Brandon scanned the area. The highway was lined with trees. North of the road, the forest was thick and healthy. South, not so much. Years ago, the highway had acted as a firebreak, but several hundred acres to the south had burned, and now it was a mix of jagged gray points and fresh saplings. The terrain sloped down to an area dense with scrub trees. Beyond the brush was a man-made lake created in an abandoned quarry. East of the lake was a public park.

Brandon opened his truck and reached into the back. “You have time to look around yet?”

“Not yet.” Antonio gave a sheepish smile. “I don’t have a flashlight.”

Rookie mistake. But Brandon didn’t state the obvious, even though he was Antonio’s training officer.

Brandon reached into his truck and grabbed his high-powered Maglite, then tucked it into the back of his pants and handed his spare to Antonio. Opening the tackle box that lived in the back of his cab, he dug out two pairs of latex gloves and handed one to his partner.

“You want to talk to the driver?” Antonio asked.

“I’ll take a look at the car first.” Brandon pulled on the gloves. “Tell him to hang out. Then go get started in the woods.”

“Roger that.”

Antonio headed off, and Brandon took a last look around before approaching the vehicle.

It was a silver Toyota, ten years old, give or take, with a purple namaste sticker on the back bumper. The tires were bald, but there was no sign of a flat. A thin layer of grime covered the paint, except for streaks along the back, where someone had opened and closed the trunk a bunch of times. Brandon switched his beam to high and checked the back seat. Empty. He stepped to the driver’s side. The door was closed, but the passenger door was wide open. He didn’t like that.

No interior light on, no ding-ding-ding warning sound. Brandon circled the vehicle, making note of the license plate and the dented side panel. The damage looked old. Taking care not to mar any footprints in the dirt, he approached the open door and leaned in.

The smell hit him immediately. Piña colada. He swept the flashlight over the seat and spotted the pineapple-shaped air freshener tucked inside the door pocket.

Brandon crouched beside the car. On the floor was a half-empty bottle of bourbon and a big leather bag. It seemed more like a tote bag than a purse. A red leather wallet sat on the passenger seat. He shined the light on the Texas driver’s license peeking through the plastic window and studied the smiling picture.