“My client.” She brushed a hand at her shoulder.
“Your client. Of course. Well, I appreciate your patience. If you’ll just wait here a few more minutes, there’s a deputy on the way out here. And then we’ll get you back to your office.” He nodded and strode back to the turnaround.
“Danny’s on his way.” Beverly snapped her phone back into its holster and took a deep breath, steeling herself for another confrontation with the agent.
“Come find me when they leave,” he said, pretending not to notice her discomfort as he began a slow walk around the Lincoln. Beverly’s right. This Bennett woman didn’t just pull off the road to relieve herself.
He had, in his twenty years in law enforcement, worked a handful of investigations in which a massive search for someone was ultimately found to be a case where the “victim” simply got into his car and never looked back. But that isn’t what this is.
He squatted and began to examine the shallow ditch. The turnaround was a popular parking spot during hunting season and the ditch testified to that with its assortment of cigarette butts, beer labels and fast food wrappers. But no sign of you.