“Wyatt,” Womack urged, “let’s go. I’ve already called Sullenger and Guthrie. They’re meeting us at the rendezvous location.”
This was real. Addy was out there somewhere. Wyatt had failed to keep a close enough watch on her.
Ten minutes later they were at the turnoff to the area where they had set up the command post earlier today to launch the search.
Sullenger’s Civic was there. She and Guthrie stood in the middle of the main road.
Womack eased to the side of the road. He’d been too damned quiet on the drive here.
Wyatt hadn’t said much, either. Fear had put a choke hold on him and he couldn’t shake it.
This bastard had killed three people, including Addy’s mom, possibly more.
Wyatt needed Addy to be safe.
He was out of the car before Womack braked to a complete stop. “Where’s Addy?” he demanded of the two deputies staring at him.
“She’s not here.” Sullenger was the first to answer. “No sign of her Bronco.” She hitched a thumb up the road. “We did find a truck pulled off the road about thirty yards that way.”
“It’s Clay Cooper’s truck,” Guthrie explained. “I didn’t have to run the plates. I know his vehicle.”
Silence fell over the four of them. Wyatt told himself that the possibility of Adeline’s being with Clay wasn’t nearly so scary as the idea of her with Jamison. But something didn’t feel right.
“Did anyone call old man Cooper to find out if his son was at home?”
Sullenger and Guthrie exchanged a look.
“What?” Wyatt demanded.
“He’s not at home. Or any of his usual hangouts,” Sullenger explained. “We called around as soon as we recognized the truck was his.”
“Son of a bitch!” Wyatt braced his hands on his hips and turned all the way around in the road. There was nothing out here. Woods and water. They had searched most of this area already.
But she’d been here tonight ... or at least she’d been headed here.
“We need to talk,” Womack said to Wyatt.
Wyatt turned to Womack. Judging by the look on the man’s face, things were going to get worse.
“Give us some space,” Wyatt instructed the other two. Sullenger and Guthrie walked over to her Civic and leaned against it, looking less than comfortable.
“What the hell’s going on, Womack?”
“It’s my son.” Womack blew out a heavy breath. “He got into some trouble with drugs.” The deputy turned his face away as if he couldn’t bear to look Wyatt in the eye now. “I’d already spent every dime I had in savings trying to get him rehabilitated.”
Wyatt was aware that the man’s son had been to rehab a couple of times, but he’d had no idea the trouble had started again. More importantly, why was he telling Wyatt this now?
Womack shrugged. “I was desperate to help him. Clay said he could help. He knew the thug my boy had gotten involved with. Had some influence. He could make it right.”
Tension coiled around Wyatt’s chest. “What did it cost you?”
“For a long time, nothing.” Womack met his gaze. “But he never failed to remind me that there would come a day when he would need a favor from me. And that if I didn’t pay up when that time came, my boy would end up face down in a river somewhere. Clay said all he had to do was give the word and the trouble would be back at my door.”
Wyatt couldn’t speak. If he said a word, he would blast the man. He had to hear him out first. Keep him talking until he knew everything.
“When that crazy bastard tried to kill his wife, I got a call from one of my buddies up in Laurel.”
“Are you talking about Jamison?” A band tightened around Wyatt’s chest.