I sat with the dead phone still against my ear for several seconds after Fiona ended the call.
Some asshole had cornered her at a gas station, grabbed her hard enough to scare her, told her he knew where she worked, and walked away with a gun tucked into his jeans.
Frank had gotten there in time.
That was the only reason I was still sitting in Diamond Creek instead of listening to Fiona describe something much worse.
I lowered the phone and stood.
The rage moving through me wasn’t wild enough to make me stupid. It did the opposite. By the time I crossed the common room, I already knew what I needed.
I ignored Tank when he called my name and went upstairs for the go-bag I kept packed. Five minutes later, it was strapped to my bike.
King would be pissed when he found out.
Right now, I needed Nav.
I called as I pulled onto the highway.
“Yo.”
“I need a favor.”
“What kind of favor?”
“I need video from a gas station in Rosewood, Virginia. I need you to identify a man on it.”
There was a pause, followed by the unmistakable sound of Nav’s fingers moving over a keyboard. “Does King know about this?”
“No.”
“Romeo—”
“Save me the fucking lecture, Nav.”
“King’s gonna lose his mind.”
“Probably, but I need you to find the video.”
Nav sighed. “What am I looking for?”
“Man, around thirty to thirty-five. Brown hair. Scruffy beard. About six feet. Grabbed a woman outside the station while carrying a gun.”
“Jesus Christ. What the fuck happened?”
“The footage, Nav.”
“What gas station?”
“Rosewood only has one fucking station.”
That earned a short laugh despite the tension in his voice. “You’re riding to Virginia right now, aren’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Of course you fucking are.”
“The footage, Nav. I want a name, address, job, criminal history—whatever you can get.”