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“Yes, ma’am.”
After an hour of getting through the exam and x-rays, he was finally told he had several cracked ribs and a lot more bruising would be showing up. He was given pain meds and told not to work for a week. He was to rest and nothing else.
“Damn it,” he murmured as the nurse pushed the wheelchair to the doors. “Here is fine. I can walk to my truck.”
“Are you sure? I can push you over to it. The less you move, the better.”
Logan sighed. “Alright.”
The nurse laughed. “I can tell you’re not going to like the time off.”
“You have no idea.” He pointed to his truck, pushed the fob, and she pushed the wheelchair to it, then helped him to his feet. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Townson. Take it easy or you’ll be back here.”
“No offense, but I sure as hell hope not.”
She smiled after he got into the truck, then pushed the empty wheelchair back into the hospital.
Logan took a deep breath, put his head against the steering wheel and groaned. He sat up, started the truck, and pulled out of the parking lot. There was no way he was calling Sam and telling him he wasn’t to return to work. If he lost his job, so be it. He had to findDixie. He called Nevada to get an update.
“Logan? Did you get checked out?”
“Yeah. Where are you? Any word on Dixie?”
“No. We’re still looking. Are you allowed to return to duty?”
Logan shook his head. He didn’t want to lie, but if he told Nevada no, would he tell Sam? Taking a deep breath, he swore at the pain.
“No—”
“Then why the hell are you calling me?”
“Damn it, Nevada, if it was Courtney, what would you do?”
“Fuck,” Nevada muttered. “I get it, but if Sam finds out…”
“He won’t unless you tell him. Otherwise, you didn’t hear from me.”
“And if Sam calls you?”
“I don’t know. Is there anything on that car?”
“Nothing. We’re all searching for it.”
“Shit. Okay. I’m going to drive around too.”
Logan—”
“I’ll be fine.” He disconnected.
He decided to head to Dixie’s house. Everyone should be gone from there and he wanted to check the place out.
Pulling into the driveway, he swore when he saw the yellow crime scene tape. He parked his truck, opened the door, and slowly stepped out.
“Son of a bitch,” he swore again. The pain was unbearable, but he couldn’t stop now. He put his holster on since he had to remove it before going into the hospital. Even that hurt. He held his weapon at the ready and entered the house with his flashlight illuminating the interior. He swore at the mess.
Whoever they were, they wanted that journal, and he wanted to know why. Making his way into the living room, he looked around. Furniture was turned over and the sofa and chair had been slashed with the stuffing pulled out. He walked down the hallway and glanced into each room. When he reached Dixie’s bedroom, he swore again as he looked at all the drawers open and clothes strewn across the room. Every drawer was empty but apparently, they didn’t find what they’d been looking for.
