I straightened in my seat, watching as the blinking dot moved from the dirt path Ariana had been left on, slowly at first. But eventually, she picked up speed.
“Heading west. Toward Naples.”
“On it,” I grunted, slamming my car into drive and peeling out of the rest stop.
“Keep your distance,” Blake cautioned me. “And don’t speed. Remember. Nothing to raise suspicion.”
“I’ll try my best.”
I kept Blake in my ear as I followed the signal along Alligator Alley and toward the west coast of Florida. But the signal eventually started moving north, remaining inland.
After another hour or so, the signal slowed. I squinted at my laptop monitor, but couldn’t make out where they were heading. It still seemed to be in another remote area of the state, nothing but farmland.
Finally, the tracker stopped moving for several long seconds.
“Give it a minute,” Blake stated, always one to err on the side of caution. “This might not be it.”
“Start pulling what you can, just in case.”
“Already on it,” he assured me.
I kept glancing between the road and the laptop in the passenger seat, a handful of minutes passing without any movement.
“I think this is it,” I finally announced.
“I think so, too.”
“What do you have?”
I heard the telltale sound of Blake’s fingers moving over the keyboard, each second feeling like a goddamn eternity.
“Looks like it’s a horse property.”
“Owner?”
“Pulling records now,” he said.
I gripped the steering wheel, needing something to anchor me when it felt like everything was spinning out of control.
“It’s owned by someone named Deacon Lawler. There’s over a thousand acres.”
“So no neighbors for miles,” I remarked.
“That’s what it looks like.”
“What’s his background?”
“Nothing, really. A few parking and speeding tickets. But…” He trailed off.
“What did you find?”
“Lawler died a few years ago. This property’s been on the market since then.”
“So it’s abandoned.”
“Probably,” Blake replied. “I could be wrong, but I don’t think real estate in the Florida swamp is exactly a hot market.”
“Right.”
