Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 99040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Dammit. “Um, no. Nothing’s wrong. I just saw someone I didn’t realize would be here.”
She tore her gaze away from the man who’d been driving her insane from afar.
“Ex-boyfriend?” Trisha stretched up onto her toes as she peeked over Jo’s shoulder. Her brow furrowed.
“Something like that.”
“Hmm… he looks familiar.”
Oh, God. She’d die if Trisha was involved with an investigation that somehow involved the MC.
“Oh, I do recognize him.” Trisha chuckled. “The dog clued me in. That’s Fin. He helps out a lot with SAR around here. He and that beautiful pup were a godsend last year after a nasty hurricane trapped quite a few people in their ruined houses. They saved many lives that day.” She launched into a particularly heart-wrenching story about Tracker’s dog finding an older woman who’d wouldn’t have survived a few hours longer if Betty White hadn’t sniffed her out under a pile of rubble.
Ugh. She’d wished for the wrong thing. At least if Trish had been investigating the club or had a horror story about Tracker, Jo could have an easier time pretending she didn’t want him more than she wanted air conditioning on that sunny ninety-degree morning. But no, the detective had to put him on a pedestal, making him hot and heroic.
A lethal combination.
The past few days, she’d been working so hard to keep him locked in a box made of negative attributes.
Questionably legal biker.
Liar.
User.
Someone her family would never approve of.
Then Trisha had to go and decorate the box with tales of courageous rescues. Combine it with the way he looked as tempting as usual, and all her sound reasoning for hating him crumbled to dust.
“Okay,” she said, turning her back to him before he had a chance to lay eyes on her. “Let’s get moving.”
“Don’t want to talk about it. Got it.” Trish winked then the two set off searching their assigned area.
They spent the day sweltering under the brutal Florida sun as they searched high and low for a little boy. Civilian volunteers distributed water and protein bars as well as took turns comforting the inconsolable mother.
As often happened in the late Florida summer afternoon, dark clouds rolled in, and thunder rumbled in the distance. For the safety of the search teams, when the storm moved overhead, a text went out asking everyone to take shelter or return to the control center tent until the system passed.
She and Trisha trudged back toward the command center tent in exhausted, defeated silence. None of the volunteers or official rescuers had had any luck, and the heat of the day combined with disappointing news was dragging down morale.
“God, this sucks,” Trisha said as they plodded along.
Lightning cracked overhead, drawing Jo’s gaze. “It does. If he’s nearby, the poor kiddo must be terrified.”
“Maybe the storm will send him running or make him cry. Something to give us a clue to where he is. I can’t even let my mind wander to what could happen if someone with ill intentions came across him.”
Jo’s stomach twisted. No, they couldn’t go down that path. They needed to stay positive and motivated to keep searching.
As she opened her mouth to say just that, thunder boomed again. But just before the air shook, she swore she heard something else. “Hold on.” She stopped walking and put a hand on Trisha’s arm. “Did you hear something?”
Trisha frowned. “No. Just the thunder.” She glanced right and left. “What did you hear?”
“I swear I heard a dog bark.”
Woof.
“There it is again!”
Both women straightened and stared toward the sound coming from a wooded area to their left.
“That time, I definitely heard it.”
They rushed toward the sound, arriving as soon as Betty burst through the thick trees, barking like crazy.
“C’mere, girl,” Jo called to the frantic dog. Thankfully, she recognized Jo and ran right over. “Where’s Tracker? Take me to him, Betty.”
The smart dog barked once, then took off like a shot into the woods. Jo glanced over her shoulder to Trisha, who waved her on. “Go! I’ll call it in and wait here so I can direct the troops after you in case Tracker is hurt.”
Her stomach bottomed out. The man better not be hurt. She’d kill him herself if he’d gotten injured.
That visceral reaction to the possibility of Tracker being hurt said a lot about how she felt. Too much. But like the stubborn imbecile her mother accused her of being, she refused to acknowledge it. She’d worry if anyone were out there potentially hurt or lost.
“Tracker!” she shouted as she tromped after the dog.
She ran as fast as possible, given the treacherous terrain full of tree roots and downed branches. Sweat poured down her face and soaked her already damp uniform. Stray branches tore at her bare arms. She couldn’t have been sprinting for more than a few minutes, but it felt like torturous hours. “Tracker!”