I turn to leave when Powers calls my name.
“Dog tags.”
“Say what now?”
“I don’t know if it was Lil, or even why she would take them, but I haven’t been able to find mine since she left.”
“Did she know where you kept them?”
“I always wore them. Only time I took them off was to shower or if I knew I was going to be doing something gross.”
I snort at that. Prospects end up with the shitty jobs, so I can’t blame him.
“I know that doesn’t help with anything, but I still can’t figure out why she took them.”
Havoc slaps him on the shoulder as I tilt my head. “It might have been just a friendship for you, Powers. But it sounds to me you were a lifeline to Lil. Takes a fuckload of courage to walk away from your home and family, no matter the reason you’re doing it. She wanted a clean break with untraceable steps, probably to protect us from the danger dogging her heels. But she couldn’t sever that lifeline because as long as she has it, she can find her way home.”
I follow up on the leads I have at the office. As I suspected, none of them pan out, except perhaps for one. A woman matching Lil’s description was involved in a multi-vehicle car accident. Though she wasn’t injured, several others were. The woman provided aid and assistance at the roadside until emergency services and paramedics arrived. Before police could take her statement, she disappeared, abandoning the empty truck. The truck was registered to an Earl Jaimison, an eighty-seven-year-old vet living in a care facility down in Jackson, Florida. It had been sold by his grandson, but apparently neither he nor the newowner bothered to get the title changed. And the person who bought it? A Wednesday Adams look-alike, apparently. That description doesn’t sound like Lil, but it wouldn’t take much to switch up her appearance if she wanted to.
After digging around for another hour, I have alerts set up in the system ready to ping if she trips them. But right now, I have nothing else to go on.
“Dammit, Lil, I’m going to throttle you myself when I get hold of you.”
I rub my eyes before I return to my messages, finally finding one I’ve been waiting for. I open it up and read it, before picking up my cell phone and dialing Hannibal.
“Kruger, how’s it going?”
“It’s going.” I huff out a laugh. “Got some information on this Sam Davenport for you.”
“Sounds ominous.”
“Probably because it is. I did some digging on this guy and found next to nothing, so I sent one of my guys down there to check out their firm. It’s legit and Sam Davenport does indeed work there, but whoever this guy is in the photo, is not Sam.”
“What?”
“Got a picture of the guy right in front of me. I’ll email it over with my report. The real Sam Davenport is dark-haired, slightly overweight, and has a thing for shiny suits. He’s also horrified that someone is using his identity.”
“You have any idea who the man in the photo is, if he’s not Sam?”
“No luck there, and believe me, I’ve tried. I’m more concerned about why he wanted access to your club.”
“Hmm…Alright, thanks, Kruger. I’ll make sure everyone has their eyes open for him. I’d like a little chat with the fraudster.”
He hangs up, leaving me shaking my head. Only a fucking idiot would mess with Hannibal.
I email everything I have over to him before shutting the computer down and heading out.
I close the door to my office and almost run into Nathan when I turn around.
“Whoa, sorry, boss,” he says, distracted.
“What’s going on?”
“Just one of those weeks where I had to remind myself that setting fire to people is frowned upon.”
“Only if you get caught.”
I expect him to laugh, but he just sighs, loosening his tie. “It might come to that.”
