“Jake,” Ellen said, suddenly nervous.
“Hmm?” He turned off the light since visibility was getting better by the minute.
“Brock told me last night that Robinson has cameras everywhere. That’s how he knew George gave me a copy of the contract.”
“Cameras?” Jake looked around, squinting to see in the distance. “Where? His property line is a half mile away.”
“I don’t know, but I assume all along his perimeter. So, we need to be quick.”
“I’m going to take care of the bulls and chickens since I don’t know when I’ll be back today. I’ll be fast.”
“I’ll search the truck.”
If Mitchell or one of his people were monitoring the camerasnow, he’d see her. She didn’t know how much time she’d have once he knew. Would he confront her? Would he know what she was doing?
She had to assume he’d know this was the truck of the man he’d hired to steal the contracts. She wanted to leave as soon as possible, but she also wanted the evidence that Brock claimed he had left in his truck.
Ellen tied Stella to the horse rail next to the porch and strode through the mud to the truck. Based on the tracks and mud, many vehicles had come and gone, and maybe she was too late. Maybe Mitchell had already found the evidence. The thought made her sick to her stomach. He needed to pay for what he’d done to her neighbors—and as far as she was concerned, Mitchell Robinson was as guilty as Brock and Rena for Greg Baldwin’s shooting.
The truck was unlocked, and Ellen hoisted herself up into the cab. There were no keys in the console or ignition or glove box.
She shined her flashlight around. There was blood in the back, and she shivered, thinking of Sam being shot on Thursday night. She hoped Greg Baldwin survived, because otherwise Sam’s life was over. He would be charged with murder. If Greg survived, Sam might get out of prison in ten or twenty years.
Maybe.
She searched everywhere she could think of. There were no copies of anything. No papers. No documents. No contracts. Had Brock been lying or had Mitchell Robinson gotten here first?
She hit the steering wheel. “Dammit!”
Jake approached the open driver’s door. “Nothing?”
He didn’t sound like he expected a different outcome.
“Mitchell took them,” she said.
“Or the criminals lied. Because that’s what they do.”
Maybe, but Brock had no reason to lie because he was already leaving. He didn’t have to say anything to her. She had felt at thetime that he was angry with Mitchell for getting him and his family in the middle of this mess and wanted to stick it to him.
Jake walked around to the passenger seat and climbed in. “Okay, he said he had copies of everything—maybe he did. Where else could he have hidden them?”
She thought. “I looked in the obvious places. Maybe under the bed liner?”
“They’d get wet. There’s no lockbox.”
“Under the seats? I checked, but maybe there’s something taped to the bottom?”
They looked under the seats; there was nothing taped to the underside. They looked behind the seats. Looked for seams that had been sewn closed.
“We have to go,” she said. “Robinson could be watching us now.”
“Hold on,” Jake said.
He had pulled up the heavy-duty floor mat, which protected the carpet. The carpet had a seam that shouldn’t be there, and Jake said, “Someone cut this.” He felt around and pulled out a cracked cell phone.
“It’s almost dead, five percent, but there’s no passcode.”
He flipped through the device, turning it so Ellen could see.
