Page 122 of Traces Of You

“That’s it,” the second guy said. All she saw was a fist come up, swing toward her face, then blackness erupted.

33

HOW HE OPERATED

Ford had been on a call for two hours, then had one person after another in his office, the radios going off, and a secretary who was having a bad day and cursing every other word out of her mouth.

He needed two aspirin and a beer at the end of the night.

He pulled his phone out to see if he could pick up dinner on the way home and it hit him that Reenie hadn’t sent him a text that she was back yet.

That was odd. But she said she was shopping. His sister could shop for a full day and come home with one bag.

His brother might know. It was possible that Reenie could have returned and forgot to text him but was on the property.

He sent a text to his brother but got no response.

Another to Reenie, then called two minutes later. Crickets.

It wasn’t like her not to reply to him.

He could track her on her phone and, though he promised he wouldn’t intrude on her privacy, it called for it now.

The tingling in his limbs and churning in his belly told him something wasn’t right.

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, his heart pounded, and while his fingers weren’t shaking yet, they damn well wanted to.

Ford wasn’t one to lose his cool, but this was the woman he loved.

He saw her location, zoomed in and didn’t like it.

Not public parking as he’d told her to use.

No stores around either.

It wasn’t busy enough in town for her to park on a side street and walk a few blocks to shops on the main drag.

He grabbed his keys and walked out of the building, not saying a word to anyone.

Every fiber of his being told him to hurry.

He sped out of the parking lot, hit the lights and was at the street that her phone was pinging at in less than five minutes.

His truck was nowhere to be found.

He swerved to the side of the road, parked, and jumped out, racing toward the spot where her phone was pinging on his app. But he couldn’t see it. Urns and potted plants lined the edge of the road. He scanned the area, and then he saw it: her purse.

Fuck!

He opened it, saw her phone and her wallet.

He didn’t want to jump the gun, but she’d disappeared like this once before. Could she do it again?

Would she do it to him?

He didn’t believe it, but he wouldn’t panic and alert his men to comb the area just yet.

He raced back to his office and pulled up the street cams near where her phone had last pinged, hoping to spot her heading in that direction. He found the closest camera, but without a clear timeline, it was like searching for a needle in a haystack.