John waited until everyone had left before giving me my orders.
“How are you holding up?” He asked the same question I’d just asked Violet.
“I’ve compartmentalized it, sir. But when we find the bastard responsible, I want his head on a pike.”
“Understood.” He walked to the front of his desk. “Welcome to the team.” He held out his hand. After I released his hand, he said, “When this is over, will you please stop calling me sir.”
“Not insisting on it now?” I asked with a choked laugh.
“No, you’re relying on your SEAL training to hold it together. Barely. I won’t mess with that.”
I nodded.
“I’ve contacted the Parker County Sheriff’s Office and the Texas State Police; they’ve issued area-wide BOLOs for Ashley.”
It wouldn’t do much good since we didn’t have a single shred of information about the getaway car.
“Coordinate with Doug. His attention is divided between the footage and Violet, so a second set of eyes will help. I’ll have you work with Cate when she gets access to the traffic cams.”
“Yes, sir.”
Using AJ’s chair, I worked alongside Doug and Violet watching surveillance footage.
We hadn’t been at it long when Meg called out, “Nathan, did you order a pizza?”
Chapter 38
Ashley
“Smile pretty for your boyfriend.” The driver said, gripping my chin and forcing me to look at the camera.
The gag prevented me from saying fuck you to the cameraman, but my eyes got the point across.
Click. Flash. The camera spat out a black square that would magically become a photo of me. The guy holding me let go with a laugh and grabbed it.
He shook it as it developed. “It’ll do.” He wrote on it with a black marker and put it in a box. He dug around a bit, and then added a note and a black rose.
Nodding to his buddy, he said, “You know what to do.”
I had questions, but because of the gag, I couldn’t ask. I stomped my foot to get his attention.
“The worm wants attention,” a random dude said.
Worm?
“Remove her gag, but don’t go far.”
After he, none too gently, removed the knotted cloth, I licked my lips.
“Who the hell are you?”
He laughed, sounding like a cartoon villain. All he needed was a long, curly mustache, and the image would be complete.
“I’m Alan Perpura.”
“Should that mean something to me?” I had a feeling I knew who he was, but I wanted to confirm.
“I suppose confessing to murder doesn’t make good pillow talk, so he probably hasn’t mentioned me.”
