Brandon drove another mile down the highway and slowed. He spotted the whirring yellow lights of a tow truck blocking the eastbound lane as it dragged a pickup from the ditch. Brandon passed them, making note of the disabled vehicle—a black Chevy Silverado.

He tapped the brakes before the curve and saw the reason for Antonio’s warning. A silver car occupied the shoulder, just barely off the roadway. Traffic flares flickered on the pavement. Directly across the street, Antonio and a uniform stood talking with a man. Tall, goatee, green camo jacket, and a baseball cap turned backward on his head.

Brandon pulled a U-turn and parked behind Antonio’s personal vehicle, a black Mazda. Grabbing his phone, he gave his pizza a last wistful look and slid from the warmth of his truck.

A cool October breeze blew off the lake as Antonio trudged over. He wore dark slacks and a white button-down, same as Brandon, but his sleeves were rolled up. Looked like he hadn’t made it home yet either. Their workday had begun at five thirty a.m. with a gas station holdup on the south side of town, and it was almost eleven p.m.

“How’s it look?” Brandon asked.

“Weird.”

Antonio stopped in front of him and ran a hand through his black buzz cut. His partner was short but powerfully built, like an MMA fighter.

“When did you get here?”

Antonio sighed. “ ’Bout ten minutes ago.”

Brandon turned to look at the man being interviewed by the patrol officer.

“Guy’s name is Tom Murray,” Antonio said. “He called it in. Says he was driving westbound when a deer ran in front of him. He slammed on the brakes and swerved. Nearly hit the silver car there, then overcorrected and skidded off the road.”

Brandon turned back toward the tow truck. The orange flares illuminated twin skid marks leading to the ditch.

“Tire marks corroborate his story,” Antonio said. He’d spent four years on highway patrol, so he should know.

“And the driver of the car?” Brandon asked.

“Nowhere. But all her stuff’s in the vehicle. Wallet, keys, phone, everything.”

“Her?”

“Yeah, Murray said he walked over to see if anyone was inside and found a purse. Vanessa Adams, twenty-six. He checked the wallet.”

Brandon muttered a curse.

“I know, right? Now his prints are everywhere.”

Shaking his head, Brandon turned back toward the car. “What do you make of the guy?”

“Seems credible. Passed a Breathalyzer.” Antonio shrugged. “We ran the name from the wallet. No wants or warrants. Vehicle’s registered to her, too.” Antonio looked at him, his brow furrowed. “I gave the car a once-over.”

“Did you—”

“Didn’t touch anything. There’s a smear on the door. Looks to me like blood.”

Hence, the reason he and Antonio had been called out to an otherwise routine abandoned vehicle.