A mom, dad and daughter slide into the backseat of Jake Davis’s silver Infiniti, parked in the small circular drive in front of MIA Uptown. Their bag of leftovers fills the sedan with the smell of Italian food.
After about 20 minutes, I felt my fragile sense of calm begin to dissipate, and the world around me started to spin. I fought back a bout of nausea and fumbled to get my phone from my pocket. Dialing, I put the phone to my ear, still scanning the woods and listening for the jingle of her collar.
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