He was too late.
Micah holstered his weapon and pulled out his phone, taking photos of the yard, the stake, the tire tracks in the driveway where the truck had been.
Then he walked back to his SUV.
Naomi put her window down and leaned out when she saw him. Hope caught in her voice as she asked, “Is he?—?”
“Gone,” Micah said. “The men. Good Boy. No one is here. I’m sorry, Naomi.”
Her face fell. “No.”
“They must have circled back here and bolted.” Micah’s jaw tightened.
Naomi pressed her hand over her mouth, her eyes filling with tears.
Micah rounded the SUV and climbed back into the driver’s seat. “I’m sorry.”
She wiped at her eyes. “No, this is my fault. If I hadn’t come here alone, if I’d just waited?—”
“You didn’t know they’d run.”
“But they still have Good Boy, and we don’t know where they went.”
Micah slammed his door. “I’ll find them all. I won’t stop until I do.”
Naomi didn’t respond. Instead, she stared out the window, her shoulders slumped.
Part of him felt like he’d let her down—and he hated that.
But from here, he could only move forward.
He called his backup again and gave them an update. He’d let his deputies look around the property and return her vehicle.
Right now, he needed to get Naomi home.
She’d been through enough for one day.
