Chapter 6 - The Abilene Chase
By 8:00 PM, the search for Evelyn Miller had expanded across three state lines.
The Texas Department of Public Safety had issued an amber-style endangered child alert for eight-year-old Chloe Cole, noting that the child was currently in the custody of a fleeing fugitive suspected of harboring a federal witness and obstructing a capital murder investigation.
State Highway Patrol units along Interstate 20 west of Abilene formed rolling roadblocks near the New Mexico border, shining high-intensity halogen lights across the roofs of every white box truck and camper shell heading toward the desert.
In the warden’s office at Huntsville, Robert Mitchell sat with a telephone receiver pressed to his ear while watching CNN broadcast live footage of his own front gate, where a crowd of reporters and protestors had gathered under the glow of mobile news trucks.
“I don’t care if you have to call out the National Guard, Captain,” Mitchell barked into the receiver. “Find that U-Haul. The girl is with them. If Evelyn Miller tries to cross into New Mexico, stop her with whatever force is necessary, but bring that child back unharmed.”
He slammed the phone down into its cradle just as the office door pushed open without a knock.
Gavin Cole stood in the doorway.
He was no longer wearing the orange denim jumpsuit. The medical staff had given him a pair of civilian gray sweatpants and a navy blue t-shirt borrowed from the staff locker room. His hair was still uncombed, and his face was pale, but the dead, hollow look in his eyes had been replaced by a white-hot, razor-sharp focus that made him look less like a condemned prisoner and more like a man hunting an animal that had stolen his cub.
“Warden,” Gavin said.
Mitchell looked up, his weathered face softening slightly. “Cole. You shouldn't be out of the intake bay. The appellate court hasn't officially signed the stay vacating the conviction yet; technically, you’re still under death warrant until the judge in Travis County enters the order.”
“I don't give a damn about the Travis County judge,” Gavin said, his voice level and cold. “My daughter is in a car with a woman who just proved she’s willing to fake a murder, bury an innocent stranger, and watch me sit on death row for five years without blinking an eye. If Evelyn crosses that state line, she’ll disappear into the desert with Chloe, and we’ll never see her again.”
Mitchell stared at him for three seconds.
Then he reached into his desk drawer, pulled out a set of heavy brass truck keys attached to a red plastic tag, and slid them across the green blotter.
“My personal vehicle is a 2024 Ford F-250 diesel,” Mitchell said casually, as if he were discussing a weather report. “Parked in the warden’s reserved slot behind the armory. It’s got a full tank of fuel, four-wheel drive, and a state transponder that’ll clear every toll plaza between here and El Paso without stopping.”
Gavin looked at the keys, then up at the warden. “You’re giving me your truck?”
“I’m giving a father the keys to go pick up his little girl,” Mitchell corrected, standing up and buttoning his gray uniform jacket. “And if any highway patrolman tries to stop you, tell ’em you’re operating under direct executive authority from the department of corrections to retrieve state evidence.”
Gavin reached out, his fingers closing around the cold brass keys.
May you like
“Thank you, Warden.”
“Don’t thank me yet, Cole,” Mitchell muttered, walking over to the window and looking out at the flashing lights of the news trucks below. “When you find that little girl, you make sure she knows her daddy didn't quit.”
