Page 47 of Detective for the Debutante (SAFE Haven Security #3)

MURPHY

I t takes forever to get to the park. For every red light I hit that I can’t run, for every slow-ass motherfucker who can’t get out of my way, I want to scream.

Anxiety crawls through my body, panic making it hard not to run every single red light I come across.

My fingers tighten on the steering wheel, my lips moving in silent prayers, willing Leigh to be okay.

Even Sydney is quiet on the phone, and from all the stories I’ve heard about her from Leigh and my own experiences—that’s unlike her.

But what feels like hours is only about twenty-five minutes the way I speed around slower traffic and run through yellow lights I should stop for.

The first parking lot is smaller and I don’t even have to drive through it to see there are no signs of Leigh’s car.

The second parking lot is big enough—and full enough—I have to drive the rows, wasting precious minutes as I scan the aisles looking for her car.

Fuck .

No luck.

Pounding on my steering wheel, I head for the next lot, slamming on my brakes as a family crosses in front of me.

I’m about to give up after the third lot but I try one more.

And find it.

“Found her car,” I tell Sydney, parking next to it where it overlooks a large pavilion.

“Is she there?” The hope in her voice is painful.

Or maybe that’s my own heart when I have to say the words.

“No, there’s no sign of her.” I grab a napkin from the console in my car and get out, trying her door while trying to avoid contaminating the scene.

It opens easily. The keys are in the cupholder, her cell phone in plain sight, as is her camera poking out of a bag with several other lenses visible. Someone wanted her car to be taken.

“Shit.”

“What? What is it?” Sydney asks in my ear, the earbud my ongoing connection to her.

I’d almost forgotten she was there.

“The keys and her phone are in her car. So is her camera with the bag. She wouldn’t leave it if she had the choice. She cares about her camera too much to risk losing it,” I say as terror ices through my veins.

Stóirín, where are you?

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” There’s a flurry of computer keys on the other end of the phone.

I grab Leigh’s cell phone and check it, but can’t unlock it. Pocketing it, I stand, scanning the area for Leigh or any sign of her.

“There’s no sign of her anywhere,” I tell Sydney, spinning and checking for any clue in the car as to where she’s gone. “Wait, the car seat is too far back for Leigh. Like almost all the way back.”

She’s too short to have driven her car anywhere in that position.

“Can you check her camera bag?” Sydney asks.

I open the back door, still using the rapidly disintegrating napkin, and flip the top on the bag.

“Why? What am I looking for?”

“Is there an Apple AirTag in there?” she asks. “It’s a small gray circle in a keychain.”

It’s hard to see with the lenses, and after shifting them from one side of the small compartment to the other, I’m wasting precious seconds.

Fuck it.

Tossing the napkin on the seat, I lift one lens and then the other followed by her camera, coming up empty.

“Nothing,” I say.

“Good girl,” she crows with another flurry of keyboard activity.

“What the fuck does that mean?” I ask, helplessness clawing at my throat.

“Fuck, yes, it’s finally updating and moving. I gave her an AirTag for her purse but she told me she put it in her camera bag. If it’s not there and it’s moving?—”

“It means she managed to grab the AirTag before the bag got left here,” I finish for Sydney, taking my first real breath in almost an hour.

“Exactly. And I can give you directions.”

Relief is a tsunami warring with the ever-present fear.

Locking her car, I’m back in mine, and I clip my phone to the holder on the dashboard in under thirty seconds.

“What are we waiting for? Tell me how to find her.”