unlatched the hood, and lifted it.
• • •
Larson assumed the woman was probably going to visit a friend as she headed toward the edge of town. At least that’s what he thought until she pulled into the parking lot of the auto storage facility.
He coasted to a stop at the side of the road, and watched the woman walk from her car into the main building.
Wait, or what?
He frowned. She could be there for any number of reasons. She was a cop after all, right? Cops had cases they had to deal with. Cases with cars: accidents, drunk drivers, illegal parking, and…stolen vehicles.
Or what , he decided. He pulled into the lot, parked his stolen car three slots from the Charger, and climbed out.
• • •
The BMW’s trunk was lined with gray carpet. There were a couple of bungee cords lying to the side, and a blue zip-up bag with a red cross on it pushed to the back. Ostensibly, it was a first-aid kit, but the bag could be acting as a diversion for what was really inside. Her desire to unzip it was nearly overwhelming, but, again, she knew it would be a mistake.
What she did do was check under the carpet but the only visible thing she found was the spare tire. There could have been something underneath it, but she wasn’t going to move the tire to check, so she dropped the carpet back down.
There was really nothing else to speak of. A little wear, maybe, and a couple of marks that looked like they’d been there for a long time, but nothing that would tie to the crime on Goodman Ranch Road.
She knew she should be happy she’d found the car—that was huge, actually—but she couldn’t help feeling a bit disappointed. She’d been hoping for something concrete that would prove Jake was right.
She pulled out her phone, suddenly wondering if maybe the reason she hadn’t heard back from him was because she didn’t have a signal out here. But though the signal wasn’t as strong as it could be, there was enough to receive a call.
He must be meeting with the detectives, she guessed. If so, she hoped it was going well.
She slipped the phone into her pocket, then reached up to close the trunk.
• • •
The security measure used by the impound lot was definitely enough to keep most people out, but most people weren’t Larson. He spent ninety seconds assessing the situation, and thirty-five getting from one side of the fence to the other.
Once on the inside, he crouched down behind a blue Dodge Caravan and paused for a full minute, waiting for someone to rush out of the building in response to some unseen motion sensor he might have tripped. No one came.
Carefully, he stepped out from his position and scanned the yard. He didn’t see anyone around, but a row of double-stacked cars hid much of the lot from him, so someone could have easily been beyond it.
He headed down the aisle on the far right. It was the farthest away from the main building he could get, lowering the odds that he might be seen.
When he reached the first perpendicular aisle, he paused. He could now see beyond the row of double-stacked cars. Even better, they were now shielding his presence from anyone who might look out from the building.
He scanned the rest of the lot. There were two men way down at the other end. They were talking, their backs partially to him, so he stepped quickly across the intersection and continued to the next aisle.
There was no activity on this one at all, just rows of jailed cars waiting for their owners to bail them out. He moved on.
The third aisle appeared equally empty, but as he started to head for aisle four, he noticed movement near the midpoint. It wasn’t exactly in the aisle, though. It was within the row of cars. Whatever or whoever it was had moved out of sight, so he decided to get closer.
To hide his movements, he walked to the fourth row, also empty, and turned onto it. He was seventy-five feet away when a person stood up at the spot where he’d seen the
• • •
Larson assumed the woman was probably going to visit a friend as she headed toward the edge of town. At least that’s what he thought until she pulled into the parking lot of the auto storage facility.
He coasted to a stop at the side of the road, and watched the woman walk from her car into the main building.
Wait, or what?
He frowned. She could be there for any number of reasons. She was a cop after all, right? Cops had cases they had to deal with. Cases with cars: accidents, drunk drivers, illegal parking, and…stolen vehicles.
Or what , he decided. He pulled into the lot, parked his stolen car three slots from the Charger, and climbed out.
• • •
The BMW’s trunk was lined with gray carpet. There were a couple of bungee cords lying to the side, and a blue zip-up bag with a red cross on it pushed to the back. Ostensibly, it was a first-aid kit, but the bag could be acting as a diversion for what was really inside. Her desire to unzip it was nearly overwhelming, but, again, she knew it would be a mistake.
What she did do was check under the carpet but the only visible thing she found was the spare tire. There could have been something underneath it, but she wasn’t going to move the tire to check, so she dropped the carpet back down.
There was really nothing else to speak of. A little wear, maybe, and a couple of marks that looked like they’d been there for a long time, but nothing that would tie to the crime on Goodman Ranch Road.
She knew she should be happy she’d found the car—that was huge, actually—but she couldn’t help feeling a bit disappointed. She’d been hoping for something concrete that would prove Jake was right.
She pulled out her phone, suddenly wondering if maybe the reason she hadn’t heard back from him was because she didn’t have a signal out here. But though the signal wasn’t as strong as it could be, there was enough to receive a call.
He must be meeting with the detectives, she guessed. If so, she hoped it was going well.
She slipped the phone into her pocket, then reached up to close the trunk.
• • •
The security measure used by the impound lot was definitely enough to keep most people out, but most people weren’t Larson. He spent ninety seconds assessing the situation, and thirty-five getting from one side of the fence to the other.
Once on the inside, he crouched down behind a blue Dodge Caravan and paused for a full minute, waiting for someone to rush out of the building in response to some unseen motion sensor he might have tripped. No one came.
Carefully, he stepped out from his position and scanned the yard. He didn’t see anyone around, but a row of double-stacked cars hid much of the lot from him, so someone could have easily been beyond it.
He headed down the aisle on the far right. It was the farthest away from the main building he could get, lowering the odds that he might be seen.
When he reached the first perpendicular aisle, he paused. He could now see beyond the row of double-stacked cars. Even better, they were now shielding his presence from anyone who might look out from the building.
He scanned the rest of the lot. There were two men way down at the other end. They were talking, their backs partially to him, so he stepped quickly across the intersection and continued to the next aisle.
There was no activity on this one at all, just rows of jailed cars waiting for their owners to bail them out. He moved on.
The third aisle appeared equally empty, but as he started to head for aisle four, he noticed movement near the midpoint. It wasn’t exactly in the aisle, though. It was within the row of cars. Whatever or whoever it was had moved out of sight, so he decided to get closer.
To hide his movements, he walked to the fourth row, also empty, and turned onto it. He was seventy-five feet away when a person stood up at the spot where he’d seen the
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