Chapter 17
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Ravenswood, Illinois
Patel was quiet for a long moment. “Both, maybe. She was getting weaker. Lost a lot of weight. Her hands shook sometimes. Lisa was emotional, like young women are, you know?”
“I see,” Drake said, to draw him out.
“That last week, she kept checking the windows. Looking over her shoulder more than usual. Twice she wanted to know if anyone had been asking about her.”
“Had anyone been asking?”
“Not until you.”
As the picture of young Lizzy Pace unfolded through Patel’s story, Drake’s sympathy increased. Too much bad luck had befallen her in her short life. Flint would feel the same.
“Do you know where Tom Wilson went? The bus driver?”
“His sister said he moved to Florida. Tampa, maybe. Changed his name back to his mother’s maiden name. Thomas Murphy now, I heard.”
“Changed his name? That seems unusual, doesn’t it?” Drake wrote that down. Another lead to follow.
“Maybe,” Patel replied. “He’d been hounded by reporters and, I’m sad to say, local residents who blamed him for Lisa’s death and making three kids orphans. Even after he moved away, they kept it up. What would you have done?”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Drake nodded. “What about the kids’ father? Did he show up at the funeral or try to reclaim his kids?”
“I never met the man.” Patel shook his head again. “I asked Lisa about him once. She said he was evil, and she never wanted him to find those kids. She seemed really terrified, so I let it go.”
Drake swallowed the rest of the water and tossed the empty bottle in the trash. “Thank you, Mr. Patel. You’ve been very helpful.”
“Those children. Are they doing okay? The ones who hired you?”
“As far as I know, yes. Finding out about Lisa’s life here will help them understand their own story. They might come to talk to you about all of this one day.”
Patel nodded slowly. “If they do, I’ll have nothing but good things to say about Lisa. She was young and emotional, but she tried to be a good mother.”
Drake left the store and walked to his rental car. A gray Honda Accord. Anonymous and reliable. Nothing that would draw attention on Illinois highways. He’d followed Flint’s advice about operational security. Boring was always better than dead.
He checked his watch. The drive to Peoria would take about two hours. Plenty of time to work his charm on the adoption records clerks before they closed for the day.
His phone buzzed. Text message from Gaspar: Additional records attached. Foster placement details less complete than expected.
Drake opened the encrypted files in the car. The foster care records painted a clearer picture. All three children had been initially placed with families that specialized in difficult cases. These foster families handled kids with trauma histories. Kids with false identities.
But none of the kids stayed in foster care for long. They were adopted fairly quickly.
Which meant the adoption records might be even more heavily sealed than usual.
No problem. Drake had loads of charm he could deploy to get more intel.
And if charm didn’t work, he had other resources.
He merged onto the Interstate toward Peoria. Two lanes in each direction. Light afternoon traffic moved at steady speeds.
The landscape was flat and empty and still covered with snow. Farmland stretched to the horizon in all directions. Corn stubble poked through patches of dirty snow. Winter still held Illinois in its grip, although the official start of spring was only a few days ahead.
Drake spotted the tail fifteen minutes outside Ravenswood. A black SUV stayed exactly three cars back. Maintained perfect spacing through lane changes and speed variations. The driver was good.
His phone rang. Flint.
“What’s your status?”
“Just finished the Patel interview.” Drake checked his mirrors. The SUV was still following. “Also confirmed we’ve got company.”
“How many?”
“One vehicle so far. Black SUV.”
“Get out of there,” Flint said immediately. “Abort the records search. We don’t want to lead them along, just in case we do find the kids.”
“Too late for that.” Drake accelerated slightly. The Honda responded better than he’d expected. “I’m committed now. And we need those adoption records.”
Drake cut the connection and focused on driving.
While he’d talked to Flint, the SUV had closed the gap. Only two cars back now. In the rearview mirror, Drake could see two men in the front seats. Both wore dark clothing. Straight backs. Alert positions.
Drake accelerated to eighty. The SUV matched his speed.
He slowed to sixty. The SUV slowed.
He changed lanes. The SUV followed. This was more than simple surveillance. They were in active pursuit.
Drake’s military training had included convoy tactics and road ambushes where he was taught that enemies generally preferred chokepoints. Bridges. Construction zones. Anywhere the target couldn’t maneuver away and escape.
Drake scanned the road ahead. The interstate crossed the Illinois River in about ten miles. Perfect ambush point.
Drake opened his go-bag and grabbed the backup pistol. Fifteen rounds of nine-millimeter ammunition. He checked the magazine. Full capacity.
The Honda wasn’t armored. It was a standard civilian vehicle with thin sheet metal and glass windows. It was fast and maneuverable. Better than the heavy SUV for evasive driving.
His phone buzzed. Unknown number.
“Yeah?”
“Drake.” The voice was calm. “Pull over.”
“No thanks.” Drake ended the call.
The SUV accelerated hard and pulled into the left lane, drawing alongside Drake’s Honda. Through the side windows, he could see figures moving inside but couldn’t make out details through the tinted glass.
The SUV swerved suddenly toward him. Drake yanked the wheel right as the heavy vehicle tried to ram the smaller car off the road. The Honda’s tires fought for grip as he pulled onto the shoulder, gravel spraying from under his wheels.
The SUV overshot, then braked hard to match his position. Both vehicles came to a stop on the highway shoulder, engines idling in the sudden quiet.
Four SUV doors opened in unison. No wasted motion.
Four men emerged, assault rifles in hand.
When they were ten feet from the SUV, Drake floored the accelerator. The Honda shot forward.
He had maybe thirty seconds before they caught up again.
Time to improvise.
He spotted a farm road that branched off to the right. The gravel surface was worn smooth by decades of truck traffic. The road probably led to a grain elevator or farmhouse. Better terrain for what he had in mind.
Drake took the turn at sixty miles per hour. The Honda’s rear end slid out. Tires fought for traction on loose gravel, but it held the road. Gravel pinged off the undercarriage like machine gun fire.
Drake glanced back in his side mirrors. The SUV made the same turn. Slower and more controlled but still coming.
The farm road led through cornfields toward a cluster of buildings. Grain silos towered against gray sky. Machinery sheds spread across muddy ground.
Nobody was around. Which meant no witnesses. Perfect.
Drake parked behind the largest shed. He rolled out of the Honda. Cold air hit his face like a slap. He left the engine running and grabbed his go-bag.
The SUV appeared thirty seconds later. It stopped fifty yards away. Tactical distance. Doors snapped open in unison again and they stepped out.