“Switch out with me; I need to look for Arizona.”
“She’s—”
“What is it, Alex? Tell me.”
“Gone . . . she’s gone.”
“No, no. No, no, she can’t be.” I was going to be sick. “I need to find her.”
“Took her.”
I fell to my knees and leaned in closer to him. “Where? Where did he take her?”
“Blue . . . Impala.”
“He had a second vehicle here?”
He nodded, his jaw clenched.
“Was she hurt?”
“Sleeping,” he said, the word heavy like it carried a weight he didn’t want to say out loud.
“Did you notice anything else? Did you see the guy’s face?”
He winced in pain. “No . . . he wore a mask.”
His eyes closed, and his body suddenly went limp in Boden’s arms.
“Alex.” I shook him. “Come on, Alex, stay awake; help is coming.”
“Paramedics are two minutes out.” Jaxon appeared beside me. “I found the van; there’s no sign of Arizona anywhere. I need to get a team out here to start a grid search.”
“Alex said he transferred her into another vehicle, a Blue Impala.”
“Shit. Okay, I’ll update the team. Forensics is already sweeping the van. Hopefully, he got sloppy at some point and left traces of his DNA behind.
Shortly after Alex was transported to the hospital with stable vital signs, forensics lifted a usable print from the van. The print led to a match in the system and finally gave us something concrete to work with.
Dixon Monroe.
A thirty-year-old male currently residing in Rockwood with a list of priors that extended out of state and included assault and battery with a weapon and several stalking and restraining orders from women up and down the East Coast.
Armed with a warrant, Rockwood police and Jaxon entered the quaint little, unassuming house registered in Dixon’s name while Boden hung back to ensure I didn’t enter the property and disturb the scene.
The house had been turned upside down, all electronics seized, and yet there was still no trace of Arizona or any evidence to suggest that she had been brought to this location.
Anxiety churned in my stomach, making me want to puke, when Jaxon brought me inside and showed me that the suspect had an entire wall in his office dedicated to Arizona.
The photos all appeared relatively recent and included pictures of her on the job, at home, at her dad’s, and even at my place. The images were all taken from a distance using a high-end telephoto lens, as evidenced by the Canon camera and its attachments on the desk in front of me.
What truly sent a shiver down my spine were the images documenting the fire at Dustin’s and the night that ignited the chain of events that had led us down this unforeseen road.
Jaxon looked at me with a concern-filled expression, and while I wanted to explain, all that escaped past my lips was a sob as I was overcome with more regret rather than answers.
Unease was a prickly fucker, and it ate away every second of our three-hour drive to an Airbnb booked under Dixon’s name in a remote area north of where we lived. When Jaxon pulled off the road a quarter mile from the house, and my eyes landed on the rest of the cavalry who were along for the assist, hope spawned in my chest for the first time in the last twelve hours.
“Leif,” Jaxon greeted a guy who I guessed was the crew’s leader. The guy was so stacked, even I wouldn’t want to tangle with him in a dark alley. He was one scary, intimidating motherfucker.
