Hostage

Vaughan looked back at the motel. All the doors and windows in front had been boarded up, and there were large rectangular DANGER signs nailed to the sheets of plywood.

Now she knew where they were.

“Please,” she shouted. “We need to go.”

The man glanced down at her badge.

“Climb on,” he said.

Vaughan started crying and laughing at the same time. She was giddy with excitement. What were the odds of a conscientious citizen riding by this abandoned motel on this desolate stretch of Route 37 at just the right time? A million to one? Maybe a billion to one, but it had happened, and now she was going to live to see another day.

She was already thinking about what she was going to do when she got back to Hope, about helping to coordinate the manhunt with the state police and the FBI. She would probably have to do it from a hospital room, but that was okay. Everything was going to be all right now.

For the first time in hours, Vaughan was optimistic about her chances of making it out of this predicament in one piece. All she had to do was get on that bike and she would be home free. But as she started to mount the rear part of the vinyl seat, a shot rang out and a hole the size of a nickel suddenly appeared on the left side of the biker’s helmet. His body went slack. He slumped forward and then tilted sideways, his weight carrying Vaughan and the motorcycle to the pavement.

Vaughan tried to scoot away, but her right leg was pinned under the fender.

She looked up and saw Sozinho standing over her.

He aimed the pistol at her face and cocked the hammer.

13

The drum wrench guy told Retro everything he knew, but it didn’t turn out to be much. He’d seen everything from a distance, from the second floor of the old brick building. He saw Vaughan go down, and then he saw a man with a sleeveless shirt put her in the back seat of the police car and drive away. And that was about it. Not much help. He did say that the car continued in the direction it was pointed, east toward the station. Which meant that it might be in Missouri by now, or hundreds of miles in some other direction, but Retro didn’t think so. The car had to be somewhere nearby. Vaughan was either still with it, or she had been transferred to another vehicle. If she was still with it, she was probably dead. If she had been transferred, there might still be a chance. Either way, the man who’d carjacked the cruiser couldn’t have driven it far. If he’d taken it out on the highway somewhere, it would have been spotted by now.

After escorting the ambulance to the hospital and getting all the paperwork squared away, Retro rode by Vaughan’s house, just to make sure the car wasn’t there in the driveway.

It wasn’t.

Retro knew it wouldn’t be, but he had to check. He parked at the curb and got out and peeked in the garage window and knocked on the front door.

Nothing.

He thought about the times he’d been to Vaughan’s house as a guest. The parties, the barbecues. Vaughan liked to laugh and have a good time, although there always seemed to be some sort of intense emotional pain just beyond the facade. Because of what had happened to her husband, Retro supposed. It was the same underlying sadness he saw in his own eyes when he looked in the mirror. It was a bond he and Vaughan shared. The life-shattering finality of irretrievable loss. They’d never talked about it, but maybe they would some day. Maybe on the phone after Retro moved to Florida. Maybe time and distance would allow them to open up to each other.

As Retro turned to walk back to his car, the woman living in the house next door stepped out to her porch and asked him if everything was all right.

“Have you seen Ms. Vaughan today?” Retro said.

“No. I haven’t seen her since she left for work yesterday evening. I was carrying some groceries into the house as she was backing out of the driveway. She waved, but I couldn’t wave back because my hands were full. I smiled, though, and then I saw her smile back at me. I think it’s good for neighbors to be friendly with each other, don’t you?”

“Yes ma’am. Give us a call if you happen to see Ms. Vaughan.”

“Is she missing?”

“Yes. Since early this morning. We’ve put the word out on radio and TV, hoping we might be able to get some help from the community.”

“We’ve been neighbors for a long time, and I’ve always worried about her doing that kind of work.”

“Let us know if you see or hear anything.”

“I certainly will, officer. I certainly will.”

Retro tipped his hat, walked back to his car and climbed in and drove to the diner. This time he walked past the counter and took a seat in the booth reserved for the department. The place was starting to fill up with the early dinner crowd.

The same waitress Retro had spoken to earlier brought him a glass of water and a menu. He handed the menu back without looking at it and ordered a fish sandwich with fries and a cup of coffee.

“What’s your name?” he said.

“Mira.”

“I was wondering if I could talk to you for a few minutes.”