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Shep studied the sketch. “Six streets. Twelve race car drivers, according to Alina. What if it’s a code? Like how they communicate which cars are leaving with the cash?”
“That’s what I’m thinking.” Marco tapped the paper with his pencil. “Using that analogy, two streets would equal four race cars. If four race cars exit the rez around the time the drag race is supposed to begin, then we’ve finally cracked their code.”
Sure enough, four sports cars zoomed into view within the hour. They weren’t lined up like train cars or anything that obvious. They passed through the gate a few minutes apart from each other. One driver had his music blaring, rocking his head to the beat.
Adriel had Shep hold off detaining any of them for a random K-9 check. “Business as usual,” he reminded.
“Even though they’re driving off with tens of thousands in counterfeit money?” Shep hated having his hands tied like this.
“Yep.” Adriel didn’t look any more thrilled about it than he was. “Our only task is to serve as the Feds’ eyes and ears at the gate. They’re handling the rest.”
Marco picked up on chatter for another drag race. This time, three streets were named. “Six more cars,” he reported grimly.
That amounted to ten out of twelve cars leaving the rez, presumably all loaded down with counterfeit cash. Hours passed, and none of them returned.
Shep waylaid Marco inside the shack around three o’clock. “When do the race cars normally return?”
The former federal agent shrugged. “All hours of the day and night.”
“Have you ever gone this long withoutanyof them returning?” Shep pressed.
“I’m leaning toward no, but it’s hard to say,” Marco admitted. “It would take days of replaying video footage from multiple security cameras to know for sure.”
Within the hour, the eleventh race car left the rez without any chatter over the app about a drag race.
Shep watched the driver pass through the gate, kick it into gear, and high-tail it down the highway. “Something’s wrong.” He spoke in undertones to Adriel Montana. “They’re moving cash, but they’re not coming back.”
“Appears that way.” Adriel stomped into the guard shack and had Marco send another update to the Feds. To their surprise, the Feds replied with the reason that none of the race cars had returned.
They’d intercepted all eleven drivers, impounded their cars, and were in the process of interrogating them.
“But they don’t know anything,” Shep exploded. “All the Feds have done is tip their hand to the Dallas Kings. If they’re unable to get in touch with any of their drivers, they have to know their cover is blown.”
He reached for his phone and dialed Prim.
“What are you doing?” Adriel half-rose from his chair.
“Warning my girlfriend.” She had no one protecting her at the moment.
Adriel started to say something else. Then he slowly took his seat again.
The phone rang and rang and finally went to her voicemail.
“Sheriff?” Shep’s voice was pleading as he faced his future boss.
Adriel threw his hands into the air. “Go.”
Shep didn’t take the time to put the dogs in their cages. He loaded them into the cab with him and allowed them the rare privilege of riding down the street with their heads hanging out the window.
Normally, he would’ve found their dorky expressions and lolling tongues to be hilarious as they wallowed in the spring breeze.
To his enormous relief, Prim’s Supra was in her designated parking spot when he arrived at the clinic.
“Stay.” Leaving the dogs in the truck, he ran to the back door and found it unlocked.
“Prim!” He called her name repeatedly as he hurried up the hall of offices and exam rooms.
A nurse poked her head around the corner. “She’s not here.”
