When artist, Nicole Jeffords, learns that a reputable psychic who often works with the police has had a vision that the remains of a fifty-year-old male may be buried under an artist's studio in Austin, she becomes convinced that the studio in quest...
Inside the store Emil made his way toward Ricky's cash register. Only Ricky was gone – a young woman had taken his place. "Where's Ricky?" Emil asked, "The guy who was here before?"
"Oh, he just left. Finished his shift."
"Well, where could I find him? Is he still in the store?"
The young woman shrugged. "You could ask in customer service."
Emil wasn't going to do that. He went back outside, searched all around the front of the store, thinking the last thing he wanted to do was come back to this god forsaken town tomorrow to get the guy's photo. Shit! But then he spotted him halfway across the lot, walking fast, head down, hands in his pockets, Ricky the rapist, thinning hair, a plaid shirt, a backpack over one thin shoulder. Emil began to run after him. He had a hunch employees parked in the back, and he'd be able to jump into the rental on the way and follow with Alicia riding shotgun.
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When he was parallel to the rental he swerved and ran to the vehicle, flinging the door open and throwing himself behind the wheel. "He's over there!" he yelled, as he reversed the car out of the parking spot. "Two aisles over that way!" He was an expert driver and had the car ready to intercept Ricky before Alicia knew what he was doing. "Get your phone ready to take his picture," he yelled.
"Where is he?" Alicia cried. "I don't see him."
"Over there! Getting into that blue Toyota!" Emil pointed, but it was too late. Ricky was already in his car. Emil drove fast down one aisle and up another to catch up with him. Alicia clung to the seat belt. When they were right behind him, Emil shouted "Okay, get a picture of his license plate!"
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Alicia quickly snapped her phone. "Let's follow him, see where he goes," she yelled. "We need a picture of his face."
And so began a wild ride through the hills and dales of Harrison. They drove through the edge of town, then through a suburban section, then over a stream and into outright country. Emil kept a careful distance between the two cars. Alicia had never seen him drive that way and was impressed. She sat on the edge of her seat, phone pressed hard between her hands, ready to shoot. In front of her, bouncing along the road in a totally unremarkable, outdated Toyota, was her assailant of many years ago – she couldn't believe it. When he suddenly pulled into a ramshackle driveway, stopped and got out of his car, she held up her phone and clicked. But then she saw he held a pistol, and it was pointed their way.
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