“No clue. You got anything else for me?”
“Yeah, one more thing. I tracked down the guy from the bar last night that multiple eyewitnesses said Jake Slater was talking to when we arrived. Woke him up a few minutes ago and spoke with him. His name is Drew Beamer. He’s the head football coach at the same high school where Slater used to work. I guess they’re old friends or something. Anyway, he claims Slater texted him late last night and asked to meet. They were only together for a couple of minutes. The coach said Slater was trying to find a guy named Judd McGee, who I guess is the father of one of the players he used to coach. Beamer claims he doesn’t know why Slater was trying to find him. Beamer gave him an address for McGee and some cash, and that was it, he says. Other than he believes Slater is innocent.”
“You get the address for McGee?”
“Yeah. He lives down in East Austin.”
“OK, text it over. I’ll meet you there in about thirty minutes or so.”
“Copy that. I’ll have coffee waiting.”
“Thanks. I’ll need it.”
Dani hung up, stood there in shock. How could Jake possibly be the target of an infamous hit man who had been flown in overnight from New York? Who would want him dead?
What was really going on here?
EIGHTEEN
Jake half dozed while sitting in his truck but never really slept—even though he was physically and emotionally exhausted. There was no way for him to shut down the pulsing fear he was carrying around inside him. Every time he closed his eyes, he heard Piper screaming: Daddy! He doubted he would ever be able to sleep again if he didn’t get his daughter back. After all, he’d promised to be there for her always. If he broke that promise, Jake didn’t think he’d survive. Losing Sarah had devastated him. But losing Piper would destroy him.
As the sun started to rise on the day, Jake watched a beat-up gray Ford F-150 pull directly in front of the company’s portable building. An overweight man probably in his midtwenties wearing a camouflage hunting jacket, blue jeans, and cowboy boots got out of the truck. There was no way this was the same guy who got into the tow truck with Piper last night. That man was much thinner. Jake had wondered if there’d be a slim chance he’d come face-to-face with his daughter’s captor this morning.
As the heavy guy made his way up to the front of the building, Jake got out of his truck, hurried up a sidewalk, and then entered the small parking lot behind him. Jake had changed back to the brown knit ski cap and fake square-rimmed glasses—along with his new gray goatee. Even with the disguise, he wondered if the guy in the camouflage jacket might still recognize him from all the TV news coverage last night. How many people paid close attention to that kind of thing? He never did. But it still made his heart beat a little faster just at the possibility. Jake had to be prepared for anything—even hauling ass out of there. The guy was at the door of the building, fiddling with keys, but turned as Jake approached him.
“You work here?” Jake said, with a certain authority in his voice. He’d rehearsed this repeatedly throughout the night.
The guy nodded. “Yep. What’s up?”
Jake pulled a thin black wallet from his pocket and flipped it open like he’d practiced, flashing a fake police detective badge from the high school drama department’s props. “Detective Connors, APD. I need to ask you a few questions.”
He quickly shut the wallet, stuffed it back in his pocket. Jake had a more aggressive step ready if the man wanted to examine the badge more closely or began to ask more probing questions. But thankfully, it didn’t look like he was going to have to go to plan B. The guy seemed to buy it.
“What kind of questions?” the guy asked.
“We’re investigating an incident from last night involving one of your drivers. I need to get a name and contact info from you.”
“An incident? What happened?”
“Can’t really tell you that, or it might jeopardize our investigation.”
“Uh, OK.”
“First, I need your name.”
“Gary Stromberg.”
“How long you worked here, Gary?”
“’Bout four years or so.”
“And what’s your job?”
“I help run scheduling for Mr. McDonnell, the owner. Manage maintenance for our trucks and stuff like that.”
“So you know all the drivers?”
“I do.” His forehead suddenly bunched. “Was it Bubba? That dude is always causing us problems. I keep telling Mr. McDonnell to fire him.”