She hadn’t thought of that. Everything happened so fast. “Maybe.”
“Pretty likely. Some little pump-and-go off the highway. Then the long-term parking—he’s used that ploy before, hasn’t he? Better if he’d changed the plates and driven the stolen car off the road somewhere.”
“Yes. I … Yes.” The sheer coolheaded logic of it calmed her nerves. “It wasn’t smart. He wasn’t smart.”
“He’s headed into sparsely populated areas, why not use that to his advantage? Instead, he goes to a population center. Or take the car in for a cheap paint job, get more miles out of it before ditching it. Check the ads, buy a junker direct from the owner for cash, and get more miles.”
Frowning, she turned to him. “If I’m ever on the run from the law, I want you with me. What would you do next?”
He answered without hesitation. “Change my pattern. Cheap, off-brand motel where nobody gives a shit. Get the supplies I need to change my appearance again and generate a couple of fresh IDs. He has to have access to his money.”
Thinking out loud and wanting to distract her, he walked with her around the yard. “Time for a population center where I’d open accounts in at least two different banks so I could have some funds wired in. Ditch the junker, buy a new car through my new bank accounts. Then I’d continue breaking pattern by finding a scenic and remote area, renting a house or cabin. I’d settle in so I could think about the multitude of ways I’d screwed up.”
He glanced back, saw Clark installing the camera on the back door.
“After enough time had passed,” Miles continued, “I’d book a private plane and fly to … maybe the Canary Islands, and settle in for a nice, long vacation.”
“The Canary Islands?”
“For instance. A lot of miles between here and there. But he’s not going to do all of that.”
“No, he’s not. But why do you say that?”
“The evidence is pretty clear he can’t admit mistakes. If he realizes they tracked the car from South Carolina, it’s not his fault. It’ll be the guy who took the car in trade who’s to blame. Whoever he stole the next car from—their fault it wasn’t filled up with gas so he had to use the old ID.”
“And my fault most of all because I’m alive.”
“That’s right.” He took her by the shoulders, turned her so she could see the installation. “So this is happening. He’s also not going to do all that because the pattern is who he is. He needs the pattern. He may change it briefly, but only because someone else is to blame. But he’ll go back to it. He hasn’t got the guts to uproot his life and plant it somewhere else, in some other way.”
“What you’re not saying is because of that, because of who he is, he’ll have to come here.”
“I don’t have to say what you already know. But the odds have shot up, Morgan, way up, they’ll find him first.”
“Do you really believe that? I’d rather have hard truth than a gentle lie.”
“I do. With everything you’ve just told me, I do believe that. He’s running, he’s panicked, and he’s fucking up. You’re not doing any of that. And he’s alone.” The hands on her shoulders ran down her arms, up again. “You’re not alone.”
“But I have to learn to live with having cameras on the doors.”
“Millions do, apparently, and like it.”
“They’ll help keep my ladies safe when I’m not here at night.” She looked up at him. “But it was pushy.”
“Right. And your point?”
She only sighed, then tipped her head toward his shoulder. “I guess he’d better show me how it all works so I can show the ladies. But I’m not saying thank you, at least not yet.”
“I don’t care. Just like I don’t care you’re going to balk when I say you’re going to start texting me when you get home after closing.”
“Oh, for—”
“One quick text—‘I’m home,’ ‘All clear,’ ‘Fuck off’—sent after you’re inside and locked up.”
“You do know what time I get home.”
“I’m aware.”
Because she couldn’t help herself, she reached out to stroke his cheek. “I’m just going to wake you up.”
“That would be my problem. I’m only asking you to text a couple words. Don’t make me pull out my mother’s rarely used but highly effective guilt power.”