She nodded.
He met her eyes, gaze serious. “And I’m very afraid you might be right. We need to move quickly, and that could mean a trip north up the peninsula—back to what I’m convinced is a practice victim. And I want to talk to Dr. Carver again. Knowing more about our victim might help.”
“I’ll drive. You call Carver.”
He didn’t protest and Amy was glad; she was afraid he was going to be the type who insisted on driving. She was a good driver, and she’d managed a few high-speed chases without causing damage or injury.
She remembered when she’d started out with John; he had insisted on being the one behind the wheel all the time. When he’d hurt his right foot during an arrest, he’d had no choice but to let her drive.
Then, she thought, lowering her head with a smile for the memory, he’d decided she should drive most of the time. But she had been patient with John; he’d been a father figure in a way. An older man, experienced with the FDLE, while she had been a rookie—even if she had spent four years with Metro-Miami-Dade.
Hunter Forrest was certainly no father figure.
She listened as he spoke to his headquarters. He was speaking to someone named Special Agent Sheila Garcia, and Garcia went off on something of a heated rant when the name Ethan Morrison was mentioned.
Many people seemed to think the man should be in prison, and thus far, law enforcement had been thwarted.
“Sheila, we do our best to uphold the laws—we don’t make them,” Hunter said, glancing Amy’s way.
She smiled. She couldn’t hear the rest of the woman’s words, but the conversation settled down.
He ended the call, shaking his head, and then smiling at Amy as she glanced his way, waiting.
“Well, you heard some of that.”
“Yes. She thinks Ethan Morrison is a scumbag.”
“A good majority of Americans do, I believe, but he’s a smart scumbag. She did know one thing I consider interesting.”
“Oh?”
“Morrison owns a lot of land around here—he’s a sugar baron.”
“I should have known that.”
“Nope. Because he owns the land under another company name.” He shrugged. “That’s why we have brilliant agents—in the FBI and FDLE—who never leave their offices but sure as hell help solve the crimes. Sheila is the best.”
“Does he—does he own the land where the victim was found? I thought it was actually state land.”
“Where she was found is state land. But just a half a mile down, part of the old Sweetly Naturally Sweet sugar plantation lines up to the main road. Of course, Sheila also told me Ethan Morrison was seen on national television the day our girl was killed.”
“She was killed in the middle of the night or the wee hours of the morning, however you want to look at it.”
“He was seen on the news in Texas. It’s really unlikely he could have made it out here by then.”
Amy shook her head. “We know more than one person killed her. Here’s my theory, for what it’s worth. He’s involved—and I think he may be finding people at the border. Maybe not immigrants, but perhaps the homeless...turning them, using them... I don’t know. But we still don’t have identities on either victim.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “And you know things aren’t solved in a day.”
“I don’t think your ‘white horse’ is going to take long to act again.”
“I agree.”
She parked at the diner.
“Be really friendly with Ida,” he said as they both got out of the car.
“Oh, you betcha,” she said.
Inside, Amy slid into the seat next to Ryan at a window-facing booth and Hunter took the seat opposite. A pretty young waitress came over. Amy noticed a slight frown on the girl’s face as Hunter whispered to Amy, “She was working yesterday, too.”
“Hi, welcome. What can I get you? Coffee?” the waitress asked. She looked at Amy, and Amy realized that she was slightly put-off, maybe thinking Amy had chosen the seat next to Ryan because there was something between them.
“I would love coffee,” she said.
“Special Agent Forrest?” she asked Hunter.
“Coffee here is great,” he said.
“So, you two have met?” Ryan asked Hunter.
“Not officially. But you served us yesterday, right?” Hunter said.
“And I must admit, I heard Rabbi David call you by name at some point,” the waitress said. She had her very dark hair pulled back in a bun, but little dark tendrils escaped and fell against her forehead. She was in her early twenties, Amy thought, with dark eyes and a quick, slightly nervous smile.
“Oh, well, then, let me perform the introductions,” Ryan said. “Special Agent Hunter Forrest and Special Agent Amy Larson, please meet the lovely and charming Miss Kaila Franklin. Kaila knows I’ve just been kind of waiting around this morning, and she’s kept my coffee cup full.”
“Nice to meet you, Kaila,” Amy said.
“Oh, so, you’re a fed, too?” she asked Amy, apparently pleased Amy was one of Ryan’s coworkers.
“No, I’m with the Florida Department of Law Enforcement,” Amy told her.
“Oh,” she said, slightly confused. “Detective Mulberry has been in here, too.”
“We’re all working together,” Hunter said.
“Oh, yeah. It’s so terrible! I can’t believe it. Things like that—well, they just don’t happen around here often.”
“Thankfully, they don’t happen anywhere often,” Hunter said.
“Oh, I meant—” Kaila began, sounding distressed.
“It’s okay. We know what you mean,” Amy said quickly. “This is such a friendly community. We understand.”
“Of course,” Hunter agreed.
“Um,” Kaila said. “The boss is looking at me. I think the couple in back are ready to order. Excuse me. Please look at the menu. Take your time, and I’ll be back with your coffee.”
She moved on down the row of booths.
Amy noted Frank was working back in the kitchen; she didn’t see Ida.
“So, how’s your day been?” Ryan asked them.
Hunter shook his head. “We’re getting around, but nothing solid. What about you? Have you learned anything?”