The patrol car pulled out from its parking space to follow Wiley's truck, then stopped abruptly in the middle of the street. A second later, it whipped into a fast U-turn and tore off in the opposite direction, siren screaming.
Dean smirked. Dropping the curtain, he finished dressing and then stuck his revolver into his belt.
Wiley was a smart little fucker.
Making an anonymous call to the cops about a man throwing a couple of screaming kids into the back of a suspicious van?
Dean couldn't think of a better way to get them out from under police surveillance.