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Bursts of wind lashed at the trees, strong enough that branches had snapped and crashed onto the highway ramp where Luke was posted.

The storm had hit with sudden and relentless fury.

Not a good day for the sheriff’s department to be short-staffed. Luke had been sent to divert traffic from the ramp, situating his patrol car at the entrance, emergency lights wigwagging.

As sheets of rain thrashed his windshield, Luke was pierced with guilt because he wanted to help Carrie. He hoped she’d found some comfort in visiting her father. Thinking she might be home by now, he took out his phone, thankful he still had service. He made a few swipes and taps at his tracking app for her SUV.

Carrie was home in Cedar Breeze.

Good.

Wanting to check on how she was doing, he started, then abandoned, a text. No, I need to talk to her. But his call went to voicemail.

He didn’t leave a message. Maybe she was busy with Emily, or maybe there was no service in their suburb? He’d try again in a bit. He then radioed dispatch for an ETA on the road crew.

“They’ve got calls with downed live wires, so hang in there.”

“Ten-four.”

In the wake of the update, Luke got a text from Reeger.

We got the warrants. Only yielded a couple numbers. I checked them. One was yours. A couple other numbers popped up but they dead-ended. Nice try but nothing. I’ll send them to you.

Frustrated, Luke wondered how thoroughly Reeger had checked. Then, while waiting for the road crew, Luke decided to make use of the time and availability of service and got out his personal laptop. He didn’t want to contact any of the investigators in Oklahoma, but he’d hit a wall with open sources.

Again, he went to the news story he’d found and video images from security cameras at the truck stop near Pauls Valley. Studying the background, he wondered about the reason for the argument that led to Joyce-Anne Gemsen walking away; he wondered how she got to Texas and ended up wearing a pink shirt.

Searching her name online again, with the key words truck stop , he found an older news story. It was from an Oklahoma City TV outlet. He hadn’t seen this one before.

He played it: the reporter, Chuck Fortune, was standing in front of the truck stop.

“Gemsen and her boyfriend, Dylan Lee Crowders, stopped here after attending…”

Luke’s internet signal faltered; the news report froze. He tapped the play button and the story jumped ahead.

“…sources close to the case say witnesses in the truck stop heard the couple arguing about…”

The video froze again. Luke tapped Play, but the video refused to cooperate.

Attending what? Arguing about what?

Lightning suddenly lit up the sky, followed by a pounding of thunder and loud cracking.

Luke turned to look, cursing as a tree toppled.