The words followed him out the room and down the street. In the 7-Eleven he felt restless. The clerk had to go in the rear to get the size diapers he requested and Matt had to restrain himself from yelling at the guy to hurry. He tried to identify the source of his anxiety. He had felt watched all day. The narrow vista his rearview mirror had afforded the last twenty hours had not soothed his nerves. He had not always seen a vehicle behind them, but there was this one white car—if indeed it was always the same car—that appeared to come and go. If someone was trailing them, he was a pro. He would have to have binoculars and extraordinary patience. Luck as well—Matt was no fool when it came to being tracked.

Yet it must be paranoia.

Where could he have picked him up?

At Amy’s house for one place. If someone knew her, he might have figured she would run. But who understood her that well besides Carl or Kelly? Carl had plenty of cash—he could have hired people to keep tabs on his daughter-in-law. Yet why had he gone to all the trouble to get her out of jail? True, his doubts in her innocence might have grown since he wrote the check for her bail. From what Matt had heard, Carl was a horny devil with a high credit limit. He believed that loyalty could be bought for the same price as sex.

When all was said and done, though, it was not logical. If Carl had tagged Amy, he would have stopped her the second they had picked up Jimmy rather than risk losing his grandson. Kelly was an even less likely suspect. Granted, he had promised her he would not see Amy again, but Kelly would have no pressing motive to trail him a thousand miles. She wanted Amy to pay for murdering David, but she was more concerned that he get away free. Also, Kelly would have tried talking to him. She had his cell number. He had planned to call her himself, when he had a spare moment. No, Kelly was not in that white car, there was no such car.

But what if there was another person out there who knew Amy?

Understood her like he did. Saw what drove her.

The moment he turned his back, that person would come for her.

“Forget the diapers, I don’t need them,” Matt called to the clerk. Suddenly the walls of the convenience store were no different than the prison bars he had once feared. He practically ran from the 7-Eleven onto the quiet Main Street of Susanville. There was not a soul on the road, and had there been one, they would have called the police the moment they saw his crazed face. It was half a mile back to the motel and it felt like a light year.