Page 88 of Property of Tacoma

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Hold on, Jagger.

I’m on my way.

Twenty-seven minutes later,I pull over on the side of the highway in Spencer, Mississippi, with one thought in mind.

How the heck am I going to find him?

Spencer isn’t huge, but it’s not exactly tiny either.

I can’t just ride around hoping to find him so I can bring him home.

Suddenly, it hits me.

Saylor. The Life360 app.

That sweet baby girl had insisted on putting it on my phone, vowing with gusto that I needed it.

“So that if you ever get lost, Daddy can find you and bring you home.”

My hands shake as I pull out my phone and open the app.

Please let his location ping. Please, please, please.

The app loads, and I hold my breath.

Yes!

A circle with Jagger’s smirking face pops up on the screen, showing that he’s somewhere on the other side of town.

“You’re a genius, Saylor,” I whisper, my eyes burning with unshed tears.

I start my bike and head for the location, weaving through the afternoon traffic.

When I reach the area the app is pointing me to, my stomach sinks.

It’s some sort of warehouse district.

Nothing but abandoned buildings after abandoned buildings, their windows broken, graffiti covering the walls.

Definitely a good place to hide a kid if you don’t want any nosy neighbors knowing what you’re doing.

I follow the app, getting closer and closer to Jagger’s face on the screen.

Here.

Parking my bike in the alley behind a dumpster, I tuck it out of sight.

I’m close.

Climbing off, I adjust my backpack on my shoulders and hurry along the side of the brick building.

When I peek around the corner, I see three Sinners standing in front of what must be the entrance, smoking cigarettes and looking bored.

Bingo.

I’d bet anything that Jagger is inside there.

Stepping back, I bump into a hard chest.

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