkles of stars all turned to blackness as Grayson felt himself falling into an abyss.
“Hey!” someone called out, and Younger got into the green car, started the engine, and tore off, squealing out of the parking lot.
“Hey, man, are you okay?” another man asked. “That ass nearly ran you over.”
Grayson came to enough to make out three college-age male hikers crouching around him, their expressions concerned, but glad Younger hadn’t run him over while tearing off in the car.
“Uh…” Damn, Grayson hated when a fugitive got the best of him.
