The road was long and straight as it approached Reed’s house, but it had spurs that angled off about every quarter mile or so. Max pulled onto a spur close enough to see the front of Reed’s house and driveway. He killed the engine and got out, walking back to the main road to get a better look. Lyle followed in time to see Reed park and go inside his house.

“I guess we gotta come back tomorrow,” Max said. “He must not go out every day.” Max was about to head back to the Cherokee when Reed walked back out of the house, a bright flashlight in his hand. Max stepped back to find cover and Lyle joined him.

Reed lay down on his back beside the Tahoe and shined the light up into the undercarriage.

“What’s he doing?” Lyle asked.

Max shook his head. “He’s looking for a tracker.”

“Son of a bitch,” Lyle said. “I guess our date for tomorrow is off.”

“He’s expecting us—or Bolger.”

Reed popped the hood and shined the light at the engine.

“Think he’ll head out of town when he’s done?” Lyle asked.

“That’d be my guess. He wants to make sure his car’s clean before he goes.”

Reed closed the hood, walked to the end of his short driveway, and shined his light up and down the street. Max and Lyle ducked low and held still as the light passed. Then Reed got into his truck and backed onto the road.

Lyle headed for the Cherokee, but Max pulled him back into the trees. “Don’t open the door,” Max said. “The interior light, he’ll see it.” They stayed in the trees until Reed went by them, then they climbed into the Cherokee. “It’s gonna be risky once he heads out of town,” Max said. “We’ll be the only cars on the road.”

“We gotta follow him,” Lyle said, almost pleading with Max. “This is our chance.”

Far ahead of them, Reed turned north and Max sped up to keep sight of Reed’s taillights. As the highway cut into the woods, Max dropped back so far that Reed’s taillights disappeared beyond the curves and hills.

“Damn it! You’re gonna lose him,” Lyle said. “Get a little closer.”

“We can’t let him spot us. We have to—” Max crested a hill. Ahead of him the highway rolled straight for several miles with no taillights. “Shit!” Max sped up in case a rise in the road or a slight curve might be blocking his view, but the highway ahead remained as black as night. “Shit!”

“Go back,” Lyle said. “He must have turned off.”

Max did a three-point turnaround and headed back slowly, watching for roads and trails that Reed might have taken. There were a few dirt paths that cut into the pines, but the best bet was a blacktop that headed north. Max took it, pushing the needle of his speedometer past eighty on the straightaways and braking hard into the turns. If Reed was still ahead of them, Max might be able to catch up. But after ten minutes of driving like a madman, no taillights appeared.