The Long Ride Read Free Page B

freeway, he came up to 120 mph, lights flashing, and running on the shoulder at times when cars couldn't get out of his way fast enough.
     
    He was sure that he wasn't more than thirty minutes behind the White Wolves, guessing that they would push the speed limit, but not break it by much. They didn't want to be pulled over. That would just slow them down even more.
     
    After twenty minutes on the freeway, he turned the lights and siren off, but kept his speed at a constant 120. The terrain was mostly flat, and the road nearly straight between here and San Antonio. He was hoping that he would come up behind them outside of Sealy—on the outside, before Schulenburg.
     
    Tomas wanted to be at least within five or six miles of them. Able to speed up and see them, check their course, and then drop back out of the line of sight so he could plan the ambush right.
     
    Thankfully he had a full tank, since he imagined that the Wolves would have kept their bikes ready to ride. Of course, he would easily outrank them with his gas mileage, which was good. He would pull over for gas at the places he felt they would be forced to stop with their smaller tanks.
     
    According to the DMV Elias Neal owned a V-Rod, which put his range at about 130 miles. He wouldn't want to risk running dry, though, so he would probably pull over every 100 or so for gas. Unlike many of the other Harleys, such as the Heritage, the V-rod had only a 3.2 gallon tank under its seat instead of the five gallon. The V-rod was basically a short-distance city bike with a dragster feel, and a very powerful engine. That power was useless out here on the highway, however, if he didn't have range.
     
    It was outside of Schulenburg before he came up on a group of riders that fit the bill. Four men on Harleys being followed by one man on a trike.
     
    One of the addresses on the stay-away order he was served with was Duffy's Bike Shop , and Tomas remembered a blue and chrome trike outside that shop when he staked it out looking for Chelsea. This group had to be them. How many trikes could be heading West at ninety miles an hour following four other bikes? No, this was definitely them.
     
    Tomas slowed down and let them get out of sight, and then brought his car back up to ninety to keep pace with them. He looked at his trip meter and did some quick math, estimating the next gas stop Elias' V-rod would force them to take. Then he mentally mapped out his road between here and El Paso.
     
    After mulling it over, he decided that the ambush would be better after El Paso, rather than before. Fewer travelers would be on the road, and they should be coming out of El Paso after midnight. He doubted they would stop to sleep. No, they probably did a few lines of cocaine before they left, and would keep the lines coming at their gas stops to remain awake and alert.
     
    After El Paso, then, at roughly one in the morning. A road block in front—two pickup trucks could do that. And then box them in—so another two pickups behind them. Box them in, take the hostages, kill the other three, and then back to El Paso and down into Juarez where he could spend some quality time without being interrupted.
     
    Walking through this visual, playing it out several times in his head, he decided on ten men with strong fire power. Ten good men, who wouldn't go crazy and turn his informants into splatters of blood across the highway.
     
    After he had Chelsea's hiding place, he would gun it as hard as he could to get there before she freaked out and left for someplace else. She had to have called Elias, Tomas reasoned, so she would probably wait for her bodyguard to come to her. She was undoubtedly screwing him. Why else would he be running so fast to get to her?
     
    Elias' goal, since he wasn't running alone, was obviously to bring her back to Houston. Tomas played with the idea of just waiting for them to return, but nixed it. It would be better to take care of her as far from Houston as