No meth heads.

His home wasn’t large. It was just right for a single guy who didn’t have time to do yard work and didn’t like to clean. He considered the money he spent on a housekeeper and yard guy twice a month the best investment he’d ever made. He grabbed a carry-on roller bag out of his closet and dumped it on the bed. His boss answered the phone.

“Schefte.”

“Denny. Callahan here. Did you get my email?” Mason pulled a drawer open and grabbed three pairs of socks. Would he need more?

“I did. That missing little girl was on the noon newscast. She’s your ex’s daughter?”

“It’s my ex’s stepdaughter. From her husband’s previous marriage.”

“She’s only eleven,” Schefte muttered. “Goddamn the assholes out there.”

“Amen. And as a heads-up, you might be seeing me on the news. I’m not gonna let the family step in front of any cameras. I’ll handle any public speaking for them. Warn the department the press might be sticking their noses in my business.”

Schefte cleared his throat. “Yeah, we’ll make it clear you’re acting solely as a family member to any press that asks. This is outside our jurisdiction, but you let the FBI know they can ask for any support they need. I’ve got your schedule covered for the next few days. Morales and Hunsinger can pick up any spillover.”

“How are they coming with the Josie Mueller case?”

“Asking lots of questions. She didn’t hang out with the cleanest people, you know. They’re interviewing people who spend more time on the street than with a roof over their heads. As you can imagine, their stories aren’t the most accurate.”

“But something keeps coming up,” Mason stated. He could read between the lines. Something was being mentioned frequently enough to make Morales and Hunsinger look for clarification.

“Yeah, sounds like a john was hanging around her place. There were a couple reports of a regular visitor in jeans and cowboy boots. And some have mentioned a cowboy hat.”

Mason snorted. “You sure they’re not talking about me? But I haven’t been there in months. Of course, they might have no concept of time if they’re using regularly. One of Josie’s rules was that she didn’t bring johns back to her place. She used one of those motels on Barbur. I guess she could have changed. It’s cheaper to use her own place than a motel. I know something was up with her, Denny. She looked like hell this morning; she’d lost a lot of weight.”

“Early forensic reports suggest she was using her apartment for business.”

“Shit.”

“You can’t save ’em, Callahan. Especially once they get on the drugs. All they want to do is get money to feed their addiction. When someone like Josie discovers the easiest way is to spread her legs and charge for it, their rules and morals go out the window.”

“Yeah, I know. I’d hoped she’d make it. She was a good kid. Just had some bad luck.” Mason closed his eyes for a second. He had thought he’d gotten through to Josie. She’d seemed determined to turn her life around. What threw her off course?

And why hadn’t she called him?

She was embarrassed. She knew you wouldn’t approve. So she hid it.

“You taking personal time or vacation?” Schefte asked, abruptly changing the topic.

“Call it vacation.”

Schefte snorted. “Since you never take your vacation time, I think you’ve got more accrued than the entire department put together.”

“What would I do on vacation? Sit on my porch and watch people drive by?”

“How about go to Hawaii? Or Vegas for a week? That’s what normal people do.”

“Too hot.” Mason tucked the phone under his shoulder as he dug three T-shirts out of a drawer, rolled them up, and neatly tucked them in the suitcase. Two pairs of identical jeans followed.

“Then take a cruise to Alaska.”

“That’s what old people do. I’d be bored out of my brain.”

“You’re not a spring chicken anymore. When’s the big five-oh coming up for you?”

Asshole. “I’ll always be younger than you.” He had a few years before that looming milestone.

“Keep me in the loop. Email me on Monday with an update. For now, I’m clearing next week for you.”

Mason froze as he reached for an ironed shirt in his closet. A week? Would it take that long?

Schefte was quiet for several beats. “And Callahan?”

“Yeah.”

“I hope they find the son of a bitch and bring her home safe.” Schefte spit the words.

“You and me both.” Mason hit “End” and tossed his phone on the bed, his vision narrowing at the thought of Henley in the hands of a pervert. Keep her safe. Please let this be a ransom case. Someone after a piece of Lucas Fairbanks’s money. Ransom cases treated their victims better. Their motivation was money. Not something unmentionable.

The doorbell interrupted his packing.

His partner, Ray Lusco, stood on his front porch, his linebacker-wide shoulders blocking the sunlight. “Hey, your dog wants in,” he announced as Mason opened the door. A black mutt with a white chest and socks trotted in.

“Not my dog,” said Mason.

The dog headed straight for the bowls of dog food and water directly to the right of the door.

“It acts like your dog.”