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My phone ringing interrupted our conversation. “Larson?”
“Yeah, hey Kelan said you guys might need some help tracing what kind of car you’re after, so I used the GPS tracker you have on her and called my friend at the FBI for satellite images and located a black town car that's headed down I-90 and is
currently stopped at what looks like Cloverdale Blvd, which is about forty to fifty miles from your current location.”
“Thank you so much for everything you’ve done for us man, anything you ever need we’re there for you.”
“I know you will be, and I'm sure I'll be calling. But do me a favor.”
“What's that?” I asked.
“When you find her this time, get her the fuck away from that family of hers, they're nothing but poison.”
“Trust me when I say that is the plan.”
“Good. And watch your backs, good luck.”
Speeding faster down the highway, all I could think about was finding her and leaving this God forsaken state and family of hers behind in a cloud of dust.
