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Harris County deputy Nora Silva came out of the restroom at McDonald’s and went to the counter.

This was her meal break, but she had little time. She was on her fourth straight shift of stressful never-ending days, patrolling her district at metro Houston’s northeast edge.

She needed coffee.

While waiting, her radio sounded an audio tone alert. Silva slid in her earpiece, focused on the call.

It was a general broadcast arising out of Clear River County. An alert for a Ram 5500 flatbed tow truck, orange, likely transporting a 1970s blue Dodge Challenger. Subject linked to a kidnapping. Details to follow.

Silva grabbed a muffin with her coffee, got into her marked white Ford Police Interceptor and consulted her computer. The alert subject was Raylin Thurman Nash, a person of interest in the disappearance of Carrie Conway, spouse of Clear River County deputy Luke Conway. Arrest on sight. Subject considered dangerous. His face appeared with his driver’s license, and she checked other details.

Wow , Silva thought just as her personal phone vibrated. She looked at the latest text, new info about her sister’s upcoming wedding in Las Vegas. Husband number two. Hope this one’s a sure bet , Silva thought, smiling.

Break was over. Back to work.

Rolling out of McDonald’s, Silva was keeping the alert in the forefront, but she had calls to handle. She headed to a follow-up on a burglary. A little community outreach. Stopped at an intersection, she bit into her muffin and took a hit of coffee, then did a double take.

What is that?

An orange flatbed tow truck, moving in the direction of the highway ramp, sped in front of her. An older blue car on the bed.

“No way! Is this my guy?”

Turning right, Silva accelerated, pulling close to read the truck’s driver’s side door, RTN Towing, Clear River.

“Jackpot.”

Silva dropped behind the truck and alerted dispatch, activating her emergency lights and siren. The truck kept going.

“Don’t make me chase you,” Silva said aloud. “Stay off the ramp.” The truck pulled over. “Good choice.”

The driver appeared to be the sole occupant.

Calling in her location and status, Silva got out.

Approaching the truck, keeping to the left rear, hand on her weapon, she ordered the driver to shut off the motor, extend his hands out the window, open the door from the exterior and exit.

Silva drew her sidearm, aiming it at the driver’s door.

The driver complied and Nash— yes, he matches the license photo —stepped out wearing a black T-shirt emblazoned with a large grinning skull.

“On your stomach, hands behind your back.”

Nash, who had tattooed arms and a stubbled face, eyed Silva.

“Excuse me?” he said. “What did I do?”

“On your stomach,” Silva repeated from behind her gun.

“Was I speeding, Officer?”

“Get down. Now!”

The sirens of approaching HCSO units grew louder.

Nash sneered, then did as she’d instructed. Silva handcuffed him, patted him for weapons, found his wallet and confirmed his ID. Helping him to his feet, she read him his rights. She locked him in the secure rear seat of her car.

“What did I do?” Nash said over the patrol car’s radio sputtering transmissions. “Is it my ex? Because I’m late with a payment? Tell her I got the money.”

Other units, including those from HPD, arrived and Silva joined them. Amid flashing lights and a symphony of radio dispatches, Nash watched. They rummaged inside the cab of his truck. Some crawled under it. Others climbed up onto the bed and searched the car. A pry bar was passed up to a deputy, who popped the trunk. After scrutinizing the trunk’s interior, he shook his head.

“Empty.”

“Hey, this is a Plymouth!” someone shouted, examining the front. “A Barracuda, not a Challenger!”

At the same time, Nash’s thoughts flipped back to a new stream of dispatches flowing from Silva’s radio.

“… HCSO…to Clear River County…seeks confirmation…suspect vehicle of kidnap hostage…transported in tow truck…stand by…”

Kidnap?

“…confirmed…1974 Dodge Challenger…blue…from Smith residence…”

Hostage?

Stunned, Nash tensed. He didn’t want this. He hadn’t asked for this. His breathing quickened, trying to figure out what to do. Whatever he decided, he had to do it fast.

Silva was coming back to the car.

She got in the front and turned to him, holding up a phone that was recording.

“You’re still under Miranda—now we need—”

“I’ll tell you what I know if I can make a deal.”