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“We need to narrow the search down. I know it’s a small town, but it’s also off a main road, which means there are plenty of hotels to hide in.”
Eric nods, drumming his fingers anxiously against the steering wheel.
“Let’s talk this out,” he says, slipping into professional mode. “Facts that we know. Chad kidnapped Cordelya.” He ticks off on a finger. “He’s been characterized as controlling and possibly abusive.” I let loose another aggressive growl as he lifts another finger.
Eric ignores me and continues.
“He’s fixated on marrying Cordelya and filed for a marriage license.” Two more fingers lift as my body coils tighter. This is what he does when we’re on a call and need to determine the best course of action. He states the facts to narrow down possible treatment. I know it’s going to help, but right now all it’s doing is pissing me the fuck off. I breathe deep and let him continue.
“In his mind, the only thing missing, now that he’s found Cordelya, is to get married. We don’t know how deep this delusion runs, but I’d be willing to bet he got a room to hide in until he can pick up the license. Then it’s either the Justice of the Peace or a church to marry. Cordelya is going to be freaked the fuck out, so I’d say that eliminates the Justice of the Peace, which leaves churches.”
My fingers fly across my phone screen, searching for churches in the area. Fuck, there are a lot of churches for such a small fucking town.
“There are over twenty churches.” I groan.
“Search for walk-in chapels.”
I shoot him a disbelieving look even as I pull up a new search, asking, “Is that even a thing outside of Las Vegas?”
“Not as common, but they’re everywhere. What matters is local laws regarding the license requirements,” he says with a shrug. Like he just told me a taco shell is just a crispy tortilla.
“And you know this how?”
“Jeopardy.”
My response dies as a list of ten walk-in chapels pops up.
“Do not think for one second I believe that bullshit. We’re tabling that for now. There are ten walk-in chapels in the area. I’m going to the group.”
As I’m typing out the message, the phone rings again. I put it on speaker and continue texting, explaining that Eric and I will be taking the chapels while they split and cover hotels.
“Hello?”
“Augustus,” Office Burrows says, “I’ve just spoken with Mountain View. Officers are at the courthouse. They confirmed that the marriage license was picked up. Security footage shows Chad, but no sign of Cordelya.”
“Son of a bitch!”
“Officers reported that when Chad picked up the license, he mentioned going to get ready for the ceremony. Officers are headed to hotels in the area.”
I blow out a breath of frustration. “We’re headed to local walk-in chapels. If he’s got the license, he needs someone to marry them.”
“Good point. I’ll update the locals. Keep me informed.”
“Type in the address to the GPS,” Eric instructs.
I add in the nearest location and hit go so the system can give Eric directions.
I’m ready to punch a wall by the time we leave the third chapel.
“We’re never going to find her like this!”
Eric kicks the front tire of the truck, the first crack in his cool demeanor.
When we get back in the cab, I rub the center of my chest again, the ache there growing with each passing minute. Eric looks at me, then to my chest.
“We’re fucking idiots,” he says with enthusiasm I can’t fathom.
“What?”
