Page 72 of Pretty Stolen Dolls

“Please, I need to feel you,” I tell him, tugging at his belt buckle. He grips my wrists and then rests his head against my forehead, breathing deeply.

“There are people everywhere, baby, and you’re in shock. I’m not taking you like this.”

Dropping his buckle, I shake out of his hold and climb back into my own seat.

“Jade…”

“Stop,” I choke out. “Just…don’t say anything.” My throat aches from sadness, my head roars and compresses.

“Scott, two nineteen.” The crackle of the radio and beep gives us both a reprieve.

“Dispatch, this is Scott, two nineteen,” he barks. “Go ahead.”

“We have a match on the black truck, license plate 764 KNY.”

“Go ahead,” Dillon tells her, looking over at me.

“The truck has been reported as suspicious by the staff at the Six Mile Motel.”

“Copy that.”

He looks over at me and I can sense he doesn’t want me to go before he even tells me. He’s out of his mind if he thinks I’m staying here.

Knuckles rap at my window and I startle. Winding it down, I see Maureen standing there with her fucking blood-eating Dolly—a gift from a fucking psychopath.

“Jade,” she questions, huge tears in her eyes. “Where’s Bo?”

Shit.

“Maureen, Bo is going to be okay. I promise.”

Big fat liar.

“Rename your dog.” I roll the window up and order Dillon to drive.

We drive in silence and I try to blink away the vision of my parents from my mind. Gravel crunches beneath the tires as we pull onto the weathered road that leads to the cheap motel.

“There.” Dillon points to the black truck.

It’s Bo’s.

Unclipping my belt, I push open the door and take a timid step outside.

“You don’t need to be here, Jade,” Dillon tells me across the roof of the car.

“Yes, I do.”

We make our way over to the truck and without touching it, we look through the window into the front seat. Empty water bottles litter the floorboard in the passenger side, which is common for Bo. He’s messier than the college kids he taught.

“There’s blood,” Dillon announces, looking into the back of the truck. A man approaches and lifts his shirt with a name badge on it.

“Hey, I’m Tim, the manager here.” He nods his head and then folds his arms, rubbing the goatee on his chin.

“Can you tell us how long this truck has been parked here?” Dillon asks him.

“A couple days. We just assumed it belonged to one of our guests, but then it didn’t move and we noticed the blood.”

My eyes scan the area and I gesture to the camera with my head. “Does that work?”

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