He pointed toward the back. “Jerrod was outside. Loading.”
I didn’t thank him. I moved.
Out back, the air was thick with feed dust and heat. Jerrod stood near a pallet jack, wiping sweat off his forehead with the hem of his shirt. He looked up when I approached, cautious in the way men got when they sensed trouble.
“Wyatt,” he said. “What’s up?”
“You see Tessa Callahan today,” I asked.
His face tightened. “Yeah.” Jerrod nodded toward the lot,then back at me. “She came out fast. Like she was trying to get gone.”
“Was she alone?” I asked.
Jerrod hesitated. “I didn’t see anyone walk with her.”
My stomach dropped anyway. “But.”
Jerrod sighed like he didn’t want to be part of this story. “There was a guy,” he said. “Not local, I don’t think. Clean clothes. Standing by the edge of the lot like he was waiting for someone.”
My jaw clenched. “Did he approach her?”
“I didn’t see it,” Jerrod admitted. “But she stopped when she saw him. Like she froze for a second. Then she kept going. She didn’t look around. She just went.”
“And the guy,” I asked.
“He watched her,” Jerrod said, voice low. “Then he got into a dark vehicle and left.”
“Did you see a plate?” I asked.
Jerrod shook his head, regretful. “No. Sorry.”
“Which direction?” I pressed.
Jerrod pointed toward the road that led out past the last houses, toward fields and gravel and the kind of space that let bad people do bad things.
My pulse hammered.
I forced myself to stay calm, because calm got you answers.
“Thank you,” I said. I went back to my truck and pulled my phone out.
Holt, Evan, and Travis were on their way, but I needed more than ranch hands right now. I needed law. I needed an official. I needed somebody to start a paper trail before this turned into a shrug and a prayer.
I called the detachment.
A constable answered, and I gave my name, gave Tessa’s name, gave Ray’s name, gave the facts in clean sentences that didn’t shake. I said the word missing. I said the word suspect. Isaid the words ex-boyfriend. I said the words not local. I said the words she’s vulnerable and being targeted.
The constable said they’d open a file. They said they’d send someone to take a statement. They said if she’d only been gone a few hours, it might be premature to call it an abduction.
I bit down on the rage that flared in my chest like a match.
“It’s not premature. She’s not the type to vanish. Her best friend is scared. Her phone’s dead or off. She’s under active pressure from a man with a history of manipulation. If you wait until it’s official enough, you’ll be too late.”
There was a pause, the kind that told me I hit the limit of what this constable could do without permission.
“We’ll dispatch a unit to speak with witnesses,” he said carefully.
“Do it,” I said. “And put a BOLO out for Colin, last name unknown to you, but I can provide it if you need it, and any dark SUV that isn’t local. I’m not asking. I’m telling you what’s coming.”
