Page 158 of Shrapnel

Owen was getting frantic. Grant laid a hand on his arm, pinning him with his eyes. “Breathe.”

He did. Twice. Then swallowed. His bright orange cast thumped against the desk as he steadied himself. “Ok, so Ms. Baros was shot, yes, but the assailant not only missed. They missed spectacularly.” He showed them a photo of a mangled piece of gold. “The assailant literally shot her earring off. She was completely unharmed.”

“Just terrified,” Jackson said wryly.

“Well, yes.” Owen looked back at Grant with puppy dog eyes. Heavily caffeinated puppy dog eyes. “What’s the difference between Melanie Baros and the other douchebags? She used her massive wealth to open a series of domestic violence shelters around the country. Like legit shelters. She helps victims get their GED’s or learn a trade, gives them a stipend to get back on their feet, and free legal counsel.”

Jackson looked back down at her photo. A woman like that would have a lot of enemies.

“Not only does she help victims of domestic violence, but she also exclusively hires ex-veterans as security for her shelters. She also lets victims bring their pets, which is like, unheard of.”

Grant took in all the information. “You think they’re taking contract kills for money? And somehow Jamie knew about the victims and missed on purpose?”

Owen nodded emphatically. “He’s alive and he’s still with us. They haven’t broken him.”

The geek’s unwavering support was inspiring. He truly believed in Jamie.

“And I can find him.”

That got their attention.

“How?”

Owen flipped through more papers until he showed grainy photos of cars taken from toll booths and CCTV cameras.

“Two eyewitnesses said they saw a black sedan speeding away from an empty construction site across the street from the fundraiser. The cops got a partial license, and I did some digging until I found an elderly woman in El Paso who reported her car stolen three weeks ago with the same plates.” Owen felt the need to show them proof, so he kept shoving more reports and photos in their faces. “That car was found dumped in a truck stop parking lot an hour from where it was last seen. A car was reported stolen from that truck stop ten minutes after the original stolen sedan appeared on the ATM video from the truck stops restaurant.”

Owen proceeded to outline a series of stolen cars, approximately one hour apart, that led down south to a small town none of them had ever heard of.

“You—you tracked down all these stolen cars?” Grant asked.

“Yes.” Owen nodded. “Took me three hours or so, but yeah. Once I knew what I was looking for, it was easy. I just had to look at police reports for stolen vehicles in popular brands in all the consecutive counties.”

Jackson was beginning to think that Owen should have been head hunted by the FBI or something. Although he seemed weirdly comfortable with breaking laws, so maybe he was in the right place. Pay was better.

“You think they’re holding up in that small town?”

“Maybe,” Owen unfolded a map he brought with him, because of course he did. “After that small town there’s nothing but desert until you hit the border. I’m looking into abandoned homes or businesses, places where people wouldn’t notice squatters.”

Jackson had heard enough. “Forget the computer,” he said as he stretched his arms above his head. “Let’s go kick down some fucking doors.”

Grant was already texting someone an order. Owen looked between them, emotions flickering over his face. “I’ll grab my laptop.”

29

All You Have is Your Fire

The dust bunnyrolled back and forth. Beneath the drape of a bug ridden quilt, the dust rolled like a tumbleweed. Each inhale and exhale sent it chasing back and forth. It was growing larger the more it moved, sucking up more dust and debris as it traveled.

Jamie had been watching it for some time. It was easier to focus on that. His fingers were pressed into the floor. A vain attempt to anchor himself to the ground. He didn’t want to float away. He didn’t want to be here at all.

His mouth was dry. For some reason that made him laugh. He wasn’t wearing shoes. That made him laugh, too.

Dust stuck to his lips, and he rubbed his face with his hand. It felt numb. He hated this feeling. He remembered it well. Jamie thought he had forgotten but he remembered. Like he was swimming through syrup. His movements were jerky and slow, uneven, and wrong. With the drugs in his veins, he wasn’t in control

His shirt stuck to his sweat slicked skin. The euphoria had passed. For a while he was enjoying the blissful flying. Weightless. But the flying always turned to falling and Jamie could feel his stomach drop. His head shook like someone had turned the bass all the way up.

Closing his eyes, he tried to focus on his breathing.