Committed by E. H. Reinhard

questions if you have a moment.”
    “Um, sure?” he said. His weathered face indicated he was unsure why two FBI agents were standing outside his truck. The man stepped down from the rig and stood before us. He wore a red flannel long-sleeve shirt and a pair of blue jeans with a big belt buckle shaped like the state of Texas, which I thought was a bit stereotypical. He rubbed his eyes and then pulled a cigarette pack from the breast pocket of his shirt. He popped a cigarette from the pack with two quick upward flicks of his hand and lit it up. “What can I do for you?”
    “What’s your name, sir?” Scott asked.
    “Terry Wick.”
    “Okay, Mr. Wick. We just want to see how long you’ve been here and”—I motioned him toward the front of the rig—“what you can tell us about that RV there.” I pointed toward the RV with our cars surrounding it and deputies mulling about.
    “Tell you about it?” he asked. He took a long drag off his cigarette.
    “Did you happen to see the occupants?” Scott asked.
    “Yeah, actually,” he said. He moved a bit of his finger-length brown hair from around his ear and scratched at it. “Two guys and a girl.”
    “What?” I asked.
    “An older guy and a guy and girl maybe in their twenties or so.”
    “Tell us what you saw,” Scott said.
    “Well, I was pulling in the rest stop here, and I saw the group at the side of the RV as I passed. It looked like they were transferring things from the RV there to the car. That was about it. I parked here and went in the back for a nap.”
    “What kind of car?”
    “Prius. Just like a couple on the trailer back there.” He motioned toward the back of his semi using his thumb over his shoulder. “White, a year or two old, maybe.”
    “Is that a two door, four door, hatchback?” Scott asked.
    “I think it was the station-wagon-looking model. Five door, I think they call it,” Mr. Wick said.
    “Did you see where they went?” I asked.
    “I imagine back on the freeway. Only place you can go.”
    “How long ago?” I asked.
    He got the time from his watch. “Hell, had to be an hour and a half or so now.”
    “I don’t suppose you caught a tag number for the vehicle?” Scott asked.
    The man shook his head. “I can’t say that I did. What is, um, what is going on here? Are you guys after these people or something?”
    “We are,” I said.
    Scott motioned for me to follow him away from the man and the semi.
    “We’ll be back with you in a second, sir,” Scott said.
    I followed Scott out of earshot from the man.
    “We might be looking at some kind of abduction situation here,” Scott said. “We need to find that vehicle and see who the hell it belongs to.”
    “Agreed. Let me find Beth and see what is going on with getting a look at this security footage that the cameras caught.”
    “Okay. The last I saw her and Bill, they were up by the building. Let me make a call to get everyone alerted that they might be traveling in a white Prius and then wrap up with this guy. I’ll meet you up there in a bit.”
    I nodded and headed to the building. Scott went back to the man at the semi.
    I entered the covered center section of the building—a breezeway that allowed access to the facilities and vending machines from both lots. To my left were the women’s restrooms, the men’s to my right. Beyond them, closer to the side for those traveling in cars, were vending machines on the left and an open dark-gray metal door on the right. I spotted a security vehicle, a white sedan with a checkered strip down the side and a light bar on its roof parked at the curb. I didn’t see Beth or Bill anywhere. Then I popped my head into the open door and found them with a man dressed as a security guard, seated in front of a monitor. The three had their backs to me—Bill and Beth stood at the seated man’s sides. I rapped my knuckles on the open door and entered. The three looked back at me.
    “He’s getting the footage pulled up now,”