Page 52 of Rekindle My Heart

“Whittier?” Mrs. Whittier owned a 2020 Tahoe in black. Huh, he pictured her more as a Mercedes type of woman.

He did a little more digging, not that he thought CJ’s mom would be hanging out on Industrial Boulevard. As he ran the registration, a ticket for a Marion Jackson popped up. That made more sense. Her assistant and chef would drive the vehicle. He looked a little deeper. The Jackson’s owned a house a mile from the scene of the fire. It could be she just happened to be driving by. Or, she could be running errands for Mrs. Whittier. He put a note next to her name and moved to the next person.

When he was done, his list was down to eleven. But his gut was ready to eliminate the ones he couldn’t see as cruising the rough side of town for a fix. Owners like Joy Whittier. His cop training wouldn’t let him remove CJ’s mom altogether, but he moved her down to the bottom of the list.

Same with Doctor Hoffman. He had access to all the drugs he wanted.

But… Ryan tapped his chin. What if he was supplying Sal with prescription drugs? He’d look into this guy before he dropped him lower.

He’d just finished his first run through the list when Malone messaged. Adrenaline pumped through his limbs as he grabbed his keys and started for the door.

“Daniels, where’s the fire?” Sergeant Johnson called.

“No fire, just going to lunch with Malone. What’s up?” He slowed to a stroll as Sarge paced him.

The older man glanced over his shoulder, left then right. “Just wondering how that website is worked out? Did you find anything?”

“I got a hit. Not sure if will turn into anything, but I’m working it. I gotta run. I’ll touch base with you tomorrow.”

“Sounds good. Stay safe.”

“You as well.” Ryan threw a salute and hustled out the door.

He hadn’t been to Mabel’s before. “Siri, directions to Miss Mabel’s restaurant.”

His phone’s navigation linked with his truck and gave him turn-by-turn directions across town. The questions he wanted to ask Tanner ran through his head as he followed the nav system.

What were the odds that Malone would remember anything from a decade ago? Knowing Tanner, sixty-forty.

He pulled out onto Division, the main east-west street. Midday traffic buzzed by as the light changed up ahead.

A crack split the air. Ryan’s steering wheel jerked.

“What the fuck!” His fingers death-gripped the leather wheel. He fought to keep his Jeep under control. Another crack sounded. The sound of tires screeching echoed through his cab. A large box truck skidded across the line, heading straight toward him.

Ryan’s chest tightened, and he braced for impact. Metal crunched. Glass shattered. His whole body jerked. His vision whirled as the force of the hit threw his whole seat to the right. The airbags deployed. Then everything stopped.

Blood pounded in his ears. He took in a deep breath and waited for the pain. None came. Damn. He was lucky.

Pushing the white plastic bag from his view, he took inventory. He wiggled his toes, but he couldn’t move his legs. He tugged. Nothing. He tugged again. Pain shot up his leg.

Shit. They were pinned under the dash. The whole console was pushed back at least a foot.

Fuck. The adrenaline spike that had masked his injuries for a few seconds was wearing off.

Was everyone okay? Dazed, he reached for the seatbelt release. The mechanism jammed. He pulled on the webbing, but it didn’t budge.

His eyes stung. He rubbed his head, and his hand came away bloody. “Shit.”

Closing his eyes, he exhaled. Head wounds bled a lot, but it didn’t mean it was bad.

Yeah, he’d be fine. He was more concerned about the shooter. Because he damn well knew the sound of a rifle. And that’s what he’d heard. Two shots.

A sharp pain stabbed him in the neck as he turned to look for his phone. “Fuck, that hurt.” He needed help.

Rubbing the point of pain, he tried to release some of the pressure. Taking quick shallow breaths, he pushed it back. Note to self, don’t turn your head. Using peripheral vision, he spied his phone on the passenger floorboard.

He inhaled deep, then stretched. His fingers brushed the edge of the glass face.

“Come on. One. More. Inch.” His vision blurred, and he blinked it away. He ignored the pain and wiggled his fingertips as if they could grow on command.

The phone slipped further away.

Pounding echoed around him. Someone was pulling on his door. His head drooped, and the banging on his window faded into the distance.

It was almost noon, and Ryan’s world went dark.