“She didn’t leave me.”
“Then, why does her text message say she did?”
My body was in motion. Nausea, headache, and chest pains were immediately forgotten. “Because she’s in fucking trouble, that’s why. Someone has her.”
It took me a goddamn minute to find my laptop, fire it up, and connect to the secure system.
Tatiana’s face filled the screen. “Can you smell what The Flinternator is cooking?”
“No. No. A thousand times no, T. And we have more important things to talk about than your ridiculous catchphrases!” I yelled.
She saluted. “Got it, bossman. What’s going on?”
“I think Celia’s been taken,” I barked.
Tatiana immediately began typing. “No location on her phone, but the last place it was used was at a diner in Dorsey, Mississippi.”
I paused from changing my vomit-covered shirt. “The Gracie Spoon?”
“That’s the one.”
“Can you track where it went from there?”
Tatiana shook her head no.
“How about my vehicle? Any chance you can track that?”
She got busy typing while I finished pulling on a clean shirt.
“Looks like the car is at the diner, too.”
I turned to Fitch. “I need to get to the Gracie Spoon.”
“I’ll get the car,” he ran out of the room.
“What happened, bossman?”
“Celia is missing. Someone took her. I just don’t know who,” frustration tinged my voice as I tried to remain calm.
“We’ll find her. Call me when you get to the diner,” Tatiana ordered as she severed the connection.
