Chasing the Skip (8 page)

Still, that would have been a good story to tell Jamie—the kind of story he wanted to hear about my exciting new life.

Jamie. My face flushed as I thought about Ian, and the way I’d liked having his breath on my neck and his knees pressed against my back. Mom always said that cheating was bad karma, and even if I wasn’t technically cheating, I really didn’t want to risk it. I’d have to send him an extra-long e-mail next time I got to a library to make up for it.

Cheyenne, Wyoming.

Minutes since Ian ran: 1.

Distance from Salt Lake City, Utah: 441.44 miles.

7

The girl in the sweatshirt swore, reached for her pocket, and swore again. She looked over at Dad. “Someone stole my car.”

“Yup,” Dad said. He reached for his pocket and pulled out his ID. “I’m a bail enforcement agent, and that man who took your car escaped from my custody.”

I looked back at Dad. Couldn’t he get in trouble for admitting that?

“The more information you can give me about your car, the better the chances are that I can find him, and it.”

She wrinkled her eyes at him, looking at his ID. “So, you’re a cop?”

“No,” Dad said. “I’m a bail enforcement agent.”

She cocked her head at him, like she didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. “He’s a bounty hunter,” I said from the cab.

The girl’s eyes widened, and Dad shot me a shut-up look.

“Think of me as a private investigator,” Dad said. “I’m chasing the guy who took your car, so I’ll probably find the car in the process. Any information you can give me will make you that much more likely to get your car back.”

“I think I should call the police,” she said.

“Yes, you should. But the cops have a million other things to do, so unless someone calls in an abandoned vehicle or the thief breaks some other laws, they aren’t likely to find it in any kind of hurry. That’s where I come in.” He held out his hand to shake hers. “I’m Robert Maxwell. What’s your name?”

“Caroline,” she said, hesitantly accepting his hand.

Dad reached for his clipboard and pulled a certificate and a business card out of the papers at the back. “This is my Colorado license,” he said, “and the card of the bondsman I work for. You can call him, and he’ll verify who I am. It’s my job to bring that punk in to the police, and I’m happy to help you get your car back in the process, if you’re willing to share some information with me.”

Caroline reached for her pocket and then closed her eyes. “My wallet was in the car. I was just coming out to get it. That means he has…”

“Your whole life in his hands,” Dad said, his tone softening. “But that gives us more ways to find him.” Dad handed her his cell phone. “You call the cops and make your report. And when you’re done with that, you can call Cal to check up on me if you’d like. After that, I’d appreciate it if you’d share your license plate number with me, and anything else I might be able to trace to find him.”

Caroline looked Dad up and down. “You’re really a bounty hunter?” she asked. “Like Big Mike? You don’t look much like one.”

“That’s what I keep saying,” I said.

Dad chuckled. “Something like that. I’ll be right here when you’re done with that call.”

When Caroline walked off a couple of feet to make her call, he shook his head at me. “Don’t use those words with people,” he said. “Gives them all kinds of misconceptions.”

“Okay. Sorry. I didn’t know you had to have a license.”

“Depends on the state. I’m registered in the ones that require it. Wyoming doesn’t.”

“Isn’t Cal going to be upset when he finds out you let Ian steal that car?”

“Things go wrong on the job,” Dad said. “Cal knows that. He trusts me to deal with it.”

Dad went to pick up his chain and cuff and stowed them in the trailer. When he came back to the truck he picked up his clipboard and started scribbling notes on it. He looked over his shoulder at Caroline, who stood by the gas pump, talking on his cell phone. Dad swore again.

“Still, I can’t believe I let him get my keys,” he said. “So stupid.”

I felt a stab of guilt for not doing something to stop Ian. I’d stood there like an idiot while he took a poor girl’s car. So much for showing Dad I could be helpful.

Sitting in the cab, I could almost smell him in the stale air. I didn’t have to let him go. I could have intercepted him. In my mind I pictured myself stepping into his way, his body crashing into mine, stumbling, and knocking us both over onto the concrete. His breath puffed against my face as I looked up into his eyes, and then he smiled.

I turned my head in the direction of Dad’s clipboard, snapping myself out of it.

“Do you think you can find him again?” I asked.

“Sure,” Dad said. “It’s not like he’s been such a genius at hiding. It’s just going to take a while longer, now that he knows who’s coming for him.”

When Caroline came back with the cell phone, she leaned against the side of the truck. “The police say I’m not obligated to share any information with you,” she said.

“They’re right,” Dad said. “But did they give you odds on finding your car today?”

Caroline sighed. “Look, I live in Laramie. If I give you the information on my car, could you give me a ride home?”

“Sure,” Dad said. “Hop in.”

“But you should know I called my roommate and gave her your license plate number.”

Dad smiled. “That was probably smart.”

“I already got my car stolen today,” she said. “I don’t need to get kidnapped, too.”

Dad opened the truck door for her, and she climbed into the back seat. As she sat down, she eyed the bolt and chain on the floor but didn’t comment.

“So,” Dad said as he started the engine. “Tell us everything you can about the car and the wallet. Make, model, year, credit card numbers, driver’s license numbers, everything.”

Caroline was quiet for a moment. “My credit card numbers, huh? How’s that going to help?”

“This guy’s a thief, right?”

“Apparently.” Caroline still sounded confused. I smiled back at her, trying to look comforting.

“So he’s likely to use those cards,” Dad said. “I can track them if he does, and use that information to find him.”

“You can track someone else’s card numbers?”

“That’s my job.”

Caroline passed Dad’s bounty-hunting license over the seat, and I took it. As I leafed through Dad’s clipboard to put it away, I came across a mug shot of Ian. His physical description was printed under it, as well as his former addresses. At the bottom of the page, someone had written, “Charges that didn’t stick,” followed by a string of abbreviations.

“I’ll take that back now,” Dad said, grabbing the clipboard from me before I could decipher them.

“You don’t have to give me any information you don’t want to,” Dad said to Caroline. “It’s up to you. I’ll give you the ride either way, but if you don’t tell me anything, it’ll be a while before you see that car again.”

Dad handed his cell phone to Caroline again. “You also might want to call the credit card companies,” he said. “Tell them to put a watch on your cards.”

Dad handed me his clipboard and pulled onto I-80 in the direction of Laramie.

The first call Caroline made was to her roommate again, to check the license plate information on her registration and the credit card numbers from her old statements. She still hesitated with the card information, but then she read it off to me, letting me take it all down. By the time we reached Laramie, she’d reported all her cards stolen, and I’d noted a pretty extensive list of data. I sat up a little taller in my seat. It felt good to actually contribute to Dad’s business for once, instead of tagging along. Maybe, in some small way, it made up for how I’d taunted him with Ian.

“This is good,” Dad said. “Shouldn’t take more than a day or so for us to find him.”

“Thanks,” Caroline said. “I really appreciate that.”

“Thank
you
,” Dad said. “Trust me, this helps us both.”

We dropped Caroline off at her dorm, and Dad stopped at the university library so I could upload my nonexistent homework while he called around to get reports on Caroline’s car and credit cards.

With no homework to upload, I went directly to my e-mail. Maybe Mom had contacted me. Maybe I’d finally get to know where she was.

I had one new e-mail. From Anna. At least that was something.

The library computer took forever to load, and I bounced up and down in my chair a little, waiting for the words to pop onto the screen.

Gonorrhea is on standby
, Anna wrote.
Investigation in progress re: his jerkiness. Love you.

I smiled. Anna was probably following Jamie through the hallways, quizzing everyone he breathed at. She never did anything halfway.

That was it on the e-mail—nothing from Mom, nothing from Jamie, not even any spam. I sighed. My old life dwindled away, one piece at a time. Meanwhile, where was Mom that she couldn’t even get to a computer? I couldn’t exactly be mad at her when she might be tied up in a basement somewhere.

I rubbed my eyes. Sometimes all those news stories poisoned my brain. I had to stop reading about kidnappings until I knew where Mom was.

Instead I pulled up my blog and logged in. Maybe I’d get an e-mail from Jamie if I gave him a reason to be jealous. I could sure find a story now.

Dad picked up a particularly dangerous skip this morning. We’ll call him the Bull. I could tell that he was a force of nature—wild and untamed. His eyes looked right through me, like he could see into my soul.

I rolled my eyes and deleted the last clause. This was getting dangerously close to emo. Ian must have addled my brain. Whatever. Now was the time to set objectivity aside and make Jamie’s eyes burn.

His eyes looked right through me, but there was also a soft sexiness about him. I interviewed him twice but couldn’t get him to break.

“Interviewed” might be a stretch, but it’s what a reporter would say, even if she was just talking to a person on the street.

As we stopped for gas, the Bull pretended he needed to pee and then made a break for it, stealing a car right in front of us. His tires squealed as he sped out of the parking lot, smiling, and was gone.

This was the part where I needed to describe the high-speed chase—the one Dad refused to have. Oh well.

The hunt begins again.

I wondered if it would work. By this point I’d be happy to receive any kind of message, even an angry one. Mom always said a jealous boyfriend was an attentive boyfriend.

I posted the entry and logged off.

Dad picked me up a few minutes later, pulling the trailer into the fire lane along the front of the building. I expected him to gun it out to go look for Ian, but instead he left the engine idling.

“We need to talk,” he said.

My heart pounded. “Did you hear from Mom?”

He looked surprised. “No, nothing like that. We just need to talk about your behavior.”

Crap. After Ian’s escape, I’d hoped I was off the hook.

“What behavior?”

“I know you hate me dragging you along, but you still need to listen to my instructions.”

I kept my eyes on the dash. If I was going to get yelled at, might as well play dumb. Sometimes that worked to get Mom off my back.

“What instructions?”

Dad sighed. “I’m trying to have a conversation with you, Ricki. Would you look at me?”

When I looked up at him, he was gripping the steering wheel with one hand. His brow creased as he looked me in the eye.

“I think I’ve been unfair to you,” he said. “I’ve treated you like a little kid, so you’ve been acting like one.”

I wanted to protest, but I knew what he meant. I’d been trying my best to do the exact opposite of whatever he asked me, which was five-year-old behavior at best.

“Does that mean you’re going to stop yelling at me?”

“I want us to come to an understanding. I know you want to help me out, and I’m happy for the help, but only if I know I can trust you.”

I bit my lip. I hadn’t given him much of a reason to trust me. I wasn’t sure I trusted him, either. “And do you? Trust me?”

Dad’s eyes flicked up at the ceiling, which I took for a big fat no.

“Fine,” I said.

“This isn’t coming out right,” Dad said. “Let’s park the trailer, and we can talk about it over dinner.”

“More tacos?” I asked.

“There’s a diner near the freeway. We can eat some sit-down junk food for a change.”

“All right,” I said. At least I’d be able to eat a salad that hadn’t sat in a plastic container for days.

The diner was right off the exit. The dining area only held about twelve tables, but they had a little salad bar and a dessert counter.

Dad ordered a burger, but I got the salad bar and a cup of soup, since those things are hard to eat in the car. After we’d ordered, Dad put his elbows on the table and looked at me.

“So what’s this stuff you’re always writing?” he asked. “I know it isn’t homework.”

I didn’t want him making fun of my writing, but if I wanted him to trust me, I had to give him something.

“I’m taking notes,” I said. “For my blog.”

Dad raised his eyebrows. “You write about my work on your blog?”

“Don’t worry,” I said quickly. “I don’t use any names, and I change the details. I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

Dad nodded. “I’m impressed you thought about that.”

“We learned in journalism class about protecting our sources. I figure it goes double since you’re my dad.”

“You’re taking journalism in school?”

“I was before Mom left. That’s what I want to do when I’m older.”

“That’s a good job, and you’re good at asking questions. We’ll have to see if there’s a homeschool course for it.”

I’d thought the homeschool courses only came in boring subjects. “That would be cool,” I said.

“Journalism can be dangerous, though,” Dad said. “Depending on the kind of reporting you’re doing, you can end up in some scary situations.”

“Like your job,” I said. “I bet I could learn a lot from you, if you’d let me.”