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CALVIN BIGALOW

Eastern Massachusetts

H e’d lost them. His dang surveillance tutorials should have mentioned making sure he had enough oil in the engine.

Calvin tried to calculate how far they would have traveled in the ninety-two minutes it had taken him to pull off the highway and service the car, but it was impossible.

Ren and Sofria could have stopped for food or even exited.

He pulled over on the shoulder and brought up Maps.

Calvin didn’t know what he was looking for, and nothing jumped out at him, but he refused to give up.

After checking the lanes to merge back on the highway, Calvin noticed the billowing black smoke blocking the setting sun.

He couldn’t imagine what a fire could have to do with Sofria.

Maybe it was a signal? Calvin nearly laughed at his desperation.

More for lack of a better option than any real hunch, he headed for the exit ramp.

Calvin beat the fire truck to the scene but heard a lone siren in the distance.

He guessed that the fire department in rural Massachusetts was volunteer and sparse.

He pulled over alongside a high chain-link fence.

The fire was still raging in the garage, and the property was a graveyard of old cars and rusted oil drums.

Nothing here gave Calvin any indication that Ren Jameson’s abduction of Sofria was related.

He saw the hook and ladder coming up the road and pulled into the rocky driveway to turn around.

That’s when he spotted a white pickup parked behind a scorched eighteen-wheeler.

It was clean and new and looked out of place.

Calvin paused his maneuvers a moment to watch.

When a shadow emerged from the smoke, Calvin’s heart stopped beating; his blood stopped pumping.

It was the man from the Baltimore street and Sofria’s cubicle.

He was staring at something in his open palm and talking on the phone.

The deafening honk of the fire truck horn nearly sent Calvin through the roof of the Camry. He got out of the way, but curiosity overtook fear, and Calvin exited the car and ran up the driveway, concealed by the first responders.

The man ignored the firefighters and walked along the driveway, continuing his conversation. Calvin hunched down by the rear bumper and again listened to this man’s one-sided conversation.

“She removed it and crushed it. She’s in the wind.” He tossed whatever was in his hand into a patch of weeds. “It’s a delay, that’s all. I’m keeping you updated.” The man ended the call, climbed into the pickup, and drove away.

When Calvin was sure the man was out of sight, he walked over to the weed patch and pulled the strange remnants from the leaves. He had no idea what the destroyed patchwork of wires was, but he knew one thing: he was not imagining the danger. Whatever was going on here was a dark and devious plot.

Calvin jogged back to his car, leaving a cloud of dust as he drove back to the highway.

He wasn’t going to follow the pickup. Mainly because he was terrified of the guy but also because the man had no idea where Ren was taking Sofria.

Yes, that jerkface probably had access to satellites and credit card tracking and all kinds of nifty gizmos.

Calvin had a certificate from the Online Investigations Academy and a pretty good head on his shoulders.

He’d pit his skills against that guy any day.

If a part of him knew that in the movies, his character was the one who always ended up dead in a ditch, Calvin ignored it.