Page 89 of Jonas

I didn’t clue her in, nor did Derrika. I was too focused on watching a man and woman exit the Peterson house, both carrying duffle bags. Thankfully, Derrika had her cell up and was recording the duo.

“What’s—”

“Shots fired,” I quietly told KK, then quickly filled her in on what was happening and finished with, “We’re following the Merc. Need you to pull any security footage from the Peterson house and the neighbors.”

“Copy that.”

I heard Kira disconnect. Watched the Merc backing out of the driveway. Then turned to Derrika.

“Down, baby, as low as you can get.”

She lowered her phone, put her head on her knees. I shifted and ducked across the console.

“You think they’re dead?” Derrika inquired.

“Yep.”

“One of them is a woman,” she unnecessarily noted.

“Yep.”

“The only woman we have on radar is Karen White.”

What she didn’t say was that Karen was in her sixties and the woman walking out of the Petersons’ house wasn’t in her sixties, but too far away to get a good look at her or the man. In all of their searches no women had come up. Seeing a woman exit the house had been unexpected and frankly unwelcomed.

“Hopefully, Kira will get us something.”

I heard the car roll by, gave it a few more seconds, then sat back up, checked in the mirror that the coast was clear, and flipped a U-turn.

Derrika was back up in her seat, face tipped down, doing something on her phone, likely sending the pictures of license plates from the street to Kira.

“Baby, use my phone and call Zane.”

She dropped her phone into her lap and grabbed mine.

I watched the Merc make a right onto Georgetown Pike and slowed my speed, wanting more distance between us before I made the turn.

“Kira told me,” Zane said by way of greeting.

“Right. We need someone to hit the Petersons’ place. Don’t know who’s driving the Merc. Could be Lou’s driver, Les, or it could be the Keith guy. And if it’s Keith, where’s the driver?”

“Already thought of that. I called Nixon Swagger, asked him if any of his guys are available. He’s sending Jameson Grant and Holden Stanford out to the farm. They’re only forty minutes away. I’ll send them out to the Petersons’ once they’re briefed. The rest of his team, including him, are tied up until tomorrow.”

Nixon Swagger ran an outfit called Gemini Group. Over the last year, I’d met all of them. Good, solid men whose focus had turned from government contracts to private security.

“Is Kira tracking me?”

“Nebraska is.”

“Is she able to pull up traffic cameras, see if we can get a clear picture of who’s in the car?”

“I heard that,” Nebraska called out. “And yes, I can. But you’re in a residential area.”

I glanced at Derrika to ask, “Baby, do you know where we are?”

“Yeah.”

I looked back at the road. The Mercedes was three car lengths in front of us. Not ideal on a two-lane road without much traffic.