Chapter 145 Retracing His Steps

Chapter 145 Retracing His Steps
Sierra pulled away from the embrace somewhat rattled by what she'd felt. She turned abruptly and started toward the exit. "Let's go."

There was no discussion. No debate about logistics, rest or whether they should wait for more information. Every minute they spent in the airport was a minute Ryder was somewhere they couldn't reach him.

Sierra's hands were shaking as they reached the rental car parked in short-term parking. She clenched them into fists at her sides, willing herself to think clearly. The last place she had seen Ryder was the bed-and-breakfast in Chloe's hometown, upstate. He'd kissed her and slipped out the door while the room was still dark. That was the last thread she had, and she was going to pull it until something unraveled.

The skyline of Manhattan shrank in the rearview mirror, and neither of them looked back.

Sierra stared at the road ahead, her mind churning through every detail she could remember. The creak of the floorboard when he'd gotten out of bed. The soft click of the door latch. The faintest smell of his cologne lingering on the pillow after he was gone.

"We start at the bed-and-breakfast," Sierra said. "That's where I last saw him. We retrace everything from there."

The drive took just under three hours. They pulled into the gravel lot of the bed and breakfast a little after midnight and parked the car.

"He left before five," Sierra said. "I remember glancing at the clock after he left."

They sat there for several minutes, trying to picture Ryder leaving and getting into the rental car. "Breakfast," Sierra blurted.

Sylvia looked at her and nodded. "Breakfast."

"Sylvia, we're talking about Ryder Marsh. The man eats breakfast at four in the morning if that's when he's up. He wouldn't get on the road without eating. Not a chance." Sierra's eyes were wide, her mind racing.

Sylvia jumped at the idea. "You're right. Even at five a.m., he'd find somewhere."

"So did he eat in town, or did he start driving and stop somewhere along the way?"

Sylvia opened her mouth, then stopped. "Wait." She held up a finger. "What about gas?"

Sierra frowned. "The rental would have had plenty of gas to get back to the airport. It was probably full when we drove up here."

"Yes, but we're talking about Ryder." Sylvia gave her a knowing look. "He would have filled it up. You know he would. The man would never return a rental car without topping off the tank. It's just how he's wired."

Sierra almost smiled. Almost. Because Sylvia was absolutely right. Ryder would have filled the tank even if the gauge read seven-eighths. It was a matter of principle to him. You return things in better shape than you found them. That was Ryder.

"We check both," Sierra said. "Diners and gas stations. If he stopped somewhere, he'd be remembered. A six-foot-three cowboy in a town like this? Someone saw him."

Sierra started to back out of the parking place, then stopped. "Did he take Highway 12 or Highway 26?"

Sylvia shrugged, completely unfamiliar with upstate New York.

"They both go to the same place eventually, but they're two completely different routes. Two different sets of towns, two different possibilities."

"Which one's more direct?"

"Twelve."

"Then we start with twelve. That's the one Ryder would take. He doesn't meander."

They drove south on Highway 12, stopping at every diner, every café, every greasy spoon that looked like it might serve eggs before sunrise. At the first three stops, they got nothing. Blank stares, shaking heads, apologetic shrugs. At a pancake house with a neon sign missing two letters, the morning waitress hadn't started her shift until seven and the overnight cook had already gone home.
Sierra's hope dimmed at each dead end, but she refused to let it die.

Twenty miles down the road, they pulled into a town so small it barely warranted a speed limit sign. The diner was called Rosie's. A bell jingled above the door as they walked in.

The waitress was a stout woman in her fifties with dyed red hair pinned up in a loose bun and reading glasses hanging from a beaded chain around her neck. She was wiping down the counter when Sierra approached.

"Excuse me. Were you working early yesterday morning? Before six?"

The woman looked Sierra up and down. "Honey, I'm always working before six. My shift is midnight to 8 a.m. That's the glamorous life of a short-order waitress."

Sierra pulled up a photo of Ryder on her phone and held it out. "Did you see this man?"

The waitress put on her glasses and leaned in. Recognition, bright and unmistakable.

"Couldn't miss that tall drink o' wata," she said, her thick New York accent rounding every vowel. "Sat right there at the counter." She pointed to the end stool near the window. "Ordered eggs over easy, extra bacon, black coffee. Left a twenty on a nine-dollar check. Real polite. Called me ma'am."

Sierra's breath caught. She looked at Sylvia, who squeezed her arm.

"Did he say anything?" Sylvia asked.

"Nah, he was pretty quiet. Just ate his food, thanked me, and headed out. Drove south, far as I could tell."

They thanked the waitress and hurried back to the car, Sierra's pulse hammering. He'd been there. He'd been fine. He'd eaten breakfast and left a generous tip and driven south on Highway 12. The thread was still intact.

They continued along Highway 12, checking every stop they passed, showing Ryder's photo to anyone who would look. Sierra watched the mile markers tick by, each one carrying them closer to Interstate 90 and the route back toward the city.

A few miles before the interstate interchange, a Circle K convenience store sat on the right side of the road, its red and orange signage faded by sun and weather. Sierra pulled in. "Only place to get gas before you get on the interstate."

The clerk inside was a young man, maybe twenty-two, with a patchy beard and a energy drink sweating on the counter beside the register. Sierra held up her phone.

"Did you see this man yesterday morning? Early? He might have been filling up."

The clerk barely needed to glance at the photo. His eyes went wide.

"Yeah. Yeah, I remember him." He nodded vigorously. "Never forget it."

Sierra's stomach dropped. "Why? What happened?"

"He came in, paid cash for a fill-up. Pump four. Went back out." The clerk leaned forward on his elbows. "He was minding his own business, but somebody got up in his face. Right there at the pumps. Some guy in a dark SUV, I think. Couldn't hear what they were saying, but it got heated real fast. The cowboy looked like he was about to rip the guy's head off."

"Then what?" Sylvia pressed.

"Then the cowboy got in his car and drove out of here in a hurry. Tires squealing, the whole deal. And the driver he was arguing with?" The clerk shook his head slowly. "Pulled out right after him. Following him. Close."

He paused, his expression caught somewhere between awe and unease.

"I'd hate to be that guy, if he ever caught up with that cowboy."