“You’re not alone in this, Riley.”
Her gaze shot up, searching for some kind of resolution. “It’s ironic I track fugitives and now I’m on the receiving end.”
“You aren’t prey.”
Tears threatened, which only stoked her anger. “The hell I’m not.”
He closed the gap and laid a hand on her arm. More energy surged up, but this time it didn’t snap and burn. It tingled. In a good way.
Slowly, she pulled her arm away, knowing she didn’t need to complicate what was already pretty damn complicated. Though she’d broken the connection, he didn’t back away.
Her phone hummed so she checked the screen, grateful for the interruption.
Sandy had sent her a text.
Cassie is missing.
Riley typed: How long?
Since last night. She texts me every hour.
Frowning, she pictured the young runaway girl she’d met at the truck stop a few days ago. She looked up from the phone and found Bowman’s gaze full of questions.
“Homicide?”
“I hope not. I interviewed a couple of the runaways when I was looking for Darla. Sandy and Cassie. Sandy says Cassie is missing.”
“Does she fit the profile?”
“No. She has blond hair. Small. ID says eighteen but I doubt it.” She texted Sandy for details. “Sandy says that Darla cut a deal with Tony for the girl.”
His chest rose and fell with a sigh. “She’s blond.”
“That’s fixed with a bottle of hair dye,” she said. “Darla already had a connection to this network. I need to find Sandy and find out what’s going on.”
“I’ll back you up.”
She shook her head. “No thanks, I have this.”
“Did you note the lack of a question mark at the end of my statement?”
“Jesus, Bowman, you helped me out on the mountain. And now, on the streets?”
“Technically, it’s your day off. If anyone were wondering, we could simply say we were out for a stroll.”
That prompted a laugh. “That’s the last thing anyone would picture us doing.”
“I can’t control what they believe.” He tapped his finger on the DVD case. “Can I keep this? I have a tech guy who can analyze it. He can separate out background sounds, reflected images, and do things you and I couldn’t imagine.”
She’d laid bare her darkest secret to him without knowing much about him. It wasn’t like her to be open, but urgency tilting toward desperation had forced her hand. The frozen image of her drugged face stared back. “That cannot go public. None of your buddies at the FBI, CIA, or anywhere else can see it.”
“Just my people will see it. They are always discreet.”
She cringed. “I might regret this, but fine. Keep it. But if you find anything that will help Sharp’s murder investigation, I want you to give it to him.”
“Of course.”
Rising, she drew in a breath. Cooper stood, looking up at her and waiting for his next order. She took a small step back, folding her arms. “I don’t like having it in my house anyway.”
Bowman followed her to the door, opening it for her. “Payback for this killer is coming, Riley. Just a little more time.”
“I hope so.”
Floorboards creaked as he shifted his weight. “I’ll be there.”
She looked up at him. “I’m betting a lot on that.”
“Where are you going to meet Sandy?”
“There’s a truck stop off the interstate where a lot of the girls are working now.” She gave Bowman the location.
“I’m five minutes behind you.”
“You were an hour behind me in the woods and caught up. How’d you do that?”
“I was motivated.”
“Why were you there at all?”
A smile tugged the edge of his lips. “Civic duty.”
“Does Shield Security do these things often?”
“From time to time.”
“Why this case?” she asked.
“Lucky for you, I suppose.”
“Luck?” She opened the door. “No such thing. How long has Shield known about me?”
He hesitated, considered her. “He saw you on the news a couple of years ago. He thought you were the fifth victim. He did a little digging and found out you were from New Orleans. He’s kept an eye on you ever since.”
“My guardian angel.”
Bowman’s mouth flattened into a grim line. “He’s determined to solve this case, and you’re a part of it.”
The notion that Mr. Shield had been watching her like the Shark was unsettling. “I need to get back into town.”
“After you.”
She got in her SUV, glanced back at Cooper, and headed toward town. Several times during the half-hour drive, she looked in the rearview mirror expecting to see him trailing behind her, but when she looked he was never there.
When she pulled up to the diner near the bus station, she spotted Sandy. She was leaning against a van, her hands hovering close to a warm cup of coffee, clearly waiting for her next date. There was no sign of Darla, but people like her didn’t need to be physically close to control their girls. The pimps were good at manipulating their prostitutes with drugs, threats to their families, beatings, and sleep deprivation. Most girls simply followed orders sent via text without question.
The girl shoved her hands in her pockets and stomped her feet as if trying to stay awake. No doubt she’d not slept well in a while.
“Be right back, Coop.” Out of the car, Riley crossed the graveled lot in long strides.
Sandy looked up, her face a mask of composure. “I wasn’t sure if you’d make it.”
“Sorry. Traffic.”
The girl looked around, then pushed away from the van. “Feels good to rest. My feet are killing me.”
“Want to go inside? I’ll buy you a meal and you can sit.”
“Tempting, but that wouldn’t be the smartest move.”
“When is the last time you ate a real meal?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is Tony around?”
She grabbed her cell phone from her pocket. “He’s always texting.”
“Can you eat and respond to texts?”
“Sure.”
“So take fifteen minutes.”
“Okay. Let’s go inside. Can I have eggs and pancakes?”
“You bet.” A glance toward her vehicle showed a dark SUV parked beside her. A shadow passed across the front windshield, making it hard to see inside, but she knew it was Bowman because the hair on the back of her neck was standing up.
Riley and Sandy crossed the lot into the small diner that smelled of fried eggs, bacon, and grease. The floors dated back fifty years and the counter was a throwback to Happy Days. A guy slinging hash at a well-seasoned grill turned, glanced at Riley, and nodded to the “Seat Yourself” sign. She chose a booth close to the back and sat in the seat against the wall. Sandy slid in across from her.
The dude behind the counter raised his spatula. “You can’t sit and just drink hot water.”
Riley raised her hand. “I’m buying.”
The cook glared at Sandy. “No hot water.”
Sandy hunkered lower in her jacket as the few people in the diner stared while a heavyset waitress with a coffeepot turned over the two stoneware mugs and filled each with fresh brew.