Gone From Me: Hearts of the South, Book 10

by Linda Winfree

  “Great.” Rob slid into the passenger seat and fastened his belt. “Can’t wait to see what’s going on now.”

  *

  Tall grass, dried from the blazing summer days, crunched under their duty shoes. Heat hung over the dirt road, and not even the pools of shade cast by tall water oaks offered relief. The red clay, already rutted and dusty after the recent rains, baked under the early-afternoon sun, and a black snake sunned himself beside the ditch.

  Zeke’s forlorn truck sat next to the turnoff to the sprawling fields. On one side of the dirt track, green corn stalks, tassels golden and silky, reached toward the blue cloudless sky. On the other, neat rows of peppers and squash, heavy with ripe produce, ran up to the far woods. Cicadas buzzed in a quivering rise and fall of distant sound. The police radio beeped and squawked, a garbled transmission between Chris and dispatch, a license-plate check. Around the abandoned Ford, a bubble of silence pulsed. The window was down, a cell phone and wallet on the dash. The keys, on a John Deere fob, dangled from the ignition. Empty fertilizer jugs littered the bed. A tidy stack of bushel baskets waited next to the vehicle.

  Around the truck, the grass was beaten down, trodden low by farm vehicles, tractors and booted feet. Rob leaned down to better see inside the truck, but didn’t touch anything. “When was the last time you heard from him?”

  “Yesterday at lunch.” Worry roughened Dale Jenkins’s voice. “His mama tried to call him last night and there was no answer, but that’s not real unusual. She called Britt this morning when he still didn’t answer, and he never came home last night.”

  “Why didn’t Brittany call us?” Rob straightened and pulled out his notebook to begin jotting.

  “She said it’s not unusual for him not to come home some nights.”

  Really. That was new. Rob scratched down a note, but kept his face impassive. “Have you talked to any of his friends today? Other relatives he’s in contact with?”

  “His grandma hasn’t heard from him. My wife’s been calling his friends, and none of them have seen or heard from him.”

  Rob cast a look at the cell phone on the dash. “Did you touch anything in the truck?”

  “No. When I got here and saw his stuff like that, I walked the field and through the woods down to the stream, just seeing if I could find him.” Dale wiped a hand across his tense jaw. “I been friends with Tick Calvert a long time, and my wife likes that Dateline show. I knew better than to touch anything when I didn’t find him.”

  “Okay.” Rob stared at the truck, then down the turnoff and into the woods. Turning, he nodded at Troy Lee. “Will you get Parker out here with the dog? And bring me the evidence kit from the trunk.”

  With his phone, he snapped a series of photos of the scene and the truck’s interior.

  “Chris is on his way.” Troy Lee stopped beside him and set down the multiple-compartment box that housed the evidence kit. Rob removed two pair of latex gloves and snapped them on, one pair over the other. Rather than open the door, he reached through the open window and retrieved the cell phone. The home screen glowed to life to reveal myriad missed calls from his parents and Mike Smithwick, plus various texts from Brittany and a couple of friends. Rob swiped his thumb across the screen and the keyboard popped up for a passcode entry.

  He glanced sideways at Jenkins. “Do you know his passcode?”

  “Four-one-two-zero.” Jenkins cleared his throat. “It’s part of Emma’s birthday.”

  Rob navigated to check for the last outgoing texts and calls, both of which dated to late the previous morning. A phone call to his mother around eleven, then a text to Brittany at twelve.

  Rob placed the phone in an evidence bag, labeled and sealed it. He squinted across the field, quiet and deserted under the midday sun. “Mr. Jenkins, other than the situation with Brittany this week, has Zeke had other difficulties you know of? Has he been in any trouble or talked to you about any problems he’s had lately?”

  “No.” Jenkins pushed up the bill of his battered cap with one finger and scrubbed a hand over his forehead. “He’s always been a real good boy. We weren’t happy about Britt being pregnant with them so young and not married and all, but since they got married, he works hard to take care of her and Emma.”

  The grass surrounding the produce field showed no evidence of recent foot traffic. Maybe he’d never even made it into the field. “You said you talked to his friends. Is it possible he’s with one of them?”

  “No.” Jenkins shook his head. “He might ignore Britt and he might ignore me, but that boy would never ignore his mama.”

  Chris’s white K9 unit cruised to a stop behind the Charger, and Chris stepped out, face expressionless and eyes hidden by dark sunglasses.

  “Excuse me.” Rob nodded toward Chris, who was unloading the dog from the car. “Please wait here and don’t touch anything.”

  He met Chris and Troy Lee at the front of the Charger. Troy Lee was providing a rundown of the situation. Rob jerked his thumb toward the truck. “There’s a T-shirt in the truck. If his daddy says it belongs to Zeke, can you try a search? See if you can establish a path?”

  “Sure thing.” Keeping up a steady stream of one-sided conversation with the dog, Chris moved in Dale Jenkins’s direction.

  Rob rested his hands at his hips and watched as Chris retrieved the shirt and scented the dog. “I’m going to go ahead and enter his information into NCIC. If anyone shows up, don’t let them compromise that scene.”

  “Got it.”

  In the Charger, he logged onto the laptop and darted glances at Chris’s progress while typing Zeke’s stats into NCIC’s database. The dog dashed around the back of the truck, down the small turnoff and a few feet north on the highway. He stopped, nose in the air, then sat and pawed at the ground. Chris took him back to the truck and ran the scenario again, with the dog repeating the same actions. Data entry completed, Rob logged off and climbed from the car.

  Chris returned the dog to his backseat and met them at the truck. He indicated the area where the dog had stopped on the road. “He left in a vehicle.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “As sure as I can be.” Chris shrugged. “A trail ends like that, it usually means the subject got into a vehicle.”

  Rob examined the area around the truck again. “There’s no indication he didn’t go willingly. We’ll process the scene ourselves.”

  A late-model Ford pickup pulled to a stop behind Dale Jenkins’s truck, and a woman in her forties climbed from the passenger seat, running to Dale. A young man followed more slowly, his dark gaze trailing over the scene. Rob narrowed his eyes. The ever-elusive Mike Smithwick.

  Rob moved to join the small group before they could approach the truck again. He held aloft one hand, palm out. “I’m sorry, but I can’t let you back at the vehicle. It has to be processed, but after that we should be able to release it to you.”

  “You didn’t find anything?” Her eyes wide and red-rimmed from crying, the woman clung to Dale, who wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders.

  “No, ma’am. You’re Zeke’s mother?”

  “Yes.” She nodded, her voice cracking. “Shelli.”

  Rob slanted an ironic glance at Smithwick. “And?”

  The boy’s chin tilted to an impossibly defiant angle. “You know who I am.”

  “Mike.” A stern warning roughened Dale’s voice. He turned to Rob. “What do we do now?”

  “I’ve entered Zeke’s information into the national database. I’ll get you an official flier, but you can start on your own. Get his picture out there. Social media can be a great tool for that—”

  “So you’re not doing a damn thing?” Mike crossed his arms over his chest. Under the cap covering his shaggy hair, he glowered. He gestured at the truck. “Hell, when Britt was gone, you had the GBI and everybody out—”

  “I’m not negating the seriousness of the situation.” Rob ignored Mike and spoke to Zeke’s parents. “All indications now are that Zeke
left of his own volition, with someone in a separate vehicle. The reality is that most missing persons return on their own, like Brittany.”

  To Smithwick’s credit, he didn’t flinch under Rob’s hard look in his direction. Rob indicated the handful of houses that dotted the other side of the road at long intervals. “Deputy Farr and I will canvas the area, see if anyone saw anything. We’ll talk to Zeke’s other family and friends as well, but you should be casting a wider net and again, working to get his name and picture out there.”

  *

  Even close to midnight, the mugginess lingered, but the ceiling fan on the porch stirred the air, cooling the darkness. Head tilted back and eyes closed, Rob slumped in one of the Adirondack chairs and spun his glass-bottle Coke in slow circles. Condensation dripped over his fingers. Five o’clock and those five miles would come awful early, but he needed some serious decompression before he attempted to sleep.

  Unlike the blood that had led them to believe Brittany was in danger, nothing indicated Zeke had done anything more than walk away. The search of the woods and adjacent fields had turned up nothing. He’d entered Zeke’s information into NCIC, started the laborious process of pulling Zeke’s phone records, and gotten the family started on the myriad tasks involved in a missing person’s investigation. He and Troy Lee had spent hours talking to people who lived on the road, looking for the smallest lead. They’d followed up with Zeke’s friends and family, even getting the reluctant Mike Smithwick to sit down with them for a brief interview.

  Nothing.

  Well, nothing except the overwhelming suspicion that Zeke hadn’t simply walked away from his life.

  The front door opened with its distinctive creak, and soft footsteps whispered across the painted floor. He opened one eye and held out a hand. “Hey.”

  Amy folded her fingers around his. “Aren’t you tired?”

  “Wound up.” He pulled her onto his lap, and her soft, clean, just-showered scent enveloped him. “Can’t get my mind to slow down.”

  She rested her head on his shoulder and ran her palm up and down his arm. “I know the feeling.”

  Arms draped loosely around her hips, he brushed his mouth across her temple and let himself soak in the simple comfort of holding her. “What are you talking about?”

  Silence stretched for long moments, broken only by the hum of distant cicadas and the bright chirping of crickets. She turned her face into his neck. “I don’t know. I guess I’m scared.”

  He hugged her to him, rubbed her arm. “Of what?”

  “The whole thinking-about-what-you-want thing. What if you decide I’m not what you want?”

  “That would never happen, babe.” The small quality of her voice killed him. He hated how his own lack of control over his emotional state hurt her. He stroked soft strands of hair away from her neck. “I knew you were what I wanted since I took you fishing on our first date and you baited your own hook.”

  Her soft laugh puffed along his throat, and he smiled into the dark. “And I knew it for sure when I walked you back to your door after our second date and you kissed me.”

  She pinched his biceps. “Because you didn’t kiss me on our first.”

  With his thumb and index finger, he traced the hem of her sleep shorts. He cleared his throat. “Babe.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “We’re also supposed to talk about our relationship habits that might be unhealthy.”

  She lifted her head, and he didn’t even need to see her eyes to know she was horrified. “What?”

  “Before I go back next week. We’re supposed to identify the stuff we do as a couple that might be unhealthy for either of us.”

  “Now I’m really scared.” Humor didn’t quite mask her serious trepidation. “What unhealthy habits?”

  He paused, trying to gather his words. “Not talking about the tough stuff probably falls under that.”

  “Or pretending everything’s okay when it’s not.” Her voice was small and muffled against his skin.

  “Yeah.” Eyes closed, he smoothed his hand over her hip. He swallowed hard, his throat hurting. “Sometimes I’m bad about going along with what you want because I want you to have what you want.”

  She stilled, and he tensed. “Like what?”

  “Like diving into the adoption process so fast.”

  Now she was so still, he wasn’t even sure she was breathing. She was going to hate him. Hell, he hated himself right now. Finally, a slow exhale moved her body against his. “Robert. That is a huge thing to go along with because you think it’s what I want.”

  “I know.” He forced himself not to cringe. “I know, okay? You get going on a plan, and it’s all laid out and…I didn’t want to disappoint you again, not so soon after the fertility results came back.”

  “I’m really going to have to work on not being so blind where you’re concerned.” Her voice shook, and she touched her forehead. “Savannah’s right. I’m totally self-centered.”

  He shifted her on his lap and tilted her chin with a finger, barely able to make out her glittering eyes in the dimness. “You’re not self-centered. You’re focused, and I have a damn good poker face.”

  Silence fell over them once more, and desperation tried to dig its claws into him. He fought it down. Feeling like he’d lose her if he disappointed her was stupid. She loved him; he knew she did. But he never wanted the weakness of their communication to come between them again. He swallowed hard and tried to articulate what he needed. “I want us to be partners for real, honey. Part of that means I have to take more of a voice in the plan and you have to take more of a voice in the money.”

  “Please don’t make me look at those budget spreadsheets, Rob. Seriously.”

  “Babe, you’ve got to know where we are financially and how to handle the money, especially now that I’m working on the road.” He rubbed a hand over his hair. “And we’ve got some big decisions in front of us. I’ve been putting them off, and we really need to make them together.”

  “What kind of big decisions?”

  “What to do with Dad’s house in Valdosta and the beach condo, not to mention the money he left me. I can’t make those decisions on my own. It’s not fair, to either of us.” He trailed the back of a finger along her jaw. “I want you to be my partner, baby.”

  Her shuddery breath trembled across his hand. “Savannah says I have to learn to be a queen instead of a princess.”

  Damn it. He hated those notes of hurt and uncertainty in her voice. On a groan, he leaned in and touched his mouth to hers. “It’s not about changing you, it’s about changing us. Making us better.”

  She tucked her face into the curve between his neck and shoulder. Staring into the dark, he sifted his fingers through her hair. He curled the fingers of his other hand about the slope of her waist.

  “We’re really screwed up, aren’t we?” she whispered, an edge of tears trembling in the words.

  “No. I think we’re figuring out what it really means to be us instead of being me and you and calling it us.” He hugged her close and nuzzled along her jaw, breathing in the warm scent of her—coconut, hibiscus and sun.

  Wrapping an arm around his neck, she turned her head and met his lips. Her mouth opened beneath his in a slow, soft kiss. She ran the tip of her tongue along his upper lip, and he splayed his hand at the small of her back, urging her closer. Desire settled in him, heavy and low. He cradled her head with one hand and swept his tongue into the sweetness of her mouth. Her tongue met his in a playful tangle. She drew his bottom lip between hers and delivered a light nip. With sure hands, she stroked his chest and side, fingers pressing into his muscles. She wrapped the tip of her tongue around his in a soft circle, and he shaped her hip and thigh with one hand. He hardened, a pulsing running under his skin, and when she scraped a fingernail across his nipple, a tingling shot through his belly to his scrotum.

  “I love you,” he whispered into her mouth. “I want to be the man you deserve. I haven’t always b
een that.”

  “You’re the man I want.” She took his face in her hands. After another slow kiss, she slipped from his lap, and he took her hand as he rose. She led him toward the door, and inside, he paused long enough to throw the lock before bending to take her mouth once more. Hands clasped, they walked to their bedroom.

  Next to the bed, in the dim light spilling in from the hall, he kissed her and skimmed the sleep shorts over her hips. Her camisole followed, and she perched on the edge of the bed, watching as he shucked his own pajama pants. She eased back to rest against the pillows, brown eyes glimmering with emotion and desire. Eyes on hers, he climbed into the bed, knees straddling her thighs, hands on either side of her waist.

  He lifted a hand to sift his fingers through her hair, trailing his fingertips along her jaw and over her throat, across her shoulder. She laid a tender hand on the small bite-mark bruise at his own shoulder. He turned his head to brush a kiss across her knuckles. “Be my partner.”

  “Yes.”

  With his mouth, he explored the curve of her neck, a slow lick here, a nip there, followed by a suckling kiss. He let his hands drift over her shoulders, across the indentation of her clavicle and to the plane of her sternum.

  “Forgot how soft your skin is,” he murmured at her collarbone. She wrapped her arms around his neck in a loose embrace, and her touch flowed from the edges of his hair, down his neck, to outline the muscles in his shoulders, arms and chest.

  “I like how you make me feel soft.” Once more, she raked a gentle fingernail across his nipple, and he hissed in a breath at the sharp sensation that arced straight to his balls. “I have to be as hard as the guys in the office, but I get to be totally female with you. Totally vulnerable because I know you’ll take care of me.”

  “Amy, I’m sorry.” He rested his forehead against her chest and curled his hands around her shoulders. “I haven’t been taking care of you the past few months—”

  “Don’t you dare.” She clutched at him under his arms, nails digging into his sides. She rubbed her knee up the inside of his leg, and his muscles jumped under the easy, sensual contact. “From here, we take care of each other.”