Aimee Thurlo - Power of the Raven

Gene ran to his pickup and drove away, mentally planning the quickest route to Simple Pleasures.

He made good time and all the lights, right up to the last intersection. When he stopped at the red light just down the block from Simple Pleasures, he saw the maroon van she’d described. A guy wearing a blue cap and a dark hooded sweatshirt with the Scorpions logo was leaning against the driver’s door.

The distinctive clatter of Gene’s big diesel engine made the man glance casually up the street. The second he spotted Gene’s truck the guy jumped into the van, and in a matter of seconds, the van had backed out of the slot and was on the move.

Pinned in by the cars ahead, beside and behind him, there was no way Gene could get through the intersection before the light changed.

Just then Paul called and Gene put the phone on speaker.

“He’s in the van now, heading toward the north end of the parking lot,” Gene said. “Where are you?”

“Coming up from behind,” Paul said. “I see you. I’ll go straight. You take the right turn and cut through the parking lot just in case he decides to turn east.”

“Gotcha.” Gene made a quick right, then a left into the front of the restaurant lot. Ahead, he could see the van cutting back left, right out into the street. Paul was now in the best position.

Gene had slowed for a stop sign when Lori suddenly rushed up and jumped onto the passenger-side running board.

“Let me in,” Lori shouted, tugging at the door handle.

He hit the button and the lock clicked open.

Lori jumped in, then scrambled for her shoulder belt.

“What is it with you and moving cars, woman? You’re an accident waiting to happen,” he snapped.

“Later. Let’s catch him before he gets away.”

Gene concentrated on his driving. He took the same route as the van, entered the next parallel street, then whipped left.

“I can’t see him anymore. There are too many cars,” Lori said, straining to see ahead.

“I’ve got him.” Paul’s voice came from the phone on the console. “He just passed through Ellison, still heading north. He’s in the center lane.”

“Great!” Lori said, looking down at the phone. “Gene, you didn’t tell me you were bringing backup.”

“No, Gene’s the backup,” Paul said over the speaker. “I’m the closest you’ve got to law enforcement here. You two are civilians, don’t forget that.”

Gene didn’t argue, focusing solely on closing the gap between him and Lori’s stalker and trying to beat the next light.

“Keep left, and I’ll take the right lane,” Paul said. “Whichever way he cuts, one of us will be in position to stay on his tail.”

“Done.” Gene raced along, sometimes throwing Lori back into the seat despite the shoulder harness and seat belt as he whipped around slower vehicles. Over the speaker, they could also hear Paul’s engine racing and tires squealing.

Gene could see the van now, as well as Paul’s Jeep. As he watched, Paul closed in.

The van ran a red light, barely missing a white utility truck. The utility truck driver, who’d spun the wheel trying to dodge a direct hit, came to a screeching stop. Gene had to stand on his brakes to keep from rear-ending a two-seater sedan not much bigger than a riding mower.

“Forget it. We’re screwed,” Paul said at last. “Traffic is snarled up here and I can’t get through.”

More vehicles entered the intersection on the cross street. All were forced to a screeching stop because the utility truck’s sudden maneuver had sent its ladder flying into the middle of the street.

“There goes Harrington,” Lori said, pointing. The van, now at the top of a low hill, disappeared to the east around a wide curve. “Can we turn right and cut him off?”

Gene looked over at her, then at the two full lanes of back-to-back vehicles on her side. “No way.”

“So he’s gone again,” she said softly, and leaned back in her seat.

“Paul, did you get a look at the plates?”

“I only got a partial, but I’m running the few numbers I’ve got against Harrington,” he said, then, after a beat, continued. “Looks like that plate might belong on his Ford pickup. Harrington doesn’t own a van.”

“Harrington had a blue pickup in his driveway,” Gene said. “But something doesn’t make sense here. Why would Harrington bother to switch the plates onto that van? The van didn’t point directly to him, but the plate does.”

“It doesn’t make any sense to me, either,” Paul said.

“I guess I might as well buy you lunch,” Lori said with a shaky smile. “You, too, Paul.”

“Not yet. We need to report this to the police. Let’s head over to the station. We’ll back up your statement, Lori,” Paul said.

“Afterward, we eat,” Lori said. “You guys have been terrific.”

“I’ll have to pass on that lunch invitation,” Paul said. “I’ve got to meet a client as soon as we’re done at the station.”

“Then it’ll be just you and me, Gene,” she said.

“Works for me,” he said, and smiled.

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