“Oh, Mitch,” the woman cries, throwing herself in his arms.
“Where’s Chad?” I hear Mitch ask as he appears to untangle himself from her long limbs.
“Who’s that?” the woman answers with a question of her own as she spots me for the first time.
Mitch turns his head, following her eyes on me.
“Opal Berry, she’s a colleague.”
“Opal, this is Becky Miller, Sawyer’s mom.”
I opt to nod with a slight smile, keeping my presence on the back burner for now. Good call, since his ex already seems to have dismissed me, aiming her attention back on Mitch.
“Chad is out of town at a conference.”
“Have you spoken to him?”
“Briefly,” she answers, but her eyes slide to the side.
Uh oh. I’m assuming Chad is a new husband, and her reaction suggests things are not copacetic between them.
“Is he on his way back?” Mitch presses.
“He was supposed to be home last night but got delayed.” She follows it up with, “Let’s go inside, it’s cold.”
A distraction tactic for sure, but it works as Mitch follows her in the door with me trailing behind. I don’t miss the tight clench of his jaw.
Money is definitely not an issue, judging from the Porsche Cayenne in the driveway and the lavish decor in here. I’m guessing the little red car Sawyer was driving last night did not belong to her mom as I assumed.
The girl is sixteen and has her own wheels? Shit, my feet were my only mode of transportation until I enlisted at eighteen.
“What did she tell you last night?” Mitch asks his ex, who busies herself in the kitchen with a complicated looking espresso machine.
“She said she was heading over to your place and would go to school from there in the morning.” There’s an accusatory tone to her answer. “Didn’t you see her last night?”
“I did. Briefly. She never talked about spending the night,” Mitch says as he glances my way. “She walked in on something, we had some words, worked it out, and then she left.”
“Words? You fought?”
The pitch of Becky’s voice rises and I know this situation is going to disintegrate within seconds if I don’t jump in.
“I understand you tried calling her friends,” I say, drawing her attention. “Did any of them have any ideas where Sawyer may have gone? Any boyfriends she may have gone to see?”
I ignore the growl coming from Mitch.
“No boyfriends. None that I know of anyway, and none of her friends mentioned anyone.”
“Family members close by?”
Becky shakes her head, tears welling in her eyes.
“No,” she sobs.
“You wouldn’t happen to have her license plate, would you?” I quickly press on, hoping to avert a meltdown.
She recites the number and I type it in a text to Pearl to do a quick search.
“And she drives a red Mazda3?”
Becky starts nodding and then suddenly narrows her eyes on me.
“Wait. How do you know what car she drives?”
Fuck.
“Because I told her,” Mitch intercedes, saving my bacon. “Look, we need to talk to Chad, see if maybe he has any idea where she is. Maybe she mentioned something to him.”
“She wouldn’t have,” Becky responds, turning back toward the espresso machine hissing behind her. “She and Chad aren’t exactly on speaking terms.”
“Since when?”
“They haven’t gotten along in a while,” she admits, keeping her face averted.
I have a feeling there may be some general domestic discourse in this house, but I keep my mouth shut. I’ll let Mitch prod while I keep my ears open. As unlikely as it may seem, it’s still a possibility finding me at Mitch’s house on top of some kind of domestic dispute may have caused Sawyer to bolt under her own steam.
It’s a preferable option to the one where she’s being forcibly kept from home. It’s even entered my mind perhaps Kendrick or his so-called friends have somehow gotten hold of her. Although I can’t imagine how they would’ve zoomed in on her.
Unless, they’ve had eyes on Mitch—or even on me—and want to send a message.
Or more likely, cause a distraction.
It would’ve been a logical assumption our focus would shift if a daughter of one of our own went missing.
And that might give Kendrick and his buddies time to tie up any loose ends.
That would also mean we are getting close enough to make them uncomfortable.
We can’t let up now.
“I’ll just be a moment,” I mumble, heading toward the door.
“Where are you going?” Mitch calls after me.
“I have to make a few phone calls.”
I just step out on the porch when a familiar vehicle pulls up to the curb and Joe Lampert and Adam Byron step out.
“They’re inside,” I tell Mitch’s teammates as they walk up.
While they go in, I move away from the front door and dial Jacob.
“What’ve we got?” he asks right away, and I know Raj has already notified him.
“Sawyer Kenny, sixteen years old, drives a red Mazda3.”
I rattle off the license plate number I already forwarded to Janey.
“Mother, Becky Miller, stepfather, Chad Miller. Well-to-do but I don’t know their professions. Looks like there may have been some domestic issues.”
“You think she ran?”
“It’s possible,” I admit. “But I was also thinking the timing of this could be very convenient for Kendrick, since half of the CARD team is now here at the Miller house.”
“And Matt and Raj are on their way back to town,” Jacob mentions.
Dropping what could be a direct lead to the missing kids.
Jesus. The hair on my neck stands on end.
“Jamie Lyons. If I’m right, he might be in danger.”
“He’s in police custody,” Jacob reminds me.
“That may well be, but from what we learned from Melissa and Remington there’s reason to think there may be some police involvement. And even if there isn’t, most police departments maintain a public blotter online. All it would take is a simple Google search to have the news of his arrest pop up.”
Much like the search I did for Lee Remington the other day, except with a simple software you could loop the search to run continuously, sending an alert when there’s a hit.
“You need to call Matt.”
“Already on it. Gimme a sec.”
I take in my surroundings as I wait for Jacob to get back on the line, and notice a tiny security camera tucked in a corner where the porch soffit meets one of the columns. It looks to be aimed at the front door. Walking toward the corner where the garage is set back a bit, I spot another one.
Good. In a neighborhood like this, I would bet every house has some kind of security. We may be able to get some information from a feed.
I make a mental note to ask Mitch about any security he or his neighbors might have.
“Driver has a buddy in the Paducah FBI satellite office he trusts. He’ll ask him to take the Lyons boy into protective custody immediately and transport him back to Lexington so he can be questioned here.”
I blow out a breath of relief. I had visions of that poor kid in a holding cell, getting shanked by someone who fakes a drunk and disorderly charge to get close to him.