“It’s okay. Can you see if you can unlock me?” He held out his cuffed wrists.

She made quick work of the lock, tears sparkling on her eyelashes as the lock sprung and he pulled off the cuffs. He took the lock pick from her and released her hands, as well. She rubbed her wrists and lowered her head. “Now what?”

“Stay here while I check something.” He got out of the cruiser, shrugged on his jacket and circled the cruiser until he was certain there was no GPS tracking device attached to the underside of the chassis. The cruiser itself would probably have an internal device the sheriff’s department could track through its own system, but Clint Holbrook would have to go through channels to get access to that.

As he got into the cruiser, he heard the radio on the dashboard squawk. A male voice-dispatch, he guessed- asked for a ten-twenty from unit four.

Jane cleared her throat. “I think that’s us. You better answer.”

He started to reach for the radio, then stopped. “If I don’t answer, they’ll come looking for us.”

“I know, so answer it.”

He looked at her. “Those deputies deserve to be found before the wolves you saw get to their bodies. I’m not going to answer and pretend I’m them.”

“It’ll buy us time.”

“I said no.”

She pressed her lips to a thin line, but he saw understanding in her eyes, battling with her need to get away from the danger. She gave a quick nod. “But now we’re going to have to ditch the cruiser. And soon.”

“I know,” he said. But it would take a while for the sheriff’s department to figure out what was going on. That bought them a little time to get rid of the cruiser and find another way out of the area.

THEY LEFT the highway after a few more miles, weaving their way south down county roads and back roads so lightly traveled they ran into no other traffic for a solid hour.

Jane buckled her seat belt and settled back against the passenger seat, turning her head so she could watch Joe’s profile as he drove. His brow was creased, probably with pain. She saw him drop his left hand to his side more than once.

“Are you bleeding again?”

“A little. Not much.”

Jane fell silent, trying to clear from her mind the image of the fallen deputies. She made herself picture Clint Holbrook instead, studying the lines of his face, the color of his hair and eyes, trying to place him in the dark chasm that hid her lost memories.

He’d told the deputies and Joe that she was a paranoid schizophrenic. But that couldn’t be true, could it? She’d lived for five months in Trinity without anyone thinking her insane, hadn’t she? And she’d known Joe and his brother before that, and Joe didn’t act like she was crazy, either.

“Did you believe him?” she blurted aloud.

Joe slanted a look at her. “Holbrook?”

“Yeah. Did you believe what he said about me?”

Joe’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I don’t know. You were keeping secrets when I knew you. I guess maybe you’re his wife. I don’t know.”

“No, I mean about the other thing.”

He frowned, as if uncertain what she was asking. Then his brow straightened, and his lips curved in a half smile. “That you’re a paranoid schizophrenic?” He released a huff of laughter. “No. You’re as sane as I am.”

Surprised by how relieved his reassurances made her feel, she cleared her throat. “But what if he tells his story to Chief Trent? What if he explains away his presence at Angie’s apartment and turns it all back on me?”

“Trent knows what the evidence says. The person who killed Angela had to be a lot bigger and stronger than you. I don’t think Holbrook will try to sell that to the Trinity cops,” Joe assured her.

She hoped he was right.

“Listen, we need to ditch this cruiser, and soon. That means risking the highway again so we can find a truck stop or something. Maybe a no-tell motel that won’t ask too many questions if we show up on foot without luggage.”

“Any idea where we are right now?”

“We just passed into Boise County, heading west.”

“We can take Highway 21 into Boise, but that’s probably a good three hours from here. I think there are truck stops along that highway, and probably a few cheap places to stay where people won’t ask a lot of questions. I can’t tell you exactly where, though.”

“Then we’ll just drive until we find one,” he said.

Chapter Nine

The Shamrock Motel sat, low-slung and shabby, just off Highway 21 about two hours outside Boise. Its Las Vegas-style marquee was missing several lights so that the sign read ham ock in neon green.

They came upon it less than a mile down the road from the Lucky 21 Truck Stop, a fact that combined with Joe’s growing exhaustion to overcome his dismay at the motel’s seedy appearance. Back up the highway about a quarter mile, he’d spotted a turnoff that might provide them a good place to hide the cruiser. As soon as he could find a place to turn around, he reversed course and backtracked to the turnoff, driving down a winding gravel road for another quarter mile until he found a stand of trees that would hide the cruiser from view, at least until full daylight the next day. By then, he planned to be already at the truck stop, looking to grab a ride on a big rig into Boise.

Joe pulled the dead deputy’s service weapon out of the waistband of his jeans and laid it on the car seat. He saw Jane’s curious sidelong glance. “We’ll get further unarmed,” he explained. “Less conspicuous.”

She nodded.

They cut through the woods, keeping the highway in sight, until they reached the clearing where the Shamrock Motel sprawled under the blue-green combination of the waxing moon and the anemic neon of its marquee sign. Joe told Jane to wait in the parking lot while he went inside and rented a room for the night.

The desk clerk took his money without really looking at him, no doubt aware that the less he noticed, the fewer questions he’d have to answer when someone with a badge or a P.I. license inevitably came calling. Joe signed the register “Mr. and Mrs. John Clark” and the clerk handed him the key to room 24.

Jane followed him to the room, located at the far end of the motel. There were only a couple of other cars in the parking lot, and no signs of occupation down where their room was located.

Jane went immediately to the bathroom as soon as they got inside, leaving Joe to drop wearily onto the bed, hoping the worn bedspread was relatively clean. He was surprised to see a phone on the bedside table; a lot of places like the Shamrock Motel didn’t bother with that sort of amenity, knowing its typical clientele wouldn’t require more than a bed and relative anonymity.

He picked up the phone and dialed the operator. Asking to place a collect call, he gave the operator the number of his deputy chief’s office in Canyon Creek and prayed that Riley Patterson was pulling one of his usual late nights.

His second in command answered on the second ring. The operator told him there was a collect call from a Sheriff John Clark and would he accept the charges? Joe held his breath, hoping his old friend would remember their games of Cowboys and Indians from their childhood days.

“I’ll accept,” Riley said.

Joe released his pent-up breath.

“Joe?” Riley asked when the operator left the line.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“Are you okay?” The worry in Riley’s voice caught Joe by surprise.

“I’m okay. Listen, I don’t have long-”

“Neither do I. I just got a call from an FBI agent out of the Idaho Falls Resident Agency. Did you know you’re wanted for murdering a couple of Idaho cops?”

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