“If they’re there.”
“True, true…”
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“I just remembered. I absolutelydidconnect to the internet. I was testing out my new camera but left the instructions on the kitchen table. To get them, I had to register with a username and password…. Oh shit. What if someone in the police department is dirty and has access to Jason…”
My partner finishes my thought. “The artificial intelligence could delete your photos.”
“Unless…”
“I’m listening.”
“Dr. Jenna Jones is a genius, right?”
“Agreed.”
“Well, if I was her, I would’ve programmed fail-safes. She had to have known there would come a day when a bad apple would try to use her AI to erase evidence. I bet she backs up everything crime-related to a different server, someplace safe.”
“Makes sense.”
I heave a sigh. “Let’s hope so. Otherwise, I’m totally fucked.”
“No way. You’ll figure this out. You always do.”
I work hard to stay awake but inevitably my lids grow heavy and the lack of sleep catches up with me.
It must be hours later when I open my eyes and the vehicle stops.Why is my bed sitting in a parking lot?
The plain back door has the wordsPawn Shop,stenciled in block letters. Many similar doors line the long, one-story, brick structure. Cardboard-filled garbage bins and employee only signs indicate we’re no doubt behind a strip mall.
Before I can ask, Suds grabs my ring from the cup holder and hops out. “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”
He knocks, a guy peeks out, and after a few minutes of negotiations, the exchange takes place. Mouth grim, he races back and I wonder if I’ll ever see my beautiful diamond again.
“Shit.” He hands me three, one hundred dollar bills and wipes his eyes.
At first, I’m confused but then remember how we left everything behind, including ID.
“It had to be done.” Swallowing hard, I refuse to cry, mostly because it will make him feel worse.
We order burgers and fries at the closest drive-through. The water bottles we can refill along the way. Then, after topping off the gas tank, we’re back on the road.
“How far to Utah?” I search through the dash for a paper map but come up empty handed.
He grimaces. “You don’t want to ask.”
“More than a day? A week? A year?” Grinning, I poke him in the ribs until a partial smile emerges.
“A day and a half, driving full time.” His tone indicates he’s completely oblivious to my biggest fear, dying of boredom.
A little while later, I point out two horses harnessed to a wheeled covered contraption. “Is that a buggy?”
“Ah huh. We’re in Amish country.” The corners of his mouth rise making me smile, too.
“Holy shit. I thought they were a myth. They don’t use cars, right?” I can’t imagine living in the middle of nowhere without a vehicle.
