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“Was the babysitter actually watching the girl?” I asked curiously.
“We asked the other parents that were there that, and they said other than an altercation between two young kids, around twelve or so, the girl was pretty attentive. Never had her phone out. Though she was reading a book. Then again, that was pretty standard for the girl. Parents said that the live-in babysitter is obsessed with books.”
“What’s this babysitter’s name?” I asked curiously.
“Name is Laurel Zdonzky.” Bruno passed another file over, this one pertaining to the babysitter.
She was cute, age twenty-one, and looked as if she’d just gotten out of high school yesterday.
“What kind of background check was done prior to this?” Trouper asked curiously.
“None,” I answered as I read. “Parents called multiple references, checked with other babysitters, but they knew her through friends, so they trusted her enough not to do a background check. I…”
My phone rang, and Lynn gave me an annoyed look.
But, upon pulling it out, I noticed that it was Blaise.
And no way in hell would I be ignoring it if it was her.
When we’d left, I knew that the two of us had an understanding. One that meant when I texted her my number—she still hadn’t given me hers, I’d had to look it up illegally through Hunt, our resident computer guru—she would text me if she needed me.
Calling meant that something was wrong.
Because she knew that I was working—looking for a missing child.
“Blaise, are you okay?” I asked upon pressing the phone to my ear.
“Okay,” she said quietly. “I’m just going to say this, because I know you’ll get mad but… so I started walking to the store.”
My head nearly exploded. “You fucking what?”
“I started walking to the store,” she repeated. “I’m out of milk, man. I need milk. Like now. I just had to have an Oreo, then that Oreo was eaten, and I didn’t have milk, and I started to cry, and I just needed fucking milk!”
I waited, sensing this was a topic I should probably not say a word about.
Even though it pissed me way the hell off.
“Annnnd…” she hesitated. “There was this little girl at the gas station with her father. Although, the way he was yelling at her to shut up, maybe he’s not the father.”
My heart started to pound as I leaned forward in my seat.
“Where are you?” I barked, standing up.
When all eyes turned my way, I made a gesture with my hand for them to follow me and headed for my bike.
I was on it, holding it steady with one foot, the other foot seconds away from starting the bike, when she finally told me where she was.
“Umm, I’d rather not tell you where exactly I am,” she admitted. “But we’re at the Valero station at the corner of Big Highway and Loop 334.”
“Stay on the line,” I ordered. “I won’t be able to hear you for a bit, but that doesn’t matter. If I want to get back on the line with you, I better be able to.”
“Okay,” she replied softly.
I tucked the phone into the holder on my bike that allowed me to see the screen and then turned to everybody.
Lynn, our unofficial official president, was staring at me with an intentness that I found slightly startling.
All that was Lynn—and there were a ton of facets to Lynn that most people had no clue about—was entirely focused on me.
Honestly, though I ‘knew’ Lynn, I didn’t ‘know’ him. And when that cold, dead stare was leveled on you, even a grown man, one that could very much handle his own, contemplated things.
“She’s at a gas station, won’t tell me where at the gas station, and she sees a kid that she thinks might fit the missing little girl,” I told him immediately, answering his unasked question.
Lynn nodded once. “Let’s go.”
We went.
It took us eight and a half minutes to get there. Normally the ride was a little under twenty minutes from Lynn’s place to that particular gas station. However, today we drove past the speed limit, and, surprisingly, the two police cars we passed didn’t so much as light their sirens up when they saw us.
I wasn’t sure if that was due to the fact that they knew us, knew our club upon sight, or because they just knew we were driving way too fucking fast to ever catch.
Whatever the reason, we got there fast—hopefully fast enough anyway—and surrounded the vehicles at the pump.
I picked up my phone. “Okay, where are you?”
There was a small sound. “In the car with the little girl.”
I felt my insides boil. “Where is the guy that was with her?”
She swallowed. “I locked the doors, and he left his keys inside. So he’s inside calling a locksmith right now.”
I looked at the front window, then looked at the two cars that our bikes were surrounding. Only one had a person standing outside of it.
