Page 62 of Salvation

“Hope, I miss you. It’s been a few days since I’ve seen you. Would you like to come here for dinner tonight?

“I can order in. I’d like to see you, if you’re free.

“Call me back so I can make adequate plans.”

Dinner with Gabrial? Tonight?

It’s true, I haven’t seen him in a few days.

I miss him, too.

Gwen walks into the lobby and asks if I’m ready.

I don’t have time to call him back and I’ll be in a car with Gwen, so I don’t want to call him in there. Nodding, I follow her out.

Davey discreetly follows behind us as I slip into Gwen’s red BMW and buckle up. She backs out of the parking space, and I glance behind us as she pulls onto the road. Davey is following a couple of car lengths behind us.

Looking over at me, she asks, “You okay? You look tired. Are you taking care of yourself while you take care of the shelter and everyone in it? Self-care is super important, Hope. Even Superwoman needs sleep.”

I nod again and say, “I am. Just anxious to get this done. This is great for the shelter. And I love naps. I wish I could take them. A daily siesta would be amazing. But no rest for the weary. I’m fine though. Promise.”

She looks at me through the corner of her eye and nods, saying nothing else. As she navigates through the insane amount of ridiculous traffic in mid-town, we should have avoided the interstate, I pull out my phone to text Gabrial back.

“Hope

Sorry, I was reading over the new sponsorship contract for the shelter. Gwen and I are on the way to sign them. Awesome for the shelter and it’ll let us expand and help more people.

Love to do dinner. I’ll be there around 7 if that works.”

After sending it and making sure it says, “Delivered,” I lean back and try to relax. Maybe I can catch a short nap, while Gwen drives.

* * *

We’ve been knockingon the doors of all of Renald’s “known associates” for four hours and all we have is a whole lot of nothing. He was not well liked, not even amongst his associates. He has no ‘friends.”

This is the last address on the list. Alan calls it out to me and helps me search the mailboxes that line this street for the matching address, though the GPS says it’s just ahead. It’s an older neighborhood. The houses are dated, but most seem well kept.

He points to a yellow house on the corner. It looks different from the other houses. The flower beds are more colorful and almost have the look of an English garden, wild but somehow tame. As though the appearance is intentional. The address is in Bossier City instead of Shreveport. He reads off the name associated with the address. “Mindy Smith.”

Looking at me, he smirks wryly. “Think it’s an alias? That totally sounds like a bullshit name.”

Shaking my head at the tone of his voice, I frown. “I have no idea. It could be real.”

Alan reads from the file. “Says she’s a forty-something former stripper.” He waggles his brows suggestively. “Think this is his lover’s house?”

I snap at him. “How the fuck do I know? That’s what we’re here to find out, right?” Pulling into the driveway, I park behind a 90’s body style Camaro. It’s older, but like the house, it’s in good condition. Opening my car door, I straighten the badge on my chain and stalk to the bright blue front door. Either Alan will follow, or he won’t. He’s grating on my damn nerves anyway. Between his mouth and the damn clicking of the pen, he tests my patience.

He calls out, “Shit, can you wait up? Not all of us spend hours in the gym every fucking day, man.”

Glancing back at him, I flick my gaze over his physique. He’s let himself go the past year or so. He’s never been extremely into his health, but he’s probably gained fifty pounds over the past year and lost most of his hair. He’s panting from exertion as he catches up. His face is flushed and not in a healthy way. Chuckling, I goad him, “Looks like you could stand to spend some time in the gym, Rodgers.”

He mutters an obscenity and flips up his pudgy middle finger. It makes me grin.

Oh, did I touch on a sore spot, Rodgers?

I knock sharply on the door. I hear what sounds like a sitcom coming from in the house and then feet softly padding to the door. Someone calls through it, “Yes, can I help you?”

Reaching down, I grab my badge hanging over my chest and hold it up to the peephole. “Ma’am. My name is Detective Luke Sanchez with the Louisiana State Police. My partner here is Detective Rodgers. We’ve just driven in from Baton Rouge and we’re looking for Mindy Smith.”

---