looked out at the deep snow, then at Chance and the shotgun. “I didn’t break into your office. There is no reason to—”
“Out.” Chance stepped back so the Texas P.I. could get out of the van. The man stepped gingerly into the deep snow. He wore loafers and slacks, although he’d been smart enough to get himself a down coat.
Chance quickly frisked the man, found no other weapon and ordered Jamison to walk out a dozen yards, through the snow and trees, from the van.
While the man’s back was turned, Chance threw the van’s keys into the snow and searched the van.
No answering machine tape. But what Chance did find shocked him. In the back of the van was everything a man would need to hog-tie and bind a woman to transport her back to Texas.
He felt sick as he left J. B. Jamison cursing him to hell beside the road and drove off. That bastard Bonner hadn’t mentioned he put another P.I. on the case let alone that he’d sent the man to bring Dixie back to Texas.
Chance’s job was to find Dixie. Period.
Under most circumstances, Chance would have quit right there. But after what he’d seen in the back of Jamison’s van, he was afraid for Dixie Bonner and even more anxious to find her.
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