Just like a hundred million other men.
One of whom was stalking her.
Possibly Wes Allen.
Who could easily be eliminated from the suspect list? He spat his gum into the trash and pulled open the top desk drawer, searching in the back until he found a small cardboard box. Inside, lying upon a bed of cotton, were three rings. His wedding band and Carolyn’s engagement set, complete with a one-carat diamond.
Ignoring the jewelry, he lifted the cotton. Tucked into the box was a single, worn key from an ancient lock. One he’d never used, though he’d been tempted over and over again.
Without a second thought, Carter slipped the key into his wallet. Just in case.
At that moment, his cell phone beeped.
He hit the Answer key and stared at the images playing upon his computer screen. Pictures of Jenna Hughes.
“Shane Carter.”
“Sheriff, it’s Dorie.” The dispatcher sounded breathless and unnerved.
Carter braced himself.
“Yeah?”
“We just took a 9–1-1 call,” she said. “Derwin Swaggert’s wife is missing.”
“Lynnetta?” Time seemed to stand still.
“That’s right.”
“Hell.” Carter knew in an instant that another woman had been abducted. “How long has she been missing?”
“Only a couple of hours, but he’s out of his mind with worry. He’s already called the city police, but wants you involved, so I’m giving you a heads-up. I know it hasn’t been the full twenty-four hours, but I figured you’d want to know.?
??
“You figured that right,” Carter said, imagining the preacher’s petite wife, a sweet woman with an overly pious and stern husband and a rebel for a kid. “Where was the last place she was seen?”
“The Columbia Theater.”
Where he had been.
Where Jenna had been.
“I’ve already dispatched the nearest unit. They haven’t reported back yet.”
“Thanks, Dorie.” He was pushing his chair back and reaching for his holster. “I’m on my way.”
CHAPTER 34
Not Lynnetta…Oh God, please, not Lynnetta.
Jenna might have collapsed if Carter hadn’t grabbed hold of her arm. “I’m sorry,” he said, standing in her kitchen at six in the morning. The refrigerator hummed, a fire in the grate hissed and crackled as it burned, lacing the air with the scent of wood smoke. But the world had changed drastically overnight, and all those reassuring sounds and smells faded into the background.
Carter had phoned her to say he was stopping by and had shown up less than five minutes later with the horrible news that Lynnetta Swaggert was missing.
He looked like hell. Bags were visible beneath eyes red from lack of sleep. Deep creases ran in worried lines across his forehead. A day’s worth of stubble darkened his jaw, and the scent of tobacco clung to him. Physically, he appeared bone-weary, but there was something else beneath the tired facade, a fired-up Carter running on adrenaline, caffeine, and nicotine. “I wanted to tell you in person,” he said, “and ask you about last night, before I came to the theater looking for you. You and Rinda might have been the last people to see Lynnetta Swaggert.”
Alive.