Chapter 4 - The Hunt on Route 1
The rain had returned by the time I stepped out of the bank, turning the brick streets of Ocala into a grey, slick mirror.
My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was Detective Vance.
"Claire," he said, his voice tense, the sound of wind and tires on wet asphalt loud in the background. "We have a visual on Rachel. She’s at a rest stop on Interstate 95, just north of Ormond Beach. She’s driving a rental car—a white Toyota Camry with Georgia plates."
"Is she alone?" I asked, getting back into my truck and turning the key.
"Yes," Vance said. "But she’s moving fast. She’s trying to reach the Georgia border. We’ve got state troopers setting up a block near Jacksonville, but the weather is making visibility zero. I need you to stay at the hospital with Ethan. If she realizes she’s cornered, she might try to contact him."
"I’m not at the hospital, Detective," I said, my voice cold and flat as I shifted the truck into drive.
"Where are you?"
"I’m on my way to Ormond Beach," I said. "And I have the evidence that will keep her in prison for the rest of her life."
I hung up before he could argue.
The drive was a blur of grey water and red brake lights. I pushed my old truck to its limit, the engine roaring as I navigated the winding state roads toward the coast. Beside me, Benny sat up, his ears twitching as if he could feel the sudden, dangerous focus in my body.
I reached the interstate in forty minutes. The rain was falling so hard the windshield wipers couldn't keep up, the world outside reduced to a chaotic smear of grey and green.
I scanned the highway, my eyes searching for the white Camry.
Then, just past mile marker 268, I saw it.
The car was parked crookedly in the truck lane of a deserted rest area, its hazard lights blinking through the mist. The driver’s side door was open, and a figure in a yellow raincoat was standing near the concrete picnic tables, her head down against the wind.
It was Rachel.
I pulled my truck in behind her car, blocking her exit. I didn't wait for the engine to stop before I threw open my door and stepped out into the rain.
"Rachel!" I screamed over the roar of the highway.
She flinched, turning around. When she saw me standing there, her face contorted into a snarl of pure, venomous rage. She didn't look like my sister anymore. She looked like a cornered animal, her hair plastered to her skull, her clothes soaked and muddy.
"Claire!" she shrieked, taking a step toward me. "You ruined it! You always had to be the perfect one, didn't you? The good daughter! The savior!"
"You starved your own son, Rachel!" I yelled, my voice cracking under the weight of the storm. "You locked him in a room to die!"
"He is sick!" she screamed, her eyes wild, her hands shaking as she gestured toward the highway. "He’s a liar, Claire! He’s just like his father! He was going to destroy me! I had to protect myself!"
"He’s sixteen years old, Rachel!" I took a step closer, my hand reaching into my pocket for my phone. "I have the medical records from Ocala. I have Mom’s letter. I know about the money. I know everything."
Rachel’s eyes fixed on my pocket. The anger in her face suddenly vanished, replaced by a cold, desperate calculation.
"You think you’re going to take him from me?" she whispered, her voice dropping into a register that made the hair on my arms stand up. "You think you’re going to be his mother now?"
May you like
She reached into her yellow raincoat.
And pulled out a small, silver revolver.
