Page 34 of Her Last Refuge

The road straightened for a short stretch and then bent hard right around a low rise. When they came through the curve the road widened out and, a few yards ahead, actually presented yellow lines down the center. Civilization.

But there was no dust plume, no clear passage of dirt, and no vehicle in sight. There was only the empty road and the wall of green on either side.

Rachel eased off the accelerator just enough to keep control and started checking every sidetrack and drive that appeared. Most were little more than tire ruts disappearing into the trees. None showed fresh tracks she could be sure of.

Novak was looking out his window at the dense growth that now filled every gap between the scattered clearings. “This place, I swear…one minute you’re on a four-lane and the next you’re in the middle of nowhere with no cell bars and no idea which dirt track leads where.”

He wasn’t wrong. The developed edges of Chesterfield had thinned out into a landscape of unmarked backroads, low power lines, and long stretches where the only structures were occasional metal sheds or the distant roof of a house set far back from the road. The Appomattox River drainage was close enough that the land had begun to roll more, and the woods held the kind of thick understory that swallowed sound and sight lines.

“Any idea where we are?” Rachel asked.

“Not me. Let’s see where GPS puts us,” he said, doing his best to do it with just one blood-soaked hand.

Then, just as he started working on that, his phone buzzed in his hand as a call came through. He had to set it on his knee to answer the call, apparently not trusting his left arm. It made Rachel wonder if he was downplaying how bad it was.

He managed to answer it and place it on speaker mode. He somehow even sounded normal and composed.

“This is Novak.”

A male voice came through, clear but slightly rushed. “Agent Novak, this is Officer Barrett, Chesterfield PD. We located George Tremaine…sort of. And were told to contact you directly.”

Rachel kept the car moving at a controlled pace while she listened. If this played out right, maybe they wouldn’t even need to find Alcott at all.

“What do you mean ‘sort of’?” Novak asked.

“He lives with his adult daughter, Sandra Tremaine, in Matoaca,” Barrett said “We spoke to the daughter a few minutes ago. She says her father isn’t home right now. He’s seventy-nine, and his doctor’s been telling him to walk more for his heart health, so he’s been going out for walks around three in the afternoon every day for the past few weeks. According to her, he went out for his evening walk about fifteen minutes ago.”

“How long does he usually walk?” Novak asked. “Do we know?”

“She said he’s usually gone for about an hour. She tracks him with her phone.”

“Perfect,” Novak said. “How close are you to the daughter’s home?”

“Five or ten minutes.”

“Go to her and find out where he is. Have her show you on the tracker app she’s using.”

“Matoaca is about half an hour from where we were at Alcott’s house,” Rachel said quietly. She wondered if that was where Alcott was headed. If he was still after Tremaine and knew the FBI was on to him now, he might be in emergency mode.

“We’ll be there in twenty minutes,” Novak said and then, under his breath, added: “If we can get out of this backroad hell.”

“Keep an eye out,” Rachel called over toward the phone. “Our suspect is Roy Alcott. We believe he is armed and dangerous and could very well be on the way to Tremaine.”

“Understood,” Barrett said. “We’ll stay on the perimeter and watch the approaches until you get here. If we see Tremaine, should we approach him?”

She almost said yes, but then thought better of it. If the daughter was literally tracking her father’s every move, that changed things. Maybe catching Alcott would be easier than she thought.

“Only approach him if you can clearly see that someone seems to actively be going for him. And stay in contact with the daughter if you lose sight of him. Have her use that tracker app to show you where he is.”

“Got it. Need me to send you the address?”

“Not yet. Find out exactly where Tremaine is and send us the pin as soon as you can.”

“Will do.”

The call ended and Novak pulled up the GPS, typing in a basic location for Matoaca.

“You sure you’re good?” she asked.