Eric’s phone rang again. “Parker. Forrester, is that you?”
“He’s taking her to hell and gone, man. You know the Speedway? We’re passed that and turning east on some side road. There’s a Christmas tree farm sign.” The background noise coming across the speaker had changed. It wasn’t the hum of tires on concrete and other vehicles. Now it was jolts and rattles and pings of gravel off steel.
“We’re about to cross the Perimeter. Don’t lose him,” Eric ordered.
“We won’t.” Forrester ended the call.
“That’s not our jurisdiction. We need to call the RCMP. What’s the nearest detachment?” Adam asked.
“Morris, maybe. But we’re not waiting.” The Calendar Killer had proven to be unstable when he was under threat. Grabbing somebody in front of witnesses wasn’t going to leave him any time to play like he’d want to, so odds were he was going to do the deed and get out.
“Shit. He’s heading for the river,” Eric realized. “Call last incoming number,” he ordered his phone.
“Number blocked,” the electronic voice informed him.
“Fuck!” It didn’t matter that he had nothing to report to Forrester, or that Forrester was already doing everything he could, Eric wanted a voice at the end of the line telling him Bree wasn’t being sliced and diced while he was stuck in traffic.
Bree was smart. Smart and strong, he kept telling himself. She was strong when they were together, grew stronger while they were apart, and she was formidable enough to take him back.
The reminder didn’t help.
Traffic cleared as the road turned into the highway that led from Winnipeg straight to the American border. Eric concentrated on passing every car in his way while he heard Adam telling their dispatcher to get the closest RCMP unit to the area.
They didn’t have that kind of time.
