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Kit shook her head. “I don’t think so. His old dog walker was killed, and it hit him hard. He could have found a new one, but I don’t know for sure.”
Connor closed his eyes and began taking measured breaths. He’d taken up meditation with his girlfriend CeCe and he often used it to calm himself. When his eyes opened, they were sharp and confident. “Call Joel. He dogsits Siggy sometimes. Sam mentioned it when we went bowling one night.”
Kit blinked at him. They went bowling together? How had Kit not known that?
Focus. Joel was Sam’s best friend. He’d be able to help.
Willing her hands to still, Kit found Joel in her contacts. A city prosecutor, he was a friend of Kit’s as well. He’d even come to Thanksgiving at McKittrick House in the past.
She dialed and held her breath, praying he’d answer.
“Kit. This is a surprise. How can—”
She put him on speaker. “Joel, I’m sorry, but I need your help. I don’t have time for the full explanation. I think Sam’s in trouble and he doesn’t have his phone. But he has Siggy. Can you track his collar?”
“Um, yeah? I think so? Give me a second. Here’s the app. And…here’s Siggy. Right now he’s on the 5 heading south. No, wait. The app isn’t exactly real time. It jumps. Now they’re on Tocayo Avenue, heading west.”
That was close. Very close. Less than ten minutes. Less than five if they drove like a bat out of hell with lights flashing.
“Let’s go,” Goddard said. “I’ll drive, you give me directions.”
They ran from the van to Goddard’s car, Goddard barking out last-minute directions to the SWAT team and the detectives from the robbery division to hold the scene.
“I’ll call Navarro, get backup,” Connor said.
Goddard stepped on the gas and flipped on the flashers. “We’ll get to him in time, Kit.”
“You still there, Joel?” Kit asked.
“I am. I won’t hang up. Is he okay?”
“I don’t know,” she answered honestly, and this time she couldn’t control the tremble in her voice.
“Well, my map app says that there’s slow traffic where Tocayo meets Hollister, so that might buy you some time. What are they doing there?”
“Good question.” She opened her own map app and then she understood. “There’s an RV campground at Tijuana River Park.”
“I don’t understand,” Joel said. “Who’s with you?”
“Connor Robinson and Bruce Goddard. He’s a detective in the robbery division.”
“Ah. Frankie Flynn—a.k.a. Frank Wilson—and the missing coins. I’ve heard about it. You think Flynn’s killer has Sam?”
“Yeah. I do.”
“Shit. Hurry, Kit.”
Tijuana River Valley, San Diego, California
Thursday, November 10, 7:30 p.m.
They were going to die. Roxanne was going to shoot them with her gun and they were going to die. Sam knew he should do something, but he didn’t know what that something was.
So he kept driving, hoping for a miracle.
Siggy had popped his head up every five minutes to check things out. He had to be feeling the tension in the car. The silence was heavy. But he hadn’t growled again and every time Sam had told him to lie down, his sweet pup had obeyed.
Maybe Roxanne would let Siggy go and some nice person would find him and give him a home. Or read his dog tags, then contact Sam’s parents or Joel.
