Stranded

appeared a little slow and awkward.
    Jack—but that wasn’t his real name. Not the one he went by anyway. After Lily’s frantic phone call, Maggie and Tully believed their highway killer’s name was Buzz. Thanks to Sheriff Uniss and Agent Alonzo, they now knew that the foreman, Buzz, was Stanley Johnson. However, he had disappeared from Iowa and apparently so had Lily.
    “We thought he was watching us,” Maggie said, trying to relax into her seat. “We just didn’t know from how close.”
    “It was strange how he gave you that cap and then it just disappeared from our table at the truck stop.”
    Maggie pulled out her laptop from the case she’d stuffed under the seat in front of her. She’d downloaded a file Alonzo had e-mailed them just before they boarded. Now she was anxious to open it and get her mind off being locked in a metal tube miles above the earth even if it meant digging into the psyche of a serial killer.
    “He doesn’t exactly fit the profile,” Tully said. “And Buzz was managing that construction crew before we got there.”
    “According to Alonzo’s information, thirty-six-year-old Stanley ‘Buzz’ Johnson is an independent contractor. He travels across the country doing mainly federal government projects. He lists his permanent residence as Dothan, Alabama. No criminal record. No traffic citations. No fingerprints on record. Alonzo found a Ford F-150 truck registered to him in the state of Alabama. No other property listed under his name.”
    “Wait a minute.” Tully grabbed his messenger bag and pulledout the map Alonzo had faxed earlier. It showed the general area in Florida where Otis was taking them tomorrow. Tully pushed up his glasses and took a closer look. “Check this out.”
    He yanked his tray down in front of him and laid out the map. With his index finger he found and pointed to Dothan, Alabama, then traced down to I-10 directly below. Maggie’s eyes found Milton, Florida, on the map before Tully’s finger did. Buzz Johnson’s permanent residence was less than a hundred miles away from the new dump site.

SATURDAY, MARCH 23

CHAPTER 53

    OFF INTERSTATE 10
    OUTSIDE MILTON, FLORIDA
    Kunze had reserved two rooms for Maggie and Tully at a Red Roof Inn. Just off Interstate 10, the area was tucked up against a forest of pine trees. Clean and comfortable, but Maggie actually missed their adjoining rooms at the Holiday Inn. And surprisingly, she missed Creed. Silly, really. She barely knew the man. Probably missed having the extra company. That was all. She and Tully had been on the road together for too long.
    Tully, however, was happy. There was a Waffle House right next door.
    Maggie wanted to go home and spend time with her dogs. This stretch had been too long. Though she had to remind herself that she didn’t have a home right now. Hers had been gutted by fire. Cleanup had been heart-wrenching. She had left in the middle of rebuilding as electricians, plumbers, and drywallers tramped in and out, removing, restoring, and replacing. Maybe staying on the road wasn’t such a bad idea.
    There had been no word on Stanley “Buzz” Johnson. Agent Alonzo had gotten a photo from the man’s driver’s license andwas now working with Detective Lopez in Kansas to see if Noah Waters might identify Buzz as the man who attacked him and his friend Ethan. Maggie didn’t believe that would happen. Noah was still too frightened.
    Thunderstorms had rumbled through Florida earlier in the morning, leaving the air thick with humidity and making sixty-three degrees feel damp and chilly even as the sun broke free of the clouds. More thunderstorms were predicted for later in the afternoon.
    Both Maggie and Tully had their FBI windbreakers with them. Before they left Kansas they had bought ankle-high hiking boots. Maggie wore jeans and a T-shirt with the long sleeves pushed up to her elbows. Tully chose to look more official in khakis and a polo shirt. Both also wore their shoulder holsters and weapons.
    Tully had already spoken to Creed. He was running late and said he’d meet them at the site. This area was Creed’s backyard. His training facility was less than half an hour away. Tully agreed to text GPS coordinates as soon as they arrived wherever Otis was taking them.
    At exactly noon—right on time—two black Chevy Tahoes with Florida Highway Patrol insignias pulled into the empty back parking lot of the hotel. They stopped in the farthest corner, where the pine trees