“We’ve got her car. The phone was lying on the ground beside the driver’s side door, which was unlocked. Her purse is sitting on the passenger seat, and the keys are still in the ignition.”
The urge to puke is so overwhelming I have to bend over. Whatever little hope I was holding on to she might just walk in the door at some point evaporates instantly. I focus on breathing for a few moments.
When I regain some control over my faculties, I ask, “Anything else?”
“Nothing else. No sign of any struggle, my friend,” he says carefully, instinctively knowing what I’m getting at.
She would’ve passed the small parking lot to the park on her way out of my neighborhood.
“Call—” I start.
“Adam is on the phone with SAC Walker to get a team out here. Hang tight, Mitch. I’m heading back now and Adam is staying here to wait for a CSI unit to get here. Walker will take care of logistics.”
I sink down on a kitchen chair after ending the call, and rest my head in my hands.
“Mitch? I heard you on the phone. Who was it? Is there news?”
Becky’s face still shows signs of her earlier meltdown. Kate had calmly handled her, suggesting she lie down while we wait for news, but Kate isn’t here now.
“Sit down, Becky.”
Her face pales, but she doesn’t argue and takes a seat, resting her clasped hands on the table in front of her. I reach over and cover them with one of mine.
“We still don’t know where Sawyer is, but we found her car.”
While I’m talking, Becky opens her hands and grabs on to mine.
“No sign of her?” she asks in a quavering voice.
I shake my head.
“None,” I tell her, giving her fingers a squeeze. “The guys found her phone and her purse was still in the car.”
“That’s not good, right?”
Shit. This is too fucking hard.
“No, Becks, it’s not.”
The name I used to call her slips out in a moment when joint parenthood trumps any acrimony that remains between us.
“There was no evidence of a struggle though. No sign of any force.”
I squeeze her fingers again to get her attention before I add, “No sign she was hurt in any way.”
She nods a few times.
“Okay. Okay. That’s good. So what do we do now?”
I’m about to answer when a knock sounds at the door.
Becky is about to jump up, but I hold her back.
“Let me get the door,” I tell her.
It may be Matt, or Joe made serious time getting back here, but I’m not taking any chances and unholster my gun. Then I peek out the bay window.
It’s Matt, alone. I put my gun away and open the door.
“Hey, pal.”
He shakes my hand and claps me on the shoulder. Then he looks beyond me.
“Hey, Becky.”
I’ve worked with Driver long enough he knows my ex, who is currently being folded in his arms.
“Just talked to Joe, he should be here shortly,” he tells me over Becky’s head.
I’m sure Joe filled him in, but I’d still like to talk to him without my ex listening in.
Becky offers to make Matt a coffee and heads for the counter where she starts messing about with that massive machine again. The damn noise the thing makes annoys me to no end but I guess it keeps her busy.
“Where is Opal?” Matt asks suddenly.
“She took off.”
I hope my tone conveys I don’t want to talk about it, but that’s never stopped Matt before.
It doesn’t now.
“Where’d she go?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care.”
That last comment is a lie, I fucking care, although it would be easier not to. It took hearing the door close behind her to bring on regret about my parting words for her.
The truth is, she was right, she does have a job to do and would be more useful out there than she is here, holding my hand. But dammit, I already have one person I care about out there exposed to a danger I have no control over. The thought of Kate vulnerable out there as well was too much to take on.
Still, like the idiot I am, I showed her the door anyway.
“Bullshit,” is Matt’s response, calling my bluff. “You forget, I’ve seen you with her. You care a great fucking deal.”
I look over at Becky, who still has her back turned. Then I return my focus to Matt.
“Fine, I care, but right now my focus has to be on finding my daughter and I don’t have a fucking clue where to even start.”
“We start with the CCTV feed from the gas station across the street from the park.”
Shit, I’d forgotten about the Mobil right when you turn into my neighborhood. Goes to show my mind is not running on all cylinders.
“Joe got hold of the manager, who was cooperative. He’s getting a copy ready for Joe to pick up.”
Becky walks up and hands Matt a mug before turning to me.
“Do you want another one?”
I’ve had several of the high-octane coffees by now which, combined with adrenaline flowing through my system, already has me crawling out of my skin.
“I’m good, thanks.”
“Can I get you something to eat?”
I guess we missed dinner somewhere but food is the last thing on my mind right now. This preoccupation with food and drink is starting to annoy me, and I’m about to blow her off when Matt speaks up.
“You know what? That’s a good idea. We all need some fuel. I’m sure Joe and Adam would appreciate something as well when they get back.” He smiles at her. “Maybe soup and sandwiches? Keep it easy.”
I watch her head back to the kitchen, probably glad to have a purpose, and squeeze the bridge of my nose with my fingers.
Fuck. I almost snapped at the woman.
“Where’s the husband?” Matt asks under his breath, making sure Becky can’t hear him.
“DC, where apparently he has more important things to tend to.”
“What a piece of work.”
We’re interrupted by the beam of headlights coming in through the front window as Joe’s vehicle pulls into the driveway. I have the door open before he makes it to the porch.
“Any luck?”
He holds up a thumb drive.
I’d forgotten her propensity to bake or cook when she’s stressed, but Becky appears to be making soup for an army when I ask if we can use Chad’s office. It’s right off the hallway by the front door. She hesitates only for a moment before shrugging her shoulders.
“Go right ahead. It’s not like he’s around enough to use it himself.”
She sounds so deflated and I feel a sudden wave of empathy for her. Her child is missing, her asshole husband chooses not to be here to support her, and she’s in the kitchen cooking for her ex and his teammates who are taking over her house.
Chad’s office is spotless, more for show than an actual functional space. There are no files out in the open, not even a computer or phone on the desk, just a blotter and a wooden penholder. On the credenza behind the leather executive office chair I spot a few framed pictures, including a family portrait showing Sawyer framed by her mother and that douche. They’re all smiling, but it looks far from genuine.
I close the door behind us as Joe sets up at the small conference table, opening his laptop and inserting the USB key.