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He smiled. “A bit.” Then his smile faded as if he’d forgotten why they were talking about Grover in the past tense and had suddenly remembered. “But as cool as this is, it’s not a filing cabinet.”
She scanned the room. The lovingly restored car’s hardtop rested against one wall, but the room held no furniture other than a roll-around stool with a base loaded with car tools. Then she looked back at the Sprite.
“Maybe it is.”
Ryan raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”
“The Bugeye has a boot—er, a trunk—but no latch to lift it. See?” She pointed.
“That makes it pretty useless as a trunk, wouldn’t you say?”
“I wouldn’t.” She vaulted over the side and into the car’s interior, then knelt and felt around behind the seat. “The trunk is actually surprisingly spacious, but it can only be accessed from the interior.”
She located the opening to the trunk, pushed the trunk lid up, and grinned at Ryan. He looked down into the space and then back up, wide-eyed. She hopped out of the car and stood next to him, staring down at the small two-drawer filing cabinet nestled on its side in the trunk compartment.
He kissed her. “You’re a genius. Let’s get out of here and call Jake, then the cops.”
He lifted the metal cabinet from the trunk, and she shut the lid gently. As he carried the filing cabinet out to the Subaru and situated it in the rear hatch alongside the camping gear, she lingered in the barn to admire the Sprite. In her view, it wasn’t much of a car, but it was an exquisite piece of art. And it made her wish she’d had the chance to meet its owner.
Distant sirens penetrated her thoughts.
“Leilah, let’s go,” Ryan shouted urgently as the sirens grew louder.
She ran toward the front of the barn as fast as she could. When she reached the car, Ryan was already in the driver’s seat and the passenger door hung open.
“I should drive,” she protested.
“Get in,” he ordered.
Flashing lights crested a hill out on the road, and she dove for the front seat, yanking the door closed as Ryan hit the gas and the Subaru lurched forward.
“Floor it,” she told him.
“Call Jake,” he shouted back, his voice almost swallowed by the sirens. He tossed her the burner phone.
She caught it, bobbled it, and then punched in the speed dial number for Jake West.
“West.”
“We’re in Barrington, Maryland, on the Eastern Shore at Ryan’s old boss’s house. Grover Anderson. We found his body when we got here. He’d been shot. Police are on their way, but we didn’t call them.” The words tumbled from her mouth in a rush.
Jake was silent for what felt like an eternity but was probably three seconds. “Get out of there. Now.”
“We are.”
“I’ll call you back when I know something.” Jake ended the call.
Leilah stowed the phone in her bag and stole a glance at Ryan. His hair was damp with sweat and his face was drawn, intensely focused as the Subaru bucked and bumped down the country road at eighty miles an hour.
14
As the Subarushot out onto the paved highway from the dusty country road, Ryan blew out a long sigh of relief. They’d made it to the main road without encountering any law enforcement. Now all he had to do was put a bit more distance between them and Grover’s house. They should leave Maryland, but they couldn’t go back to the District or Virginia.
Delaware or Pennsylvania, he decided. Close enough to keep tabs on the investigation, but far enough away to get some breathing room.
He was about to say as much to Leilah when she swore softly under her breath. A heartbeat later, he saw why. A police cruiser was parked perpendicular across the road, partially blocking both directions. Two officers stood in front of the car in wide-legged shooting stances, their weapons aimed at the Subaru. He wet his dry lips and glanced in the rearview mirror. Two more black and whites came into view and hit their lights and sirens.
He considered his predicament for a split second. He was carrying a weapon he was not licensed to carry. He had sixteen thousand dollars in cash in his bag. And a dead man’s filing cabinet was shoved in the rear hatch of the car he was driving—a car that wasn’t registered to him.
