Page 129 of Distress Signal
“So what do we do now?” I asked.
“I’m still working through the journals?—”
“Oh!” I exclaimed, cutting her off. “I found something.”
I explained the initials and my thinking that they likely belonged to our “unsub”, as Addie had called him. Lane took a photo of the page and texted it to Addie, a faintbeepacross the line a moment later alerting us it arrived.
We waited while Addie read, and she said, “Okay, yes, I see. How long before her disappearance was this?”
“About three days before she left Tennessee.” Then I reminded her that Lainey had gone missing on her fourth day in town.
Keys clacked on Addie’s end.
Lane asked her, “Could you run down those initials?”
“How broad?” More keystrokes.
“Start with Owyhee, Canyon, Ada, and Elmore. If nothing pops, we keep expanding.”
“Anything specific I’m looking for in terms of ruling people out?”
“Isn’t profiling your specialty?”
“You’re right.” She spoke as she typed. “Male, early to mid-thirties. Do we have any physical characteristics?”
“Brunette,” I supplied. “Somewhere around six feet. Otherwise, I’ve got nothing.”
“Any property?”
Closing my eyes, I remembered the big truck with the brush guard that ran me off the road a few weeks before and relayed that info to Addie.
“Potentially owns or rents a farmhouse too,” Lane added. “Could’ve purchased outright or, more likely, took possession as next of kin when parents or grandparents died. May also own a truck or large SUV.”
“Alright,” Addie said. “I’ll get some techs on this and see what pops up.”
“Thank you so much for your help,” I said.
“Anytime. But Sheriff?”
“Yeah?”
“You owe me.”
The line died, and Lane grinned at me and Aspen.
“So…that’s Addie.”
Aspen and I crossed our arms over our chests—well, as best as I could with one of them encased from knuckles to mid-biceps in plaster—and leaned back against the couch, pinning Lane with identical stares.
Lane growled a warning, wordlessly urging us not to press it.
Aspen merely said, “We’re all looking forward to meeting her at the wedding.”
“Yep,” I agreed, looking at Aspen. “Though I wonder how Sutton will react.”
Lane ignored that comment. “Can we get back to work?”
He tapped his middle finger to his notebook in obviousfuck offgesture, and Aspen and I laughed.
