Page 42 of Save Me
“Is your dad a big gun owner?”
“What true conspiracy theorist isn’t?” she said dryly.
“Okay, but at least he won’t shoot at you, right?” he said, wishing for backup.
As an answer, she shrugged. “I’m not sure what state the man will be in. To be honest, after finding out what we have, everything I knew about the man is…” She made a motion with her hands as if she was blowing something up. “Poof,” she added.
“Right. Okay, I’ve gone into lots of situations blind before.” He thought back to when he’d walked into the storage container. He hadn’t been expecting to find anyone. He’d simply been searching the property for any reason why his partner had kidnapped Emily Stokes and Jamie Garner. He’d hoped that he would find proof of his partner’s innocence. Instead, he’d found Crissy.
He followed her directions and turned off the highway on an exit that had no amenities. The old highway bridge appeared as if it was ready to fall in on itself.
From there, they turned left and drove for about ten miles.
“Turn left here,” she said, getting his attention.
He slowed down. “Where?”
“At the post.” She motioned to a wood stake in the ground.
“Is there a road?”
“Not really,” she answered as he turned. The tree branches scraped the side of his Jeep, and he silently calculated how much damage would be done to his paint job.
Then the dirt path opened up to a small clearing. There were two buildings sitting at the base of large mangroves right at the edge of swamp water. One building was up on old log stilts and the other, true to Crissy’s word, was half destroyed and caving in on itself.
“It looks like he’s been living in the shed.” She motioned to the other building.
He glanced over in time to see a man standing on a small porch, pointing a shotgun at his Jeep.
“Daddy,” Crissy called out after she rolled down the window. “It’s me.”
The shotgun lowered slightly as he parked.
“Here we go,” she said with a sigh. He took her hand and squeezed it before shutting off the engine.
“I’m right here,” he assured her.
She nodded and stepped out of the Jeep at the same time he did.
Thankfully, they made it to the steps without getting shot at.
“What’re you doing here?” her father asked.
The man was slightly older and a great deal heavier than his last mug shot. It had been hard to tell in those pictures if Crissy had any resemblance to her father, but seeing them standing next to one another, he couldn’t see any. Not that that was a clear sign, just another clue.
“Daddy, this is Brock Miller,” Crissy said. “Can we come in?”
“What do you do for a living, boy?” her father asked, not moving from his spot.
The panicked look on Crissy’s face told him instantly to lie.
“I’m in between jobs right now,” he answered quickly.
Her father was quiet for a moment then nodded. “It’s this damned economy. The damned government is sucking the common man dry.” Her father set the shotgun down on the porch by a handmade rocking chair and then opened the screen door. There were more gaping holes in the screen than there was screen material.
He followed Crissy into the small ten-by-ten building. Inside, he was slightly surprised at how organized the place was, though it was filthy.
There was a small bed, a sofa, and what appeared to be a kitchen area.
