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Five minutes later, we were in our vehicles.
Folsom was in her own, and the three of us were in a large F-250 made for a king.
“You sure you trust her by herself?” Bayou asked, sounding worn out and sick.
“Not really, no,” I said. “But the fact that she said ‘I don’t do gunfights’ is probably a good thing. I don’t know how she’d handle that kind of thing, and honestly, I don’t know…”
“Keep talking great about me,” Folsom said as she chirped into the truck’s speaker system. “Now, what you’re going to do is drive. That Wagoneer is on its last fifty miles. The first gas station is a big one. They’re probably not going to go to that one because there are too many people. The next one is a little more decently sized. I don’t think they’ll go to that one, either. My guess, they’ll go to the third station. I’m going to drive straight there. Park off in the distance. I won’t really be able to help unless you want me to pick the child up and drive off. That I’m okay with. But if you’re gonna need assistance in the way of a gunner, I’m not that. I don’t even know how to shoot.”
I looked at Sam, who smiled at me. “Nice to have someone that knows what their limits are.”
We drove.
We caught up to the Wagoneer in ten minutes.
Mostly because I was doing seven over, and the Wagoneer was doing exactly the speed limit, if not a little under each time.
“My guess, he’s gonna dump this one here,” she said. “He’s not going to want to chance driving a stolen vehicle, especially one that flashy, any longer.”
I could practically see Bayou and Sam stiffen up in anticipation the closer we got to the SUV.
I kept a respectable distance back, staying well out of the “he’s following me” zone.
Folsom was right. The dude skipped the first two gas stations and chose the third.
It was much smaller. Which meant it was quite a bit harder to hide in any way.
But Folsom managed it.
We, on the other hand, didn’t even try.
We pulled up right next to the Wagoneer, watching as a man and a woman got out.
“There are two in the front, one in the back,” Folsom whispered. “Now, get out and start refueling. Make it look normal.”
I looked at the fuel gauge.
It was barely below full.
This would be a short fuel-up, but I got out and filled it up anyway.
I went through the motions while Sam got out and went inside.
Bayou stayed where he was, tense and watching the car like a hawk.
“They’re not going to fill up. They’re going to find a new car,” she assured us.
That was exactly what they did.
“The only one left inside is a younger man. Maybe an older teen,” she said. “I’m gonna set the car alarm off.”
Bayou tensed even further.
I waited, door open so I could hear Folsom.
A few seconds later, the car alarm for the SUV started going off, and a frantic-looking teen got out.
He looked around, almost as if he was trying to find his accomplices in crime.
