Page 102 of Jameson’s Salvation

“Her phone’s off or she doesn’t have service. I’m going to keep trying,” McKenna announced.

“What’d Jonas say?” Jameson asked, trying to keep his patience in check.

“She left around two. No one else was in the store, period—lunchtime is the slowest part of the day. No cameras in the parking lot.”

A little over three hours ago.

Fuck.

Jameson pulled up her number to try her again, but stopped when Nix’s phone rang.

“Swagger.” His eyes shot to Jameson’s and he clipped. “Don’t touch anything. We’ll be right there.”

Jameson’s body coiled tight and Nixon stood.

“McKenna, keep trying her phone and call Weston, ask him to meet us at Nature’s Choice.” Nixon hadn’t broken eye contact with Jameson, even though he’d been talking to his woman. “Jonas checked the parking lot. He found Kennedy’s truck still in the lot with the door open.”

Jameson’s whole body caught fire and anger like an old familiar friend settled in his gut and got comfortable. He didn’t wait for his friend to say more, he took off down the hall, skipped two steps at a time, and was out the door like a shot.

Nixon made it to Jameson’s truck and jumped in as he was pulling away from the curb.

“I’ll call Jonny—”

“No. He’ll slow us down,” Jameson returned.

“We need information from him.”

Jameson made a right turn, ignoring the traffic light, and cut off a car driving through the intersection. “If he tells me to stand down, I’m not listening. Missing adult cases are not a priority and you know it.”

Missing. Fuck.

Nixon had his phone to his ear and Jameson could hear the bite of Nix’s tone, but the words evaded him over the roaring in his ears.

Jameson pulled into the lot and skidded to a halt behind Kennedy’s truck. He sucked in a breath seeing the door open. Three hours. Three fucking hours her truck was less than five miles from him with the door left wide open.

Nixon and Jameson jumped out and Nix shoved a pair of latex gloves at Jameson.

“Don’t contaminate the crime scene.”

Crime scene. What the fuck.

Jameson stood frozen, unable to calculate his next move. As a matter of fact, Jameson was at a total loss. He couldn’t believe this was happening.

“Doesn’t she carry a purse?” Nixon’s question snapped him to attention.

“No. Not normally. She has one of the phone cases that holds her cards.”

Nixon nodded and opened the back door to her truck and poked his head in.

Jameson went to the other side to help him search, and two minutes later after they’d checked under her seats, center console, and glove box, he announced, “No phone. She must’ve had it on her.”

They circled the truck looking for something—anything. Nixon got to his stomach and crawled partially under her truck. He backed out holding a piece of orange plastic.

“Looks like an old-school hypodermic needle cap.”

Jameson’s body swayed and he had to force himself to stay upright.

“Nixon!” a man yelled, and jogged across the parking lot.