Chapter 2 - The Truth in the CrustI didn't wait. I grabbed my keys from the counter and bolted for the back exit. Jake followed, swearing under his breath. We jumped into my old pickup, and I floored it toward Maple Ridge Lane.
As we drove, the dispatch training took over. I needed to understand what the boy meant by “signing my name.” I thought back to my years at the call center. Paperwork. Signatures. Incapacity. Could the man be trying to forge a will or a property transfer? Mrs. Price was a wealthy widow with no heirs. If someone was forcing a child to sign papers, they weren't just stealing a pizza—they were stealing a life.
We reached the outskirts of Maple Ridge in minutes. The street was dark, bathed in the blue-and-red pulse of police lights, but they were stalled. The house sat behind a high brick wall, its windows dark.
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"Look," Jake pointed. A black sedan was peeling away from the side gate, its headlights off.
I didn't think; I accelerated. My old truck swerved onto the lawn, clipping a mailbox, and slammed into the side of the sedan, pinning it against a tree. The driver scrambled out, clutching a briefcase, but he didn't get far. Officers descended on him within seconds.
