Читать книгу Valiant Defender - Shirlee McCoy - Страница 14

Quinn didn’t sense danger.

Justin was as certain of that as he was of the fact that the house was empty. He could feel it—the silence, thick and unnatural. Up until Portia had come to live with him, Justin had lived by himself. He’d been used to returning to a house that was empty and quiet. Since his daughter had arrived, things had been different, better in a way he hadn’t anticipated. He’d always been a loner. He’d never thought he needed what so many of his friends had—a wife, children, family.

He’d known, of course, that if anything happened to Melanie, Portia would live with him. They’d discussed that after the death of Melanie’s mother. That had been six or seven years ago, and Justin had been quick to agree that he would step in if Portia needed him. He and Melanie had been high school sweethearts. They hadn’t married, but he’d still cared about her. And he’d certainly wanted to be there for her and Portia. He’d obviously also wanted to be the custodial parent if something were to happen to Melanie. He just hadn’t expected it to happen. Melanie had been young and fit, health-minded and cautious. He hadn’t expected her to suddenly be gone. Portia hadn’t, either. Her mother’s death had been a shock. Being forced to move from Michigan to Texas had meant giving up everything she knew and loved.

For the first few months, they’d tiptoed around each other. Mostly silent. Uncertain. He’d been a little too eager to build a bridge between them. Portia had been resistant. Recently, though, they’d begun to relax around each other, and he’d begun to enjoy the music drifting from her room, the quick tap of her fingers on the laptop keyboard while he made dinner.

He couldn’t remember when she’d begun sitting at the kitchen table while he cooked, but he knew he enjoyed having her there. Even when he didn’t know what questions to ask or how to ask the important ones, it was nice to have a house that felt like a home. It was nice to return from work to the very real and unmistakable feeling of not being alone.

Now the house was empty, and the terror he felt at the thought of his daughter being with the Red Rose Killer stole every thought from his head. Except one: finding her.

“Portia!” he called, knowing she wouldn’t answer.

Boyd had her phone. He had her.

Justin was surprised that his voice wasn’t shaking, surprised that his legs were carrying him upstairs.

Quinn loped ahead of him, following a scent trail into a narrow hall that opened into three bedrooms and a bathroom. The Malinois beelined to Portia’s door, scratching at it with his paw.

It opened silently, swinging inward.

“Portia?” Justin repeated, stepping inside.

The room was empty.

Just like he’d expected.

Tidy. Portia liked her things neat and organized. Just like Justin. She liked an uncluttered environment. Also, like Justin. Funny how those traits had carried genetically. Melanie had been creative and disorganized, her house filled with knickknacks and art projects. The few times Justin had been there, he’d had the urge to declutter and organize.

Had Portia felt that way?

Had her bedroom at her mom’s house been as neat and tidy as this one? He hadn’t asked her. The topic had felt too fraught with emotion—a minefield he wasn’t sure either of them was ready to walk through.

“I’m sorry, Justin,” Gretchen said, stepping into the room behind him.

“This is my fault. I should have sent her somewhere safe.”

“Nowhere would be safe. Not if Boyd wanted to get his hands on her. You know that.”

He did, but that didn’t make it easier to stomach.

“And the only person at fault here is Boyd,” she continued, turning a slow circle, taking in all the details of the room. “There’s no sign of a struggle.”

“I don’t think she’d have tried to fight someone who had a gun,” he said, trying not to imagine the terror Portia must have felt, the fear that must have been in her eyes. She might be organized and meticulous like Justin, but she felt things deeply like her mother. She was a writer. Of journals. Of blogs. All the things she didn’t say, she poured into written words and sentences and paragraphs. He didn’t have to be father of the year to know that about his daughter.

“It looks like she was on her computer.” Gretchen walked to the bed, moving past Justin and Quinn. He let her lead the way, because his judgment was clouded by fear. He was a good enough officer to know that, and she was a good enough one to take control of the scene.

He’d noticed the laptop, and now he noticed a note taped to it as he approached the bed. He could read it easily, the words printed in bold red ink: Now the formerly anonymous blogger of CAFB will really have something to write about.

“I need to find her.” He called for Quinn, planning to run outside. If Quinn could find a scent trail, they might be able to follow it to Boyd’s location.

“You need to slow down, Justin.”

“That’s an easy thing to say when it’s not your daughter in the hands of a serial killer,” he responded, regretting it immediately. He knew Gretchen cared deeply about the work she did and about the people she worked for. She took the job as seriously as he did, and she was as eager as he was to find and stop Boyd.

“Maybe. Probably. But we have a job to do here, and the first step in that is figuring out where he took her.”

“That’s what Quinn and I are going to do.”

“Find!” he commanded, and the Malinois took off, sprinting downstairs and out the door. Sirens were blaring, lights flashing on the pavement. Backup had arrived, but Justin ignored everything but his K-9 partner.

Please, God, don’t let it be too late for Portia, he begged silently as he followed Quinn around the side of the house and across the backyard. The night was cool, the moon high, and he could see Quinn easily, loping toward the woods at the edge of the yard. Confident, excited, tail up, ears alert, nose dropping to the ground every few yards.

The scent trail was fresh.

They were right on the heels of Boyd and Portia. With a dog as well trained as Quinn, it would be easy to overtake them. Portia would be moving slowly. At least, he thought she would be. She’d be dragging her feet, trying to slow progress, because she was smart, and she’d know just how much she could push before Boyd reacted.

That was what Justin was telling himself.

He didn’t know if it was true.

Sure, his daughter was smart—an A student who excelled at both math and English—but their bond was still tenuous and new, their knowledge of each other limited, and he really had no idea how she’d react to being kidnapped.

They reached the tree line, and Quinn trailed back toward Justin, then circled around a place where the grass seemed to have been smashed down and trampled.

“Looks like someone fell,” Gretchen said, flashing her light on the spot. He hadn’t expected her to stay at the house and wasn’t surprised that she’d followed him. Her methods of approaching crime scenes were spot-on. She’d been an MP for six of her nearly eight years in the air force. He’d seen her military record. She was well-known for her dedication and professionalism, and he’d seen both during her time at Canyon Air Force Base.

Right now, though, he didn’t want to spend time discussing the crime scene or working out the details of a plan. He wanted to find his daughter.

“You know that you can’t approach this any differently than you would if we were searching for someone else’s child,” she added, as if she’d read his thoughts and knew exactly what he intended.

“Kidnapped child,” he replied, but she was right. If he were searching for anyone other than Portia, he’d be meticulous as he surveyed the scene, approaching the situation logically rather than running on emotion and adrenaline.

He frowned.

Gretchen was right. He needed to slow down. He also needed to start thinking like a military police officer rather than a panicked father.

“But your comment is noted. I need to approach this like I would if it were any other case.”

“Do you think she fell on purpose?” Gretchen asked, her light dancing over the crushed grass and darting toward the woods that stretched out beyond his yard.

“Maybe. Portia knows what he’s capable of. She might have been trying to slow him down so that Quinn and I could catch up.”

“Smart girl,” she murmured, meeting his eyes. Hers were a dark rich chocolate, her features delicate and pretty. With her height and slim build, she wouldn’t have been out of place on a fashion runway. A few weeks ago, a drunken airman had made the mistake of underestimating her. She’d been trying to arrest him for disorderly conduct, and he’d taken a swing at her, laughing about how he wasn’t going to be taken down by a pretty little girl.

Seconds later, he’d been on the ground and in cuffs.

“Not so smart when she decided to blog about the Red Rose Killer,” Justin said, “but in every other area, she seems to have a good mind. Let’s hope she’s slowed him down enough for us to catch them.”

“He’s going to be expecting us to use Quinn. You know that, right? He’ll be watching, making sure that we’re not coming up from behind.”

“We don’t have any other option,” he said, watching as Quinn nosed the ground near an old spruce.

“What did he say in his text?” she asked.

“That he had her, and he’d give me three guesses as to where they were.”

“So, he thinks you’ll know where he’s taking her.”

“He likes to play games. You know that, Gretchen.”

“You two have a history together. I know he was here before he was dishonorably discharged. Did you have any run-ins with him? Maybe something happened in a particular location that stuck out in his mind?”

“We had plenty of run-ins. I was beginning as an MP. He was a cocky, insubordinate bully.”

“You had a high opinion of him even then, huh?”

“I don’t have time for a trip down memory lane.”

“You don’t have time not to take the trip. He said he’d give you three guesses. He must think you’ll be able to find him. It’s what he wants, right? Not Portia. You.”

She was right. Again.

“Right. We had a few run-ins. He was in a couple of fistfights with weaker recruits, and I broke things up. I caught him drinking once when he should have been in the barracks, and I wrote him up for that. I’m sure he can remember more incidents than that. He’s proven his memory and his ability to hold a grudge.”

“Is there any particular incident that stands out? Maybe one that got him into more trouble than any other. Or had the potential to.”

There was. He hadn’t thought about it in years, but his last run-in with Boyd had led to an investigation into his conduct. Eventually, his commanding officer had filed a complaint of insubordination because of Boyd’s attitude and inability to take orders. That had led to his dishonorable discharge, but Boyd had always blamed Justin.

“Yes,” he responded. “I caught him torturing a puppy once. He had free time on a weekend. I happened to be off duty and was hiking in the woods on base. I heard something yowling, and I followed the sound, thinking that maybe a fox or coyote had gotten itself into trouble. There’s a cabin about a mile from here. Hidden in the woods.”

“I’ve been there,” she said. He wasn’t surprised. The cabin had been on the property before the base existed. A hunting cabin or a rustic home built in the early 1900s, it had been left standing by the air force and was sometimes used as a hiding place during K-9 scent training.

“The sound was coming from there. I wasn’t trying to be quiet when I approached. I figured if there was an animal that wanted to get out before I arrived, I’d rather have it gone. Boyd walked out the door as I was crossing the clearing. He had a knife in a sheath on his thigh, and for a couple of seconds, I thought he might pull it on me. I asked what was going on, and he said he’d found a dog trapped in the chimney and freed it. He walked away. I went in the cabin, and found the German shepherd puppy. He was really young. Maybe nine or ten weeks old.”

“Was it dead?”

“No. His fur was singed, though. Like someone had been holding a match to it. I had no idea how he’d gotten there, and I still don’t. I brought him to the base vet and found out the poor guy had a broken hind leg and a couple of cracked ribs. He survived, and I fostered him until he was able to go into our working dogs training program. Scout is now one of the best German shepherds on the team, one of the four superstar K-9s. Or he was until Boyd released the dogs.”

“Scout is one of the three still missing?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“I’m assuming you turned Boyd in to your commanding officer after you found Scout?”

“Yes. He said nothing could be done without proof. I wasn’t satisfied with that. A guy who’d hurt an animal is just as likely to hurt a human being. I went to Boyd’s commander and told him the story. Boyd already had a history of insubordination. A couple of days later, he was dishonorably discharged.”

“And he blames you.”

“He blames everyone but himself,” he responded, his mind on that day and the cabin, his thoughts suddenly clear. “The cabin has to be where he took her.”

“That makes sense. So, how are we going to approach it? He’s probably waiting to ambush you. Based on his history, I doubt he’s going to give you a chance to strike. He’ll be expecting Quinn to move in first—an early-warning system for him. Maybe we hold Quinn back?”

“We aren’t going to do anything. You’re going to stay here and inform backup.”

“Backup is on the way and radios work well. I’ll call in the information, but I think you know I’m not standing down.”

He did, but he’d had to try. He’d lost a partner before. That was a loss he never wanted to experience again.

He glanced back the way they’d come and could see lights dancing along the ground as Security Forces officers headed toward the edge of the property. He could wait for them, but had to get to the cabin. He knew how long it would take to get there.

He knew that Portia was waiting for him to arrive. That she was scared and in danger.

That was all he could think about. All he could focus on.

He shrugged his agreement, hooked Quinn to his leash and stepped into the forest.

She was moving slowly, following Justin and Quinn as they wound their way into the woods. What Gretchen wanted to do was run. She’d been to the cabin a few times, and she had an excellent sense of direction. Probably thanks to her parents’ deep love for adventure, she’d learned young how to find her way through the wilderness. The moon was high, the stars bright. She could navigate using the sky, and she could move a lot more quickly while she was doing it.

Justin seemed content to walk at a steady reasonable pace, Quinn on the leash beside him.

“We’re not that far from the cabin, are we?” she asked quietly, searching the moonlit forest for landmarks.

“Less than two miles.”

“So it wouldn’t have been difficult for Boyd to get Portia there.”

“Not difficult, but not easy, either. Not if Portia was trying to slow him down. This forest can be hard to navigate during the day. At night, it’s more challenging.”

“I’m sure he had the route timed and took into consideration his kidnapping vi—Portia.”

“Victim. You can call her what she is. Let’s just make sure she stays a kidnapping victim and nothing more.”

Quinn pranced a few feet ahead, his tail and ears up, his nose to the ground.

“It looks like Quinn is on Sullivan’s trail,” she commented.

Justin nodded. “His or Portia’s.”

“What’s the plan for when we reach the cabin?”

“We keep Portia and ourselves alive and apprehend Sullivan.”

“I was hoping for a few more details.”

“We’ll assess things when we get there.”

She would prefer to assess things now.

She liked to know what she was going into and how she was going to get out of it. Not just in work. In life.

She’d enjoyed working with Justin these past few months because he was the same. Careful. Methodical.

“I think we’d be better off stopping for a couple of minutes and coming up with a solid plan about how we’re going to approach the cabin. Boyd Sullivan is—”

“I know what he is.” He stopped suddenly, and she realized that Quinn had stopped, too. The dog was just a few feet ahead, stiff and alert, staring through thick undergrowth.

“What does he see?” she whispered.

“The cabin.”

“Where?” She moved closer, stepping up beside Justin. He was taller than her by several inches. That had surprised her when she’d met him. She was used to being eye to eye with her male coworkers.

He pointed but didn’t speak, his arm brushing hers, the fabric of his uniform rasping quietly. The forest had gone silent except for the distant sounds of backup moving through the woods. She’d spent enough time outside at night to know what she should be hearing. Animals scurrying through the trees. Deer picking their way through the forest. The rustle and sigh of leaves as predatory birds searched for prey.

Moonlight filtered through the thick tree canopy, bathing the world in its green-gray glow. Tall evergreens and shorter, thicker oaks stood as silent sentinels, guarding a clearing that Gretchen could just see through the foliage.

The cabin was there. Four walls. A thatched roof. Empty holes where windows and doors had once been. She couldn’t see the details—just the right angles of the old exterior walls—but she’d explored the woods and seen the cabin. She’d also been on training exercises with K-9 puppies. She could picture the building—its size and shape and access points for the interior. It would be easy to get inside, but not as easy to do so undetected.

“This way,” Justin said, his words more breath than sound.

He led the way through the undergrowth, bypassing the thickest sections. Quinn moved silently in front of them, disappearing for a few seconds, then reappearing. He didn’t need to be commanded to remain quiet. He’d been trained well. He knew his job and seemed to have endless enthusiasm for it.

He stopped at the edge of an overgrown clearing, moonlight glinting in his tan fur, scruff raised, ears forward and down. He sensed danger, and he was letting Justin know it.

Gretchen tensed, eyeing the clearing and the old cabin that sat in the center of it. She could see it plainly now. That meant anyone inside could possibly see them.

Light danced across a window opening, disappearing as quickly as it appeared.

“He’s there,” Justin muttered as if it had ever been a question in either of their minds.

She grabbed his arm, pulling him back a few steps. “You aren’t planning to step out into that clearing, are you? Because if we can see the cabin, anyone in it can see us.”

“My daughter is in there,” he responded.

That didn’t answer the question.

It didn’t make her feel any better about the situation.

“I’m aware of that,” she replied, keeping a tight grip on his arm. “If he takes you out before you reach the cabin, what’s going to happen to Portia?”

“If he takes me out, it’ll ruin the game. Sullivan isn’t about that. He wants to see my face and know that he’s got me where he wants me—scared and helpless.”

“You’re not either of those things.”

“I’m not one of those things, but let him think what he wants. It’ll keep me alive until I can free Portia.”

“Until? What about after?” she whispered, but he pulled away, breaking her grip easily.

“Stay here and stay hidden. He’s got nothing to lose by taking you out.”

He stepped into the clearing with Quinn, and she almost followed.

But Justin was right.

Sullivan had no grudge against her, no game he wanted to play with her. He had no reason to want to watch her suffer. If she stepped out into the clearing, the first bullet he fired would be at her.

He’d save the next for Quinn. Then Portia.

Finally, after he took everything Justin cared about, he’d kill him.

She slipped back into the woods, skirting around the clearing, listening to the eerie silence and the wild beat of her heart. She wasn’t afraid for herself. She was terrified for Justin and for Portia. Boyd Sullivan had come to Canyon Air Force Base to seek vengeance for perceived wrongs, and Justin was probably at the top of the list of people he wanted to destroy. The fact that Portia was in danger seemed to be clouding Justin’s judgment, and clouded judgment could easily get a law enforcement officer killed. Especially in a situation like this.

She stepped out of the woods near the back of the cabin and moved silently across the clearing. She could hear Justin moving on the other side of the building, his footsteps crunching on dead leaves and twigs. He wasn’t trying to be quiet. He probably figured there was no reason. Boyd knew he was coming but had no idea Gretchen was there, too.

She’d use that to her advantage.

She crept close to the light-colored log walls of the cabin. There’d been two windows cut into the facade, and she approached one, freezing as she saw the flashlight beam sweep across one of the openings and then the other.

“I know you’re out there,” a man called in a singsong voice that made her blood run cold.

For a moment, she thought she’d been seen, that somehow Boyd had realized Justin wasn’t alone.

She dropped to her stomach, her left side pressed close to the cabin, her right arm free to pull her service weapon.

“Blackwood!” the man continued. “Move a little faster, or your little girl is going to die.”

“Dad! No!” Portia called, her voice wobbly with tears. “He’s going to shoot you!”

“Shut up!” Boyd yelled in response, the quick hard crack of flesh against flesh ringing through the night.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence, and then the soft pad of feet on the ground. Justin was moving again, and Gretchen wasn’t going to let him go into the situation alone. She crept toward the window, staying low to the ground as she moved toward the old cabin, the sound of Portia’s terror still ringing in her ears.