7

My phone radiated heat from my having called every person in my contacts list to see if anyone knew where Bailey was. I must have phoned the police station a hundred times. For hours and endless miles I drove with my eyes peeled for Brown’s black sedan.

When I returned to the diner, the place was buzzing with the chatter of a swarm of people.

“Scott, you’re back. Any news?” Tracy rushed to me, her eyes red.

Javier hovered an inch away from her.

“No.” My lips pressed hard together, my jaw set. I had to keep it together. Where was she? Was she all right? Were the babies OK?

“What’s all this?” I waved a hand toward the group in the corner.

Mandy and Macy sat in the center, taping pictures of Bailey onto a poster board. Many of the others who’d come had their cell phones out.

I froze. Bailey’s sweet face staring back at me made the perpetual lump in my throat rise. A giant, gaping hole opened in my heart. I could not lose her.

“Scott,” Tracy said. She put her hand on my arm and shook it a bit.

“Yeah, OK,” I managed to whisper.

“The most recent picture we could find is your wedding photo. The girls cropped you out and printed a bunch on their computer. They’re making posters to put up everywhere.”

Cropped out, cut off, separated. This couldn’t be happening.

“Pastor Jack and Phoebe organized a search team. Every trucker within CB radio earshot drove in and they’re searching the woods-just in case she went for a walk and got lost or something.”

“She wouldn’t do that. She could barely walk. The only thing you’d find out there is...” I stopped. I would not speak the unthinkable.

“The police suggested it.” Tracy put her arm through mine. “She’ll be all right, Scott.”

I nodded. Her confident smile calmed me a bit. What to do next?

“Here, sit down. I’ll get you some coffee.”

“I don’t want to sit down, Tracy.” I shoved my hands into my pockets.

She hurried off toward the counter.

Javier didn’t follow, but took a step toward me. “Mr. West, you might remember me from the work site.” He extended his hand.

We shook hands. “Of course, Javier. Call me Scott.”

“I just got here. That Miss Phoebe said you were looking for a black sedan.” He motioned me to sit, crossed his arms and rattled off the make and model.

Why did everybody want me to sit down? Every nerve in my body jangled for action. “I’m fine standing. Yes, she said she saw one tearing out of here. I must have just missed it when I came down to pick Bailey up for the ceremony. The detectives say Kevin Brown has one registered in his name. Her father must have taken her.”

“I kind of have a thing for classic cars,” he said.

Really? He wanted to talk about cars now? My raspy breath and lack of response must have triggered realization.

“Sorry, I mean I always notice them. Over these last few months of the Retreat project, Dad sent me to Dallas for supplies a lot. I always passed this abandoned gas station about twenty miles up the highway. It’s just off an exit at the overpass. I’d often see a black vehicle like the one Miss Phoebe saw parked in the back.

“Did you tell the police?”

“Yes, sir, I did. They said they’d check it out.”

Where were they, anyway? Were they even looking? Had they bumped her up to missing status, or were they waiting a day since she was technically a grown woman, free to leave if she chose to?

“I don’t even know if he took I-20 toward Dallas or the other way to Shreveport. He could have gone I-59 toward Carthage or the other way to Jefferson. I have no idea.” I ran my hand through my hair.

“The police said he doesn’t own the property. I thought I’d go check it out. Can’t imagine why he’d park at an abandon building, unless it’s a bathroom break.”

“You’d do that for me?”

Javier nodded.

“I’m at a loss of what else to do, and I can’t just sit here. I’ll go with you.”

“Come on,” Javier said.

Hope energized me. Not much to go on, but at least something to keep me from going crazy.

We headed for the door as Tracy approached with my coffee. I took a gulp. The strong scent and steam braced me. “We’re going out to follow a lead. Javier’s seen the black car down the road, parked near an old gas station several times.”

“Really? Good idea.” She beamed at Javier. “Scott, I’ll make sandwiches for everyone. Is that OK?”

“Certainly.” I gave the sweet girl a hug. Javier looked as if he might hug her too, but I pulled him away. “Let’s go.” I clung to the one lead that gave me hope. My heart thudded.

We drove down the freeway in silence. My mind reeled with the possibilities. Was he holding her there? Why had he taken her in the first place? Would he hurt her? Was she all right, were the babies OK? Guilt racked my soul. Why didn’t I tell those good women about that no account showing up at the wedding? It might have caused them some consternation, but at least Bailey might’ve been more cautious.

He had probably knocked on the door, and she’d innocently answered. What might have happened after that made my heart race, my temples throb.

“There it is,” Javier said, pointing to the exit.

I surely passed that old, white-washed gas station a million times without noticing. I took the exit and turned into the parking lot, barely turning off the gas before jumping from the truck.

Javier shaded his eyes from the sun as he looked in the windows.

I yanked on the door.

“Let’s go around back. That’s where I always saw that car.” Javier motioned around the corner.

I followed. There must be a clue here. There must be.

No black vehicle. I scanned the perimeter for anything to help me find her. The pounding in my heart rushed to my ears.

“Look, the bathroom door’s been kicked in.” He ran his hand along the splintered door frame.

I barged in looking for some sign of my Bailey. It could have been my imagination, but I thought I detected her cinnamon and vanilla cologne. My eyes marked every inch of that room.

“Here it is!” Javier shouted. “The black car!”

I found him raising a garage door revealing the car. We pulled on doors and peered in windows. There was no sign of Bailey.

“Mr. West, we should...” he started, his caramel face darkening. “We should open the trunk. Or maybe we should call the police to come and open it.”

The trunk. Oh, God, please no. Terror socked me in the gut, and I stumbled back a few steps. My knees buckled, and I squatted to keep from falling over.

Javier’s hands gripped my shoulders. “Don’t think the worst. Please, Mr. West.” He squatted next to me.

His grip anchored me back to the task at hand, and I stood to my feet. My hands shook as we both fiddled with the trunk. I tried every key in my pocket.

“They’ll get it open. We just need to wait, look around for any clues.” He reached for his cell phone, hands shaking. “I’ll call them.”

“Yeah, you go ahead.” I sprinted to my truck and grabbed a hammer from my tool chest. Thirty seconds later I was beating on the trunk latch. “Bailey! Are you in there?” I yelled between each blow. I pounded until my shoulders ached, and finally the trunk popped open.

No Bailey. Just three or four zippered suitcases.

I opened one. Full of cash. Relief washed over me, yet the gravity of this situation made my head swim. I had to acknowledge the dread that I’d find her dead in the trunk. But if she wasn’t there, where was she? I slid to the ground, propping my back against the trunk. Where is she? I bit my bottom lip against the fear. Took a deep breath. Tried to pray. Where can I go from your spirit? Where can I flee from your presence?

Yes, wherever she was, God was with her. He could see her. He could see the babies. I had to hold on to that.

Lord, help me to help her.

Something shiny caught my eye.