Page 46 of A Future To Remember

“The Exxon station at the south end of town in Lincoln.”

I glanced back up at Gwen, trying to show her in my expression how grateful I was for this lead. “Did you notice if he was headed out of town or back in?”

“Out,” she said definitively. “I waited in my car until he left. Like I said, he really gave me the creeps, and I had my kids in the car.”

“Do you remember the date, ma’am?” Oscar asked.

Even without looking, I knew he was taking notes.

“It was the day before my kid’s birthday.” I dropped my eyes to the little girl, leaning against her mom’s legs. Gwen seemed to notice because she stroked the blond head again and said, “Not Sophie’s. Mitchell’s. That’s my son. He turned ten on October twenty-seventh.”

Abby had gone missing the twenty-sixth. And now we knew that she’d been abducted and probably drugged. I didn’t want to imagine what horrors she’d been enduring these long six months since—if she was even still alive.

I must’ve been wearing some of that fear because Gwen put a tentative hand on my arm, and when I looked up at her, she was staring at me intently. “I’m sorry I didn’t call the sheriff about it. I didn’t want to get involved because I got kids, you know? They’ve already been taken away by CPS once. I couldn’t risk that again. And that guy just looked like he’d hunt you down and kill you if you ratted him out.”

“Ma’am,” Oscar said into the silence that followed.

I was too frustrated and angry to say anything after that. I understood Gwen’s fear, but goddammit—my wife was in that car with that piece of shit, headed off to God knows where to endure God knows what. If Gwen had just come forward when she was in Lincoln, when she knew something was off about a scummy-looking guy with an unconscious woman in his truck who appeared way too good for him, we would’ve had a lead to follow. Abby could’ve been home months ago. We could’ve found her. I know we could’ve.

Gwen swiveled her attention away from me to him. “Yeah?”

“Would you be willing to look at some mug shots if we can collect them? Or sit with a sketch artist?”

She shook her head. “No. Sorry. I can’t. I’ve told you all I can. I can’t put my kinds in danger, you know?”

“But—”

“Sorry,” she said again, then firmly backed herself and little Sophie into the house before shutting the door in our faces.

It was a long couple of seconds before I could turn away from the door. I followed Oscar back to the truck, and we both got in silently.

My fists were clenched tightly, and I eyed the dashboard, wondering if I could punch a fist through it when he said, “We knew that if Cooper wasn’t dead, it’d be bad, sir. She’s not dead.” He tapped his heart and insisted, “She’s not. I can feel she’s not. But I also can feel that it’s been bad for her. We gotta focus on getting her back and not what’s happened to her since she was taken.”

I continued to study the dashboard, the fury roiling through my insides like lava. “I badly want to ram my fist through the dash, Oscar.”

I could feel his eyes on me while I continued to stare at the dashboard like it was double-dog daring me to punch it.

And then he played dirty. “You’ll upset Eggy, sir. The poor guy’s just getting back to sleep.”

I looked down, and sure enough, Eggy’s eyes were heavy-lidded and closing fast. I took a deep breath and let it out as slowly as I could. I wasn’t willing to upset him. I’d eat the fire in my belly and swallow back the rage threatening to wreak havoc on our rental truck. “Fine, but when we get back to town tonight, I’m gonna break something.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Something expensive.”

“How about I get us a couple of bottles of Jack Daniels, and you can smash one while I pour you a few fingers from the other?”

I considered that. “I’m feeling the need to break something a little more substantial than a bottle of whiskey.”

“Like what, sir?”

I turned to look at him, knowing I had murder in my eyes. “Like the neck of the motherfucker who took my wife.”

CHAPTER 11

Her

Cash had been called to the scene of an auto accident just outside town the day I’d had the psychic vision of his dad’s murder, and we hadn’t had a chance to talk in the three days since. Which was okay by me, because in the time that I’d had to think about it, maybe having visions of murder wasn’t such a cool talent after all. In fact, maybe it was super freaky and I should simply mind my own damn business.