still laughing when the waitress met him at the door of the restaurant, a worried frown creasing the smooth curves of her face. âWasnât that your van?â
âIt was.â He grinned down at her, feeling better than he had in hours.
âWould you like to use our phone to call the police?â
âNo, thank you. But I would like another piece of that delicious rhubarb pie.â
Completely confused, she followed him across the restaurant and watched wide-eyed as he dropped onto a counter stool. She shook her head as he looked at his watch and snickered. Heâd seemed like such a nice man and although she was glad to see that whatever had been bothering him obviously wasnât bothering him any longer, she couldnât understand his attitude. âBut what about your van?â
The corners of Celluciâs mouth curved up as he reached for a fork. âItâll be back.â
Something was wrong.
Vicki lay in the darkness and sifted through sounds and scents and sensation.
The van was still moving. Celluci had insisted, for safetyâs sake, they be parked at least half an hour before sunrise and sunset. Somehow, considering the completely unnecessary fuss heâd made over it, Vicki doubted heâd changed his mind. Either heâd lost his little book, heâd been unable to get off the highway, or he wasnât the driver.
The smell of the engineâgas and oil and heated metalâlaid over the lingering scent of Celluci clinging to the padding of the bed made an enhanced sense of smell next to useless. The three little pigs could be driving, and she wouldnât be able to sniff them out.
Kneeling next to the plywood barrier, she filtered out the sounds of internal combustion and heard a strangerâs heartbeat.
She growled low in her throat. Resisting the urge to crash through the barrier and rip the strangerâs heart out, Vicki silently pulled back the bolts. Anger wouldnât get her the answers she needed. Anger wouldnât discover what happened to Mike Celluci.
First, I get some answers
 . . .
To the young man behind the wheel, it seemed as though one moment the passenger seat was empty and the next there was a woman sitting in it, smiling at him. Her smile was terrifying.
âPull over,â she said softly.
More frightened than heâd ever been in his life, he braked and swerved onto the shoulder. By the time he fought the van to a standstill, his heart was pounding so violently, he could barely breathe.
âShut off the engine.â
He whimpered as he turned the key. He didnât know why, but he couldnât prevent the sound from escaping. When cool fingers grasped his chin and forced his head around, he whimpered again.
âWhere is the man who was driving this vehicle?â
Her eyes were impossibly silver in the twilight. He didnât know what the rest of her looked like because all he could see were her eyes. âHeâs, heâs at Rubyâs Steak House. Maybe five miles b-b-back.â
âHas he been hurt?â
Although not an imaginative young man, he had a sudden flash of what was likely to happen should he answer in the affirmative. His stomach spasmed, and his throat worked.
âIf you puke,â she told him, âyouâll eat it. Now answer my question.â
âHe was f-f-fine. Really.â When she seemed to be waiting for more, he added, âI looked b-b-back and he was laughing.â
âLaughing?â
âYes, maâam.â
Frowning, Vicki released the young manâs jaw. Why would Celluci be laughing? Sheâd never suspected that he considered grand theft auto to be amusing.
Okay, he stopped for supper and someone stole the van. Why would he think that was funny?
Then she looked up at the streaks of gold and rose lingering on the horizon. All of a sudden, she got the joke.
If Rubyâs Steak House was only five miles back, this poor sucker had