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CALVIN BIGALOW

Midcoast Maine

C alvin thanked the YouTubers hanging out at the charging station, making content.

No one remembered seeing anyone who matched Sofria’s description.

Calvin worried his idea was flawed. Maybe they went to some cabin in the woods or some secret underground safehouse.

Well, he’d finish this search and go back to the drawing board if nothing panned out.

The last charging station on his list was located in the parking lot of a hotel along the coastal highway.

Calvin parked and walked into the lobby.

On the left was the reception counter. On the opposite side was a small café with a carry-out coffee bar.

After placing an order for a hot chocolate, Calvin pulled the picture of Ren Jameson he had printed from the Bishop Security website.

He passed it to the barista, a pretty teenager with a blonde ponytail and braces.

“Have you seen this guy? He would have come in about a week ago, maybe with a woman.”

The girl took the folded page and smoothed it out on the counter. “Oh, yeah. He was here.”

Calvin almost couldn’t believe his ears. “Really? You remember him?”

“He was kind of hard to forget. Large black coffee and a vanilla latte.”

“Why was he hard to forget?”

She turned the picture toward Calvin. “Duh.”

“You mean he’s good-looking,” Calvin clarified.

After squirting on a dollop of whipped cream, she passed Calvin his order. “That, and he was bleeding.”

“Bleeding?”

She nodded. “Through the back of his shirt. My family all hunts, so I’ve seen that injury before.” She patted her shoulder. “Looked like he got peppered.”

“Peppered?”

“With buckshot.”

Calvin didn’t know what to make of that. “Did he say anything?”

She shook her head. “Just ordered the drinks.”

“Okay, thanks.” It wasn’t a lot, but it was something. Calvin was on the right track.

The barista handed him his change, and he dropped it in her tip jar.

“Oh, and there was something else.”

Calvin turned back to the counter.

“He set his phone down to put the drinks in a carrier. His Maps app was open, and he pinned one of the little coastal towns. I couldn’t read which one, but it was one of the seaside villages up toward Freeport—Bear Bay, Onondaga, Siren Song, Yarmouth, Falscot. It was one of those, I think.”

Calvin grinned. “That’s a big help. Thanks.”

It was all he could do not to break into a run in the parking lot.

Doing his level best to maintain calm, Calvin strode to his Camry at a somewhat leisurely pace.

He got in, set the cocoa in the drink holder, and unfolded the paper map.

He didn’t have whatever scrambling device Ren Jameson probably had on his phone, so Calvin ensured he wasn’t tracked the old-fashioned way.

He easily found the path of fishing towns along the coast.

The exhilaration was almost too much. Calvin wanted to burn rubber and speed to the first village on the map.

Forcing calm, he took a breath. He needed a plan; he had to be smart.

He’d return to his hotel and come up with a strategy.

Then, in the morning, he would check out and start his search.

With a reassuring nod of his head, Calvin began to back out of the parking place when he spotted a car in his rearview mirror.

He applied the brake and waited for it to pass.

It felt like the temperature in the Camry dropped twenty degrees. Calvin sat like a statue and watched that same white Ford pickup roll by and park. Shadow Man emerged from the vehicle and pulled a duffle from the back.

The first time Calvin had seen Shadow Man, it hadn’t occurred to him.

The second time, in the CIA offices, Calvin was too terrified to think clearly.

This time, he was ready. Calvin aimed his phone and snapped several pictures.

Then, just as he put his phone down, Shadow Man turned and looked directly at Calvin’s car.