Gone From Me: Hearts of the South, Book 10 (12 page)

A bark of laughter escaped Troy Lee, and Walker slammed back in his chair, muttering. Calvert and Cook frowned at them as they moved up the rows, handing out papers. Poker-faced, Chris nudged Troy Lee’s side. “Hush, man. You’re going to get us in trouble.”

Troy Lee coughed into his fist, eyes watering. Rob’s lips twitched. Face set in serious lines and brow furrowed, Calvert paused beside them and counted out three handouts with deliberate slowness. “Problems, gentlemen?”

“Ask Walker.” Choking, Troy Lee pointed over his shoulder. “He’s the one feeling left out.”

Shaking his head, Calvert handed Walker and Campbell copies and walked to the front of the room. Rob leaned forward to catch Chris’s expressionless gaze. “Your new bitch?”

“That’s the scuttle.” Chris straightened his nametag. “I’m the bitch-master.”

Shoulders shaking, Troy Lee bent double in the chair. Aware of Walker’s palpable glare, Rob gave an elaborate stretch and laid his arm along the top of Chris’s. Chris snorted and pounded Troy Lee between the shoulder blades.

“If the peanut gallery can get it together, we’ll get started.” Calvert held the handout aloft. “Emergency management is anticipating our flood risk. We should be all right, other than some minor river and tributary elevation, if the dam at Cordele holds. If the dam gives or they have to breach it, we could be looking at a five-hundred-year flood event. If that happens, we’ll move to these duty rotations. Prepare for doubles.”

As the meeting broke up and the three of them waited for the rush to clear before rising, Troy Lee stretched out his legs and tagged Rob’s chest with the back of a hand. “So what did the doctor say?”

“I meet the criteria for a diagnosis of clinical depression.” He didn’t like hearing or saying the words out loud. “My blood work was clear. He agrees with my sister-in-law that it’s probably psychological. We talked about antidepressants, but he suggested therapy first.”

Chris leaned forward to see around Troy Lee. “He recommend anybody?”

“I can wait two weeks to get in with…” Rob shifted to pull his wallet from his back pocket and extract the slip of paper there. “Dr. Carlisle. Or Cook’s wife will see me once a week on my lunch break, starting today if I want.”

Chris nodded. “She’s good. I saw her for about a year.”

Rob darted a questioning glance at him. “It’s not weird? Seeing her and working with Cook?”

“No, the weird part was seeing her while I was dating her sister, but I couldn’t see spilling my guts to a stranger. Man, therapy was weird for me, period, but it works. My head was so messed up—”

Troy Lee snorted. “Boy, was it.”

Chris ignored him. “I had to relearn how to think through stuff, like putting it in a different frame of reference.”

That made sense. His old normal had been gone for months, and he wasn’t sure about waiting two more weeks to start framing a new one. Rob flicked the card back and forth across his fingers. “So I should give her a call?”

“If she’s willing to fit you in that fast, hell, yes.”

Chapter Eight

The women’s center where Tori Cook had her offices resided a scant three blocks from the diner across from the courthouse square. Troy Lee had promised to grab him a burger to eat in the car after his appointment, and by the time Rob approached the diner on foot, his undershirt beneath his polo clung to him. Damn, it was muggy, the humidity layering the heat over everything. One o’clock and he already needed a shower.

The diner door swung open, and two brunettes stepped onto the sidewalk. A nanosecond was all he needed to recognize Amy as one of them, impossibly cool in black slacks and a blue tailored blouse. He loved that shade of blue on her, the way it made her eyes shine darker.

He really loved the slim cut of those slacks, the way they skimmed over lean hips and cupped her rounded little butt. Memories cascaded over him, and his temperature went sky high. Forget the shower. He needed to be back in bed with his wife, with her pushing that sweet little ass against him and clenching at the sheets while she filled his ears with her equally sweet moans.

Hell.

He sucked in a couple of deep breaths, working to get his wayward body under control, while at the same time a sense of joy suffused him. Somehow, last night, she’d switched back on a part of his brain he’d seriously feared was gone for good. Suddenly, he could think of his wife in a sexual way again.

The relief was indescribable.

Her gaze skittered over him, and he caught the flash of recognition followed by the way his presence lit up those gorgeous brown depths. Oh, yeah, he liked that too. He’d
missed
having her look at him like that.

She touched the other woman’s arm, spoke quickly and moved toward him. He met her halfway, at the corner of the gift shop adjacent to the diner. She smiled, affection softening her expression. “Hey, handsome.”

The endearment—God bless America, how long had it been since he’d heard her call him that—punched him in the gut. He rested a hand on the wall to keep himself from snatching her against him, cupping that perfect ass, and laying a completely carnal kiss on her right here where every taxpayer in Chandler County could see their newly hired tax dollars at work. “Hey.”

The syllable came out strangled and hoarse, and her smile widened. She knew exactly what she was doing to him.

Two could play that game.

“Honey, you know you left a bite mark on my shoulder last night. Sucker throbs.” He fingered the spot and gave her a slow grin. “Love it too, because every time it does, it reminds me.”

“Good.” Her eyes darkened with shared memories. “I want you to know you’re mine.”

“Oh, I’m yours all right.” He pitched his voice lower, to the growly tone he knew drove her wild. “Baby, you can mark me anytime you want.”

“I’m taking you up on that later.” She darted a look around and tucked a strand of hair into her messy knot. A low chuckle built in his throat. She fanned herself with a hand. “How did your therapy appointment go?”

“Weird.”

“Be serious.”

“I am.” He levered away from the wall. “I’m supposed to think about what I want and why I want it.”

“That…makes sense.” Her brows lowered into a small vee, and uncertainty flashed in her eyes. She rotated her wrist to look at her watch. “I’ve got to go, but I’m glad I got to see you.”

He leaned and brushed a swift kiss over her mouth. “Me too.”

She caught his hand and gave it an affectionate squeeze. “I’ll see you later.”

His radio beeped and crackled. “Chandler to C-2-A, 10-81?”

He lifted the handheld to his mouth to call in the requested location and status. “Beyond the courthouse square, Chandler. Returning in-service.”

“Can you and C-13 respond to a possible missing person?”

Another one?
Shit, please don’t let this be anything like the last.

The diner door opened, and Troy Lee strolled onto the sidewalk, to-go box in hand and his own radio at his ear.

“10-4, Chandler.”

“10-25 with Dale Jenkins.” The dispatcher rattled off a location to meet Jenkins. Rob and Troy Lee exchanged a frown.

“Dale Jenkins?” Rob mouthed at Troy Lee and took the proffered to-go box. “10-4, Chandler, C-2-A and C-13, en route.”

“That’s Zeke Jenkins’s dad.” Troy Lee unlocked the car and jerked open the driver’s side door.

“Great.” Rob slid into the passenger seat and fastened his belt. “Can’t wait to see what’s going on now.”

* * * * *

Tall grass, dried from the blazing summer days, crunched under their duty shoes. Heat hung over the dirt road, and not even the pools of shade cast by tall water oaks offered relief. The red clay, already rutted and dusty after the recent rains, baked under the early-afternoon sun, and a black snake sunned himself beside the ditch.

Zeke’s forlorn truck sat next to the turnoff to the sprawling fields. On one side of the dirt track, green corn stalks, tassels golden and silky, reached toward the blue cloudless sky. On the other, neat rows of peppers and squash, heavy with ripe produce, ran up to the far woods. Cicadas buzzed in a quivering rise and fall of distant sound. The police radio beeped and squawked, a garbled transmission between Chris and dispatch, a license-plate check. Around the abandoned Ford, a bubble of silence pulsed. The window was down, a cell phone and wallet on the dash. The keys, on a John Deere fob, dangled from the ignition. Empty fertilizer jugs littered the bed. A tidy stack of bushel baskets waited next to the vehicle.

Around the truck, the grass was beaten down, trodden low by farm vehicles, tractors and booted feet. Rob leaned down to better see inside the truck, but didn’t touch anything. “When was the last time you heard from him?”

“Yesterday at lunch.” Worry roughened Dale Jenkins’s voice. “His mama tried to call him last night and there was no answer, but that’s not real unusual. She called Britt this morning when he still didn’t answer, and he never came home last night.”

“Why didn’t Brittany call us?” Rob straightened and pulled out his notebook to begin jotting.

“She said it’s not unusual for him not to come home some nights.”

Really. That was new. Rob scratched down a note, but kept his face impassive. “Have you talked to any of his friends today? Other relatives he’s in contact with?”

“His grandma hasn’t heard from him. My wife’s been calling his friends, and none of them have seen or heard from him.”

Rob cast a look at the cell phone on the dash. “Did you touch anything in the truck?”

“No. When I got here and saw his stuff like that, I walked the field and through the woods down to the stream, just seeing if I could find him.” Dale wiped a hand across his tense jaw. “I been friends with Tick Calvert a long time, and my wife likes that
Dateline
show. I knew better than to touch anything when I didn’t find him.”

“Okay.” Rob stared at the truck, then down the turnoff and into the woods. Turning, he nodded at Troy Lee. “Will you get Parker out here with the dog? And bring me the evidence kit from the trunk.”

With his phone, he snapped a series of photos of the scene and the truck’s interior.

“Chris is on his way.” Troy Lee stopped beside him and set down the multiple-compartment box that housed the evidence kit. Rob removed two pair of latex gloves and snapped them on, one pair over the other. Rather than open the door, he reached through the open window and retrieved the cell phone. The home screen glowed to life to reveal myriad missed calls from his parents and Mike Smithwick, plus various texts from Brittany and a couple of friends. Rob swiped his thumb across the screen and the keyboard popped up for a passcode entry.

He glanced sideways at Jenkins. “Do you know his passcode?”

“Four-one-two-zero.” Jenkins cleared his throat. “It’s part of Emma’s birthday.”

Rob navigated to check for the last outgoing texts and calls, both of which dated to late the previous morning. A phone call to his mother around eleven, then a text to Brittany at twelve.

Rob placed the phone in an evidence bag, labeled and sealed it. He squinted across the field, quiet and deserted under the midday sun. “Mr. Jenkins, other than the situation with Brittany this week, has Zeke had other difficulties you know of? Has he been in any trouble or talked to you about any problems he’s had lately?”

“No.” Jenkins pushed up the bill of his battered cap with one finger and scrubbed a hand over his forehead. “He’s always been a real good boy. We weren’t happy about Britt being pregnant with them so young and not married and all, but since they got married, he works hard to take care of her and Emma.”

The grass surrounding the produce field showed no evidence of recent foot traffic. Maybe he’d never even made it into the field. “You said you talked to his friends. Is it possible he’s with one of them?”

“No.” Jenkins shook his head. “He might ignore Britt and he might ignore me, but that boy would never ignore his mama.”

Chris’s white K9 unit cruised to a stop behind the Charger, and Chris stepped out, face expressionless and eyes hidden by dark sunglasses.

“Excuse me.” Rob nodded toward Chris, who was unloading the dog from the car. “Please wait here and don’t touch anything.”

He met Chris and Troy Lee at the front of the Charger. Troy Lee was providing a rundown of the situation. Rob jerked his thumb toward the truck. “There’s a T-shirt in the truck. If his daddy says it belongs to Zeke, can you try a search? See if you can establish a path?”

“Sure thing.” Keeping up a steady stream of one-sided conversation with the dog, Chris moved in Dale Jenkins’s direction.

Rob rested his hands at his hips and watched as Chris retrieved the shirt and scented the dog. “I’m going to go ahead and enter his information into NCIC. If anyone shows up, don’t let them compromise that scene.”

“Got it.”

In the Charger, he logged onto the laptop and darted glances at Chris’s progress while typing Zeke’s stats into NCIC’s database. The dog dashed around the back of the truck, down the small turnoff and a few feet north on the highway. He stopped, nose in the air, then sat and pawed at the ground. Chris took him back to the truck and ran the scenario again, with the dog repeating the same actions. Data entry completed, Rob logged off and climbed from the car.

Chris returned the dog to his backseat and met them at the truck. He indicated the area where the dog had stopped on the road. “He left in a vehicle.”

“You’re sure?”

“As sure as I can be.” Chris shrugged. “A trail ends like that, it usually means the subject got into a vehicle.”

Rob examined the area around the truck again. “There’s no indication he didn’t go willingly. We’ll process the scene ourselves.”

A late-model Ford pickup pulled to a stop behind Dale Jenkins’s truck, and a woman in her forties climbed from the passenger seat, running to Dale. A young man followed more slowly, his dark gaze trailing over the scene. Rob narrowed his eyes. The ever-elusive Mike Smithwick.

Rob moved to join the small group before they could approach the truck again. He held aloft one hand, palm out. “I’m sorry, but I can’t let you back at the vehicle. It has to be processed, but after that we should be able to release it to you.”

“You didn’t find anything?” Her eyes wide and red-rimmed from crying, the woman clung to Dale, who wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders.

“No, ma’am. You’re Zeke’s mother?”

“Yes.” She nodded, her voice cracking. “Shelli.”

Rob slanted an ironic glance at Smithwick. “And?”

The boy’s chin tilted to an impossibly defiant angle. “You know who I am.”

“Mike.” A stern warning roughened Dale’s voice. He turned to Rob. “What do we do now?”

“I’ve entered Zeke’s information into the national database. I’ll get you an official flier, but you can start on your own. Get his picture out there. Social media can be a great tool for that—”

“So you’re not doing a damn thing?” Mike crossed his arms over his chest. Under the cap covering his shaggy hair, he glowered. He gestured at the truck. “Hell, when Britt was gone, you had the GBI and everybody out—”

“I’m not negating the seriousness of the situation.” Rob ignored Mike and spoke to Zeke’s parents. “All indications now are that Zeke left of his own volition, with someone in a separate vehicle. The reality is that most missing persons return on their own, like Brittany.”

To Smithwick’s credit, he didn’t flinch under Rob’s hard look in his direction. Rob indicated the handful of houses that dotted the other side of the road at long intervals. “Deputy Farr and I will canvas the area, see if anyone saw anything. We’ll talk to Zeke’s other family and friends as well, but you should be casting a wider net and again, working to get his name and picture out there.”

* * * * *

Even close to midnight, the mugginess lingered, but the ceiling fan on the porch stirred the air, cooling the darkness. Head tilted back and eyes closed, Rob slumped in one of the Adirondack chairs and spun his glass-bottle Coke in slow circles. Condensation dripped over his fingers. Five o’clock and those five miles would come awful early, but he needed some serious decompression before he attempted to sleep.

Unlike the blood that had led them to believe Brittany was in danger, nothing indicated Zeke had done anything more than walk away. The search of the woods and adjacent fields had turned up nothing. He’d entered Zeke’s information into NCIC, started the laborious process of pulling Zeke’s phone records, and gotten the family started on the myriad tasks involved in a missing person’s investigation. He and Troy Lee had spent hours talking to people who lived on the road, looking for the smallest lead. They’d followed up with Zeke’s friends and family, even getting the reluctant Mike Smithwick to sit down with them for a brief interview.

Nothing.

Well, nothing except the overwhelming suspicion that Zeke hadn’t simply walked away from his life.

The front door opened with its distinctive creak, and soft footsteps whispered across the painted floor. He opened one eye and held out a hand. “Hey.”

Amy folded her fingers around his. “Aren’t you tired?”

“Wound up.” He pulled her onto his lap, and her soft, clean, just-showered scent enveloped him. “Can’t get my mind to slow down.”