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“Now which is it? You wondering who we’re looking for? Or you don’t know anyone named Jeremiah?” Rachel said.
He looked flustered and paused briefly. His words had come fast and jumbled at first, but now he just looked uncertain.
Rachel could sense the dishonesty in his voice, her instincts honed from years spent tracking people through the Texas wilderness. She locked her gaze on him. “We heard something in the back.”
Just then, the faint sound of shuffling reached their ears, followed by a creaking. Rachel and Ethan exchanged another glance before they both sprang into action, brushing past the old-timer and hurrying in the direction of the noise. It sounded like a window being forced open.
“You can’t go back there!” the old-timer protested.
“Watch us,” Rachel retorted.
They pushed through a door that led into one of the work areas. The place smelled even more strongly of grease. But Rachel’s gaze was drawn to a figure in the back.
“Stop!” Ethan shouted as they both caught sight of a man struggling to slip through a rear-facing window.
Rachel bolted like a runner at a starter pistol, leaping over a bench covered in oily rags and lunging toward the man who was huffing and cursing as he struggled through the small window.
Rachel’s lithe, athletic build allowed her to close the distance quickly, her strong legs propelling her forward like a predator chasing its prey. She lunged for the man, fingertips brushing against his clothing, but he slipped through her grasp, disappearing out the window. Cursing under her breath, she pushed herself up from the ground, her determination undeterred.
The roar of an engine starting in the alleyway alerted them to the escaping man’s plan.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Rachel and Ethan sprinted back to their car.
“Stop, hang on!” the old-timer called.
But they both ignored his stall tactics as they flung themselves through the door and back to their waiting car. A moment later, they peeled out of the mechanic’s shop, tires screeching against the pavement. In hot pursuit of the fleeing man, they tore onto the desolate desert roads that stretched endlessly across the Texas landscape.
“Stay on him!” Rachel shouted, her deep brown eyes fixated on the cloud of dust kicked up by the other vehicle.
Ethan gripped the wheel tightly while his foot pressed down hard on the gas pedal. Their car sped through the barren landscape, catching up to the fleeing driver who was now veering off-road. A cloud of sand billowed behind them as both vehicles tore across the rugged terrain.
“Rachel, you ready?” Ethan asked, glancing over at her.
She just nodded once and braced herself.
Ethan swung the car wide, slamming the front bumper into the rear of the other car.
The other vehicle spun out on the sandy, off-road terrain. It struck a divot, and there was a screech of metal.
The car went suddenly still.
“You good?” Ethan asked, breathing heavily as they came to a rolling stop behind their prey.
In answer, Rachel leapt out onto the sandy ground.
“Turn off your engine!” Rachel commanded, her authoritative tone cutting through the air like a knife.
She strode toward the stalled car in the ditch. The man complied, his hands shaking as he raised them in surrender out the window.
At least he was still conscious.
As Rachel approached the defeated driver, she got a good look at him. Jeremiah Smith—his features matched the DMV photo she had on her phone. She compared the two for a moment, then turned her attention to the real deal.
He seemed genuinely terrified, his face pale and streaked with sweat.
“What the hell!” he yelled at her. “What was that for?”
“You ran,” she said simply.
