“Sheriff Walker.” He frowns and scans me as if I’ve done something to Eliza. “You’re Eliza’s guy from New York.”
He makes it sound like I’m somebody you’d call for shady permits. “I moved here. She spent the night at my place. Something happened here. Look inside. I didn’t move anything.”
The sheriff doesn’t take long to assess the interior. “I need a list of people she’s been in contact with recently.”
Fuck. I’ve been gone for more than three months. Who knows who she met? Her business is also taking off so there were even more people who could have taken her.
“Better talk to Quinn. She knows everything going on in Eliza’s life.”
The sheriff’s eyes flash and he nods toward his aid who is hovering near the patrol car with his forensic kit.
“I’m going to need you to accompany me to her.”
“I can’t follow you around, I have people to talk to, to help find her. I can’t waste time.”
“There won’t be time wasted if we get Quinn to talk faster. Trust me. Let’s take your car. I don’t want to tip off the guys if they’re stupid enough to still be in the area.”
In the car, Walker barks orders into his phone. “Put out a BOLO for Eliza Miller, a Caucasian female, red hair, brown eyes, last seen last night. She might be wearing a blue dress. I just sent you a picture. She’s missing. Possible kidnapping. Report any sightings and canvas the area along the access road. Set up checkpoints on all exits.”
At least he’s not a mumbling small-town sheriff.
“I should call in the FBI,” he says after he jots some notes.
“No. I don’t want them messing this up. Our rescue team is better trained than anyone. They’ll coordinate with Logan’s security contractors. I trust them with my life.”
The bell above the coffee shop door gets Quinn’s attention and she greets us with a deep frown, scowling at the sheriff and crossing her arms. “Out where you came from.”
Now I know where to place him. He’s the guy with the baseball bat who came to the pub with his police friends when the girls were in trouble.
“Official matters, I’m afraid.”
“That’s some bullshit excuse,” her voice is shrill, but she spots me and her eyes go wide.
“Eliza’s missing. Time is running out.”
Quinn falls into a chair, trembling fingers pressed to her lips.
“We don’t know much right now.” I bend over to place a hand on her shoulder, to make her pay attention as hereyes follow Walker taking a call a few feet from us. “You need to think hard about anybody she met lately who might seem suspicious.”
The sheriff rushes back to us. “Somebody saw a light blue vintage truck speeding up the road. Do you know any friends of hers who drive one? Or somebody she didn’t get along with?”
Quinn’s face becomes ashen. “No…can’t be. Maybe they had to run an errand together…” she says to herself, unlocking her phone with shaky hands.
“Her things are scattered all over the floor. Including her phone,” I point out. There’s no way she left willingly.
Quinn gulps. “Straight to voicemail.”
“Who?” Walker gets in her face until she’s plastered to the support beam behind her.
“My b-boyfriend. Mike. He drives a 1952 Studebaker,” she whimpers. “It’s his pride and joy.”
“Full name and plates. Now.”
The floor caves in under my feet when both Derrick and the police records come up empty.
“He gave you a false name.”
This is not a random kidnap.
