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Brock Gunner was slouched behind the steering wheel of his Ford Bronco loaner, having difficulty staying awake, when he got the text. It was a few minutes past three in the morning. He’d been parked for the past two hours in an empty lot behind the Grand Park Community Recreation Center, which was a half mile from the Shipleys’ home. He hadn’t bothered trying to find a bed anywhere since he needed to be able to instantly respond to anything that popped up during the night. The last report he got was that one of the Shipleys’ vehicles had been found at a storage property over in Granby, but there were still no leads on their actual whereabouts. The police continued to have all exits from the valley manned and guarded. At this point, Brock thought everyone, including Cole and Lisa Shipley and their daughter, might have buckled down for the night.

Where are you?

He responded: Still here in Winter Park.

Well, they’re not. They pulled a Houdini and somehow made it out of the valley. They’re already four hours down the road.

Brock cursed. Where?

FBI traced a call from the daughter to a town called Alamosa.

Brock slammed his fist against his steering wheel. They arrest them already?

No, they got away. Feds are headed there now.

They know what they’re driving yet?

No, still haven’t figured it out.

Brock searched his mapping app. Alamosa was 222 miles south.

He texted: I can be in Alamosa in three hours.

They’re probably already gone. Daughter told boyfriend they’re going to Mexico. Closest border crossing is El Paso.

I have border patrol contacts there.

Call Justin. Get on the plane and get down there ASAP.