Page 139 of Swept for Forever
“Thisis the missing girl’s father.” I shoved the phone to his face.
“Oh no…I don’t know who he was, honest to God.”
“How did he pay you?”
“He gave me cash. I needed it. My farm’s going under. I was just trying to?—”
I shoved theHave you seen this person?poster against his chest, the one that was supposed to be Autumn.
“You see this? This nearly got her killed. She’s gone now, vanished.Because of you.”
“I didn’t know. I swear!”
“Bullshit,” I spat. “You saw a chance to get paid, and you took it. You didn’t think. You didn’t care.”
He sagged against the wall, breathing like he was about to die. “I’m sorry.”
“So let me ask you again. Who paid you?”
“I don’t know. He never gave a name. He was tall and skinny, and he sounded desperate.”
I pulled out Susan’s sketch. “Was this him?”
His eyes widened. “Yes, that’s him.”
“What if I told you this was a Hollywood actor?”
“What? No. No way. It was him.”
I grabbed his arm, yanked him off his feet, and hauled him out to my truck.
“Wh-where are we going?” he stammered.
I opened the passenger door and shoved him in. “To the sheriff’s office,” I said. “Time for you to meet White Lightning. Let’s see how fast he can close a case when it’syourface on the line.”
Sympathy wasn’t on the table.
I didn’t care if the guy’s barn was caving in or his daughter needed braces.
I was here to findmywoman.
Not to rescue a man with no spine.
I dragged him in,literally, by the arm, into the sheriff’s office.
It was after nine. If the place had been empty, I’d have pitched a tent outside.But no, White Lightning Whitaker was there. He was not behind the desk, though.He was slouched in a chair, looking like he’d wrapped up his end-of-day report but couldn’t quite bring himself to go home yet.
He sat up fast when he saw me.
“Whitaker,” I said, all ice. “Time to fix what you broke.”
The farmer looked like he wanted to evaporate. His eye contact with Whitaker clearly said they knew each other.
“Mr. Powell, you’re not turning my office into a three-ring circus.”
“This poster of yours,” I said, slamming the botched sketch of Autumn onto his desk. Then I yanked a chair around and made the farmer sit. “This man gave you the description, correct? Your so-called victim in the robbery at Blodgett Pass?”
Whittaker raised his eyes to me. “Say one more word, and I’ll book you for witness intimidation.”
