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“The mark’s on the move, but he has a posse. Currently in a minivan, heading east on I-10.”
“Why is he still—” Breathing. “Driving?”
“That’s what I was trying to let you know when I called before. I got to his house at about four a.m. It was deserted, but someone got hurt there. There was a lot of blood. Wasn’t sure if it was the mark or my predecessor.”
“The latter,” Lamont said flatly.
“That’s what I figured. So, I waited to see if the mark would come back. And he did, but with a posse, like I said. And three of the four of them had guns, including the mark. Didn’t think you’d want me to leave witnesses and I didn’t want to get into a gunfight on a private street. I slid a tracker under the junker the mark was riding in. He was with two Latino dudes. And a third guy—white, about forty—who drove his own car. Fancy Beemer. White SUV.”
That surprised him. “Did you get the plate?”
“Sure did. Guy’s some lawyer out of New Orleans.”
Lamont blinked. “Are you sure?”
“If he’s not, then he stole the lawyer’s car. Beemer’s registered to a Paul Lott. Know him?”
Oh yes.“No,” he lied, “but I know who to ask.” After he was out of the town car and in a secure place, he was going straight to the source. Paul had a lot of explaining to do. “So you’re—” Biting back following them, he glanced up at James, who was bopping his head to a tune only he could hear. Not paying attention to me. “You’re with them?”
“Yeah. The junker with the tracker stopped at a Waffle House outside of Houston. The mark and the two Latino guys changed from the junker to a minivan, registered to Willa Mae Collins—also a lawyer, by the way. Twenty minutes later, two older ladies came out of the Waffle House with Paul Lott. The two ladies got into the minivan with the mark and the Latino guys and Paul Lott got into the Beemer. Then they all got on I-10 and headed east. Toward you.”
Lamont had figured that out for himself already. Why were they headed this way? And why the hell had Paul Lott gone to meet with Xavier Morrow? How did he even know where Xavier was? Goddammit.
“Stay on them,” Lamont ordered. “I’ll call you later with more specific instructions.”
“Got it. Not in a place where you can talk?”
“Not right now.”
“Then I’ll stay on their tail and wait for your call.”
I-10, Baton Rouge, Louisiana
TUESDAY, JULY 26, 1:45 P.M.
“Gabe?”
Gabe jolted back to reality, having been staring at the cars on the interstate all around them. He quickly turned to Molly because she sounded tense. “What’s wrong?”
“I need you to text a license plate number to Burke. Now.”
He grabbed her burner phone from the center console and put in her unlock code. “Ready.” She fired off a license plate number, and he read it back to her before hitting send. “What’s going on?”
“I have no idea,” she said, not taking her eyes from the road. “But we appear to have some kind of a caravan going on. Do you see Xavier’s gray minivan?”
The minivan actually belonged to Willa Mae Collins, according to Burke’s earlier license plate search. Miss Collins was an attorney, which had Gabe wondering why Xavier needed one.
“I do.” The minivan was about eight cars in front of them. “And I see the white BMW SUV directly behind them.” The car driven by someone pretending to be his father’s attorney.
They now knew that the SUV did belong to Paul Lott. Burke had confirmed this after running the SUV’s plate as well. Burke had been trying to get in touch with either the attorney or his office administrator ever since, but so far, he’d had no luck.
“Do you see the grayish-green Jeep four cars behind the white SUV?”
It took him a second, but then he nodded when he focused in on the vehicle. “Yeah. Why?”
“Because he’s following, too.”
Gabe blinked in surprise. “What? How do you know?”
