 It was late afternoon before Griff could try calling home again. First, he tried using his own phone and got Clint’s voice mail, leaving another message. Griff set the phone on his desk and paced around the office a few times. “Something’s not right,” he grumbled. Griff couldn’t believe Clint was ignoring him; that wasn’t his style. They’d argued plenty of times over the years, and Clint had never acted like this. Griff stopped pacing and reached for his office phone. He hit the button for the line that would show up on caller ID and dialed Clint’s number. Again it went to voice mail. Surely Clint wouldn’t ignore a call from the Marshal’s office that could very well be due to an emergency with Griff. He left another message before slamming the phone down. “Griff.” Candice walked into the office. “I’ve called, texted, and sent private messages to Clint. No response all day. Not only that, there hasn’t been any activity on any of his media sites.” She looked genuinely worried. “He might be pissed enough to ignore me and maybe he realized I checked on his sites, but I doubt he’d ignore a call from here, and he absolutely wouldn’t ignore his readers.” Griff grabbed his carry bag from the desk where Candice had left it earlier, took his keys from the top drawer, and headed to the door. “I’m going home. This isn’t right. It doesn’t feel right.” Candice grabbed his arm and stopped him. “Griff, call me.” He nodded and all but ran to his car. The normal fifteen-minute drive seemed like hours. Finally Griff pulled in his driveway and parked behind Clint’s car. Seeing the car did nothing to unclench the knot his gut was in. Griff sprinted up the walkway and took the front steps of his house in two bounds. The key stuck in the lock, and he pounded on the front door, shouting, “Clint!” Furiously, he yanked on the key until the door opened, and he stumbled into the house. It was dark and silent. Griff froze for a few seconds, taking in every detail. No dogs charged to meet him; there was no sound from anywhere in the house. He strode through to the kitchen, flipped on the light, and drew his gun. Nothing seemed amiss, so he went to the basement steps. It was dark downstairs, and Griff heard no movement. “Clint. Phoenix. Fern.” He ventured into the backyard. It, too, was empty, and there was no sign Clint had been out there recently. Griff went back inside and checked every inch of the house. No Clint. No dogs. Another visual sweep of the landing and Griff realized the dogs’ harnesses and leashes were gone from their customary hooks. “They’re just out for a walk. Clint went for a walk.” Griff went to Clint’s office and sat down in the armchair against the far wall. He ran shaking hands over his hair and took a few deep breaths. He sat and waited, but the quivering of his stomach wouldn’t stop. The desktop computer Clint worked on was turned off, but it wasn’t unusual for Clint to power it down a few times a week, especially if he planned on being out of the house for a few hours. Next he went to the living room and opened the cabinet where Clint kept the laptop he sometimes used. It still sat in the carry bag Clint kept it in, along with Clint’s tablet. Griff hadn’t seen Clint’s phone or wallet earlier, but he took another walk through the house just to be sure, confirming they were gone.     Comments are closed.
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