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“Lucas, what’s your twenty?”
“I’m working on it,” he said. “Too fucking many idiots on the road.” I heard the crunch of metal over comms. “Fuck.”
I swerved over a lane, just missing the same fate as Lucas.
Seeing the station ahead, I asked, “Jordy, update?”
“No movement. Still at the gas station.”
“Three blocks out,” Lucas reported.
I bottomed out the suspension hurtling into the station and screeched to a halt next to the white government econobox they’d been driving. The car was empty. “She’s not in the car,” I yelled as I raced to the door and flung it open. She was unprotected, and I had to get to her.
The clerk sported goth piercings and black clothing. With earbuds in her ears, she rocked to her music as she checked out a guy at the register.
Serena’s coworker, Katelyn, was in line behind the guy, inhaling saltines from an open box.
Not seeing anyone else in the store, I advanced on Katelyn. “Where’s Serena?”
Looking up, she startled. “What are you doing here?”
I did my best to stay calm. “Where is she? Serena.”
“In the car, I guess.”
“She’s not. What the hell happened?”
“I almost had a big accident. Bad breakfast, I think.”
I had no more time for her nonsense and went to check the aisles myself.
Lucas barged through the door. “Status?”
“Can’t find her.”
“Check the bathrooms.”
I started with the women’s and then the men’s. “Bathrooms clear,” I said over comms.
“Not out the back door either,” Lucas replied.
“I need to see the surveillance video,” I told the clerk at the register.
She pulled out one earbud. “I’m pre-law. You need a warrant for that.”
My blood boiled. This was no fucking TV show. “You’re about to be?—”
Lucas pulled me back and laid his SIG on the counter. “Clint Eastwood once said, and I quote, ‘Do you feel lucky?’” He pointed at the clerk. “Well, do you?” Lucas gave off serious don’t-fuck-with-me vibes.
The girl’s eyes bulged, and her face turned even more pale. She pulled out a key attached to a piece of pipe. “Anything you want. Manager’s office is in the back.”
Lucas took it and picked up his weapon.
I followed him to the back. “Jordy, we can’t find her. We’re checking internal video. Find an external feed.”
“Copy that,” he replied. “But it’s not like on TV. It’ll take some time.”
“Serena doesn’t have fucking time,” I snapped.
