I shot her a look. “That’s not comforting.”
“Honesty rarely is.”
Okay. Point taken.
Savannah twisted in her seat to face me. “Do you actually plan to find this girl?”
“Yes,” I said instantly.
She blinked. “No hesitation.”
“No.” My voice cracked. “Because if they removed Mason... what’s to say they didn’t do this to her too? She needs someone to give her story back.”
“And you think you’re the one who should do it.”
I stared ahead. “I think I’m already doing it.”
Savannah watched me for a moment, then nodded as if she’d come to a decision. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah.” She tightened her ponytail like she was gearing up for battle. “You’re not doing this alone.”
I looked at her. “Savann—”
“Nope. Don’t ‘Savannah’ me.” She pointed at me dramatically. “I am invested. I am involved. I am now part of this questionable investigative duo, and you can’t fire me, because I’m a volunteer.”
Despite everything — the fear, the anger, the mess in my chest — I laughed. “Thank you.”
She shrugged like it was nothing. “Dante will murder me when he finds out.”
“Probably.”
“You think Dustin will murder you?”
My breath hitched. Don’t go there. Don’t think about his mouth on yours. “I don’t know,” I said softly. “I don’t think we know each other that well.”
“Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to stop him.” Sav raised a brow. “Do you?”
“It’s nothing,” I muttered.
“Hadley—”
I cut her off. “It doesn’t matter. This isn’t about him.”
“Sure,” Savannah said, her tone absolutely unconvinced.
I focused on the road, on the hum of tires, on anything that wasn’t the tightness in my chest whenever I pictured Dustin and his response to where we went. Would he care?
Savannah leaned back, sighing. “So . . . next step?”
I pulled in a breath. “We have her name.”
“And?”
“And we find Tiffany Preacher.”
Savannah nodded once. “Okay. But first — food. I need fries. Investigative integrity demands fries.”