She took a side road that twisted through woods dense with sugar maples. She had gone about two miles, and was poised to call it off to return to her other calls. She rounded a curve, looking for a spot wide enough to turn around in, when she saw a flash of color up ahead.

A vehicle was parked on the side of the road.

A camper truck.

A man was squatted at its left quarter, which had been raised with a jack. The rear wheel had been removed. On the ground next to him was a spare.

An older woman stood near, watching him work. When she turned to look at the approaching state police cruiser, the man did, too.

Sutton activated the emergency lights on her light bar, which automatically switched on her dash-camera video recorder. She parked a few car lengths behind the camper. Her SUV’s lights flashed silently as she checked the Vermont plate against the BOLO alert information.

Bingo.

This was the vehicle.

Reaching for her microphone, she updated dispatch, gave her location, and requested backup. Then she got out and walked to the couple.

“Good afternoon,” Sutton said.

“We’re changing a flat,” the woman said. “No law broken, is there?”

“No, ma’am. But I’m going to ask that you both pass me your driver’s licenses, or other state identification.”

The man and woman complied.

Sutton went back to her SUV. Using her laptop on the console and conversing with her dispatcher, she soon confirmed the pair as being Gina Rose Gangel and Ewing Gibson Spiker.

Sutton returned to the couple, ready to play this by the book.

“Your vehicle and identities match the descriptions of subjects we’re seeking as part of an investigation.”

“What investigation?” Cass asked.

“I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you right now.” Sutton was tugging on gloves. “As you are well aware, Mr. Spiker, you’re still on parole. Therefore, I am permitted to conduct a warrantless search, for which I request your cooperation. Do you understand that, sir?”

Spiker, his face taut, nodded.

“Good. Sir, before I pat you down, do you have any weapons or syringes in your pockets?”

“Just a small knife,” Spiker said.

“Would you slowly empty your pockets? Place everything on the hood of my car, then turn out the lining.”

Spiker complied, pulling out his wallet, a red, folded pocket knife, a lighter, two small batteries, a small roll of bills, coins, and a thick, neatly folded washcloth, setting them all on the hood.

Sutton would inventory them later.

She then began patting him down, starting at his neck and moving down to his ankles.

“Why’re you doing this?” Cass moved closer. “We have rights.”

“Hush, it’s okay,” Gibby said.

“Ma’am, step back,” Sutton said. “Please step back and keep your hands where I can see them.”