Blind Faith - Sharon Sala Page 0,1
bed after the Pepsi, she overslept. Now she just needed to get to the office before Charlie Dodge, or she’d never hear the end of it.
Finally, the office building came into view, and she sped through the last half mile without once tapping the brakes, skidded into her own parking place and breathed a sigh of relief that Charlie’s parking spot was still empty.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” she muttered, as she grabbed her things and got out on the run.
Within minutes of opening the office, she had coffee on, with the box of sweet rolls she’d picked up this morning plated beneath the glass dome in the coffee bar, and had both of their computers up and running.
She was going through the morning email when Charlie walked in, but she refused to look up. She knew what she looked like. She’d spent precious time this morning making sure she looked fierce, because she felt so damn wounded from the dreams.
“Bear claws under glass,” she muttered. “Teenager missing in the Chisos Mountains in Big Bend. Are you interested?”
Charlie was used to Wyrick’s outrageous fashion sense, and refused to be shocked by the black starbursts she’d painted around her eyes, the blood drop she’d painted at the corner of her mouth, the red leather catsuit or the black knee-high boots she was wearing. But he was interested in the sugar crunch of bear claws and kids who went missing.
“Yes, to both,” he said, as he sauntered past. “Send me the stats on the missing kid, and get the parents in here for details.”
“They’re due here at 10:30.”
He paused, then turned around, his eyes narrowing.
“Why do you even ask me what I want?”
“You’re the boss,” Wyrick said.
“I know that. I just didn’t know you did,” he mumbled, and stopped at the coffee bar.
He filled a cup with coffee, put a bear claw on a napkin and strode into his office. By the time he had his jacket hanging in the closet, his Stetson on the hat tree and a third bite of bear claw in his belly, he was ready to cope with the day, and pulled up the email about the missing teenager.
Tony Dawson—seventeen years old.
Disappeared in Chisos Mountains of Big Bend National Park while backpacking with Randall Wells and Justin Young, two friends from school.
Boys wake to find Tony gone. Think he walked back down alone due to an argument from the night before. But when they packed up and walked down, Tony Dawson’s truck was still in the parking lot at the Chisos Mountain Lodge and he was nowhere to be found.
Two-day air and foot search yielded no clues.
Charlie was still reading when he heard the door open in the outer office and then heard a man’s voice, followed by Wyrick’s responses.
“I need to talk to Charlie Dodge!”
“Your name?”
“Darrell Boyington.”
“Have a seat, Mr. Boyington.”
Boyington smoothed a hand over his hair, absently patting it in place, and then sat.
Wyrick picked up the phone and buzzed Charlie’s office.
“I heard him,” Charlie said. “Does he have an appointment?”
“No, sir.”
“The Dawsons are due here anytime, and I’m not going to keep them waiting for a walk-in. Schedule an appointment for him if he wants.”
“Yes, sir,” Wyrick said, then hung up. “I’m sorry, Mr. Boyington. Mr. Dodge has clients arriving at any moment. Would you like to schedule an appointment?”
Boyington stood.
“No. I need to talk to him now! It’s urgent!”
“I’m sorry, sir, but—”
“Look, lady...”
Charlie had heard enough. He strode out of his office.
“Hey! Arguing with my office manager doesn’t get you any closer to me,” Charlie said. “I have a prior appointment. The end.”
Boyington started walking toward him.
“Look, Charlie. My name is Darrell Boyington. I own—”
“You don’t own me or my time, Mr. Boyington. Make an appointment or find another investigator, and don’t make me say it again.”
Wyrick walked to the door and opened it.
Darrell’s eyes widened. “What do you think you’re—?”
“Hastening your exit?” Wyrick said, and pointed to the hallway.
“Freak. Get out of my way,” Boyington muttered, slamming the door shut behind him.
Charlie frowned. “I’m sorry he said that.”
Wyrick shrugged. “I suppose I asked for it today.”
“Why?”
“Women hide behind makeup,” she muttered, then went back to her desk.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Running a search on Darrell Boyington. It pays to know your enemies.”
“Fill me in when you find out,” Charlie said, and went back into his office to finish reading up on the missing teen.
A few minutes later, Wyrick stepped into his office.
“Boyington owns a chain of sports bars. I have no