“Yeah,” Scott said.
I looked out through the trees straight ahead. Agents Gents and Makara’s car was sideways in the road in the distance, with a patrol car parked behind theirs.
“Okay. Looks like Makara and Gents are where they need to be. I’m leaving the path and heading for the side of the house. Beth, you stick to me. Bill and Scott, keep your sights on that house. As soon as we get there, you two follow while the lieutenant covers you. We’ll spread out and cover the home as the lieutenant makes his way up.”
I received confirmation from everyone.
“All right, let’s move,” I said.
I broke from the tree line, keeping my gun ready. Beth’s footsteps thumped behind me. My eyes went window to window as we jogged toward the home, but I didn’t spot anyone. I pulled up along the side of the house and put my back to it as I brought my gun up in both hands in front of my chest. Beth stood beside me at my left shoulder in the same position. I motioned for Scott and Bill. They ran toward us from the cover of the tree line, with the lieutenant keeping his weapon aimed at the house. Bill and Scott came to our sides, and I glanced back at Lieutenant Hampton, who gave me a thumbs up. Beth, Bill, Scott, and I faced the house and backed up. Over my shoulder, I motioned for Hampton to come. He met us, and we rounded the side of the house toward the front, where I immediately noticed something amiss.
“The truck is gone,” I said in a hard whisper. I glanced back at Hampton. “Run that truck and get your guys looking. Tell your officer sitting at the driveway down there to come with our other agents.”
He made the calls quietly over his radio, yet I never heard a response. We walked low toward the front porch, past the tree holding the tire swing. I watched the house as we walked and glanced back and forth between windows as I led our group up the steps of the porch. Then I caught movement over my right shoulder in the distance.
Agent Gents, Makara and Officer Harris were approaching in the driveway. I paused and held an open hand toward them. They stopped. I held up two fingers at my eyes and then pointed them up toward the house. All three men raised their weapons a bit. I stepped to the top step and looked into the home through the screen door. The realization that the truck was gone but the inner door wasn’t closed or locked registered in my head.
Beth, Bill, Scott and I spread out to both sides of the home’s front door. Bill was directly across from me with Scott behind him. Beth had my back, and the lieutenant was standing on ground level at the base of the steps. Bill gave me a nod. I reached across my body with my left hand and grabbed the screen door’s handle. I banged on the aluminum bar across the screen door with my right fist, holding my gun.
“FBI!” I shouted and pulled the door open.
Bill and Scott rushed in, followed by Beth and then myself. We stood in a wide hallway of the old farmhouse. To our left was a living room. Directly in front of me and to my right was a stairway leading up. The hallway stretched back into the house toward a kitchen. I saw no movement. Bill went left into the living room. Scott and Beth headed forward, toward the kitchen. I held my ground and kept my gun aimed up at the landing of the second floor. Lieutenant Hampton entered and got my back. A moment later, Beth, Scott, and Bill walked toward the lieutenant and me from the kitchen area. Bill and Scott stopped at a door centered in the hall, and Scott pulled it open as Bill covered him. The two men disappeared into the doorway while Beth waited at the door. I could hear their feet pounding steps. A moment later, I heard their footsteps again. Beth, Scott, and Bill came back to the lieutenant and me.
“Kitchen, living room, dining room, and basement are clear,” Bill said.
“There’s a utility room and bathroom off of the kitchen. Also clear,” Beth said.
“Let’s head up,” I said.
I took the lead up the stairs. Lieutenant Hampton stayed on the lower level to cover us as we made our ascent. At the top of the stairs, the hall spread to the left and right. We split up as Bill and Beth went left and Scott and I right.
Scott and I had three doors—one straight ahead, one left, and one right. We quickly cleared a spare bedroom filled with sewing supplies and a bathroom and made our way to the final room at the end of the hall. The door was half closed, allowing us to see only a bit of the old wooden floor behind it. Scott put his back to the hallway’s wall, and I did the same across from him. Scott pushed the door open with the side of his foot, and I entered the doorway in a firing position. My eyes went left, right, and then down.
“Shit,” I said.
Scott and I entered the bedroom.
Before us in the center of the room’s floor were the two people I’d spoken with a half hour prior. A bloody butcher’s knife lay beside them. Their blood appeared to have pooled together. The man lay on his side in a position that looked as though he was reaching out for his wife. More blood and what looked like cut-up sheets covered the bed beside the couple.
“Son of a bitch!” I said.
“Homeowners?” Scott asked.
“Yeah. I just talked to these two,” I said. “They gave us no immediate sign that they were in danger.” I crouched next to both bodies and checked for pulses. I shook my head and stood. “The guy had a classic truck outside. I’m guessing that’s what Molly McCoy and Nick Frane are in. Orange-and-white seventies pickup. I think it was a Chevy. Big wheels. We need to find them fast before they ditch the vehicle. They’ll stick out like a sore thumb in it.”
Scott pulled his phone from his pocket and glanced over at me. “Do we need an ambulance?”
I shook my head.
A sound caught my ear to the right, and I snapped my head in that direction and brought up my gun. The noise, coming from the closet, was like a sniff. Scott jammed his phone back into his pocket and followed suit aiming at the white folding doors of the bedroom closet.
“Whoever is in the closet, come out with your hands up!” Scott instructed.
I heard movement confirming that someone was inside, yet the doors didn’t push outward.
Scott reached out and grasped the small round wooden handle on the door. He looked at me. I bobbed my head, signaling I was ready. Scott yanked it open with his left hand and kept his gun aimed inside as the door opened.
I saw nothing but clothes and then dropped my line of sight to the floor. I saw little shoes and legs. A child was sitting in the back of the closet against the wall. I reached inside and spread the clothing to the sides. A brown-haired boy about the age of five stared back at me. He had a gag tied around his mouth, his eyes were red and swollen, and his cheeks pink and wet with tears. His hands were behind his back—restrained, I assumed. I quickly holstered my weapon, reached in, and took the boy in my arms. The only thought in my head was a hope that he’d been in the closet before his parents were killed, then I looked at the boy’s face beside mine and realized he was gagged with a section of the bloody sheets.
“We’re the good guys, buddy.” I lifted the boy from the closet and tried to make sure he couldn’t see his parents as I carried him from the room.
The boy held my neck firmly as I carried him down the steps and through the front door. I walked him down the front porch, set him down on his feet, and removed the restraints from his hands and the gag from his mouth. Agents Makara and Gents and Officer Harris were standing in the yard watching me.
“You guys just want to have a look at the rest of the property?” I asked. “The house is clear.”
“Yeah,” Agent Gents said.
I turned my attention back to the boy. He slowly and sheepishly brought his hands around to the front of him and rubbed his wrists.
I knelt before him. “Are you okay?” I asked.
The boy’s bottom lip trembled. “I want my mom,” he said.
“I know, bud.” I rubbed the boy’s shoulder and looked back toward the house.
Beth was standing on the front porch, staring at me. I waved her over. I didn’t have much experience dealing with kids, especially those that migh
t have just witnessed their parents being murdered. My only thought was that maybe Beth had the kind of gentle touch that would help.
Beth walked up and whispered in my ear, “We need to find a family member for him. The neighbor lady said his name was Mark, right?”
I nodded.
Beth crouched next to the boy and flipped some of her brown hair off of her shoulder. “Hey, I’m Beth,” she said. “Your name is Mark, right?”
The boy said nothing, just staring at the house.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Nick exited the freeway, made a right when the freeway ramp came to an end, and drove for half a mile up the country road. He pulled to the shoulder, threw the truck in park, and walked to the bed. Nick glanced around at his surroundings and dropped the tailgate. Molly slid out from beneath the tonneau cover and planted her feet on the road’s surface. Nick slammed the tailgate closed.
“Get in. Let’s go,” he said.
Molly jumped in the passenger side of the truck, and Nick continued in the direction he’d been traveling.
“All good?” Molly asked.
“Yeah, I passed a couple of cops, so it was probably good that you were in the back.”
“What’s the plan?” she asked.
“We need to get rid of this damn thing. But we need to do it the right way. I’m sick of this heat on our ass.”
“Are you saying that the heat on our ass is my fault?”
“Would you stop,” Nick said.
“No. We need to talk about this. I’m not going to sit here while you make little comments insinuating that I’m the one who is causing problems for us.”
“You’re kidding, right? I mean, seriously.” Nick looked over at her. “Tell me you’re kidding right now.”
“I’m not kidding. If you think I’m causing problems, then come out and say it. Be a man about it.”
“Dammit! You know what? That is precisely what I’m saying.” Nick stared over at Molly. “You do some stupid shit at every turn that is keeping these cops on us. If it wasn’t for you, they wouldn’t have a damn clue where we are.”
“If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have an escape plan.”
“Whatever. Here is what is going to happen. You’re going to sit there, shut the hell up, and let me handle getting rid of this vehicle and finding another. I’ve had entirely enough of your bullshit.”
Molly rubbed her nose and let out a short chuckle. “You know what, asshole, pull over. You can find your own way out of the country,” she said.
“What?”
“I’m serious. Pull over. I’m out of here. This was all fun while it lasted, but I’ve had enough.”
“But what about love at first sight? You wouldn’t spend a day of your life without me, remember?”
“Things change, I guess.”
Nick yanked the wheel to the right and slid to a stop at the side of the road. He threw the gear selector into park and looked over at Molly. “There’s the door. Good luck.”
“Do you think I won’t?” Molly asked.
“See ya,” Nick said. “Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on your way out. I think I’ll head up the road to the next fair and find another carnie.”
Molly pulled open the door and stepped out. Nick shifted the truck back into drive and spun the tires to kick gravel at Molly as he pulled away. He looked in the rearview mirror back at her as she grew smaller and could see her giving him the middle finger.
“Stupid bitch,” he said.
Nick continued down the road for another few miles. He passed a handful of houses, but none looked occupied. Then, as if by fate, the perfect opportunity presented itself. Nick stared to the right and slowed as he passed a ranch with a boat out front, near the road. He spotted a For Sale sign planted in the grass at the boat’s bow. Nick quickly looked up the driveway. An older Chrysler was parked near the house. A detached garage next to the house faced the street with its door open. Nick could see the nose of an old red Corvette parked inside. He pulled to the side of the road, turned around, and slowly idled up the driveway of the house. Nick put the truck in park, clicked off the ignition, and stepped out.
“Help you with something?” a man asked.
Nick glanced up toward the house, looking for where the question had come from.
“In the shed,” the man said.
Nick walked up the driveway toward the shed and found the man lying under a riding lawn mower held up by a pair of jack stands.
“Hi,” Nick said. “Interested in that boat down there for sale.”
The man slid himself out from under the lawn mower, planted his hand against the concrete floor of the garage and slowly pushed himself to his feet. The guy looked as though he was in his late sixties and wore dirty navy-blue coveralls and black boots. Nick quickly sized the man up. While Nick imagined the old man had a good forty or fifty pounds on him, the thirty-plus years in age difference would surely come into account—that, the element of surprise, and a 9mm.
The man wiped his hands on the sides of his coveralls. “Well, what do you need to know about it?”
“Does it float?” Nick asked with a chuckle.
“Yup, she floats all right. The motor just had service done in spring—runs like a dream. The asking price is forty-five hundred. I won’t take a penny less.”
“Does it come with any electronics?” Nick asked.
“A fish finder and a radio.”
“Right,” Nick said. He nodded toward the Corvette. “This is getting thrown in with the sale, right?”
The old man smiled and scratched his head. “You have another few years before I get senile enough for that kind of deal, son. You’re into the classics, I see.” The man jerked his head toward the Chevy Nick had pulled into the driveway. “Fine-looking truck you have there. Is that a seventy-one?”
“Thanks. Yeah, seventy-one.” Nick figured he’d agree with the old man though he had no clue what the year of the truck actually was. “She gets me around.” Nick took a few steps toward the Corvette. “What year?” he asked.
“Seventy-two. I bought her new off the showroom floor after I got back from Vietnam. I took my wife on our first date in her, rest her soul. Yup, Betty here has gotten some use over the years, but a few years back I took her to a shop for a full top-to-bottom restore.” The man walked over and patted the car named Betty on the hood. “This baby has some get up and go now.”
“Runs good, huh?” Nick asked.
“Better than good. She fires the first time and rattles every window in sight. One second.”
The man left Nick alone in the garage and walked toward the house. He returned a minute later, spinning a pair of keys on a keyring around his finger. “Get a load of this,” the old man said. He opened the driver’s door of the Corvette and took a seat behind the wheel.
The starter cranked, followed by the thunderous exhaust of the car. Nick looked in at the old man behind the wheel—he had a look of pride all across his face. The car roared twice when the man tapped the gas. Then he clicked it off and used the car’s door to pull himself back out.
Nick whistled. “Sounds like she’s got some power.”
“Oh yeah, this thing will leave two black stripes a mile long if you stay on the gas.” The man swung the driver’s door closed and walked toward Nick, who was standing at the Corvette’s front. “Ready to go have a look at the boat?” the old man asked.
“Nah,” Nick said. He pulled his gun from his waistline and fired twice into the old man’s chest.
The man dropped to his knees. Nick looked around, spotting no one. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his garrote, and wrapped it around the man’s neck. He used the garrote’s handles to drag the man back into the garage. Nick positioned the man facedown on the floor, mounted his back, and yanked back on the handles with all he had until the old man was dead. Nick pulled off the garrote and rushed to the open garage door to look around. No one was in sight anywhere—the gunshots had gone unnoticed
.
Nick took a seat behind the wheel of the Corvette. The old man had left the keys in the ignition. Nick fired up the motor and pulled the vehicle from the garage and off to the side of the driveway. He shut it off, stepped out, and walked to the truck. After pulling the truck into the garage and closing the door, Nick hopped back into the Corvette and pulled out from the driveway. He traveled back toward the freeway, the way he’d come. A mile and a half up the road, he spotted Molly walking toward him. Nick stopped alongside her and lowered his window.
“Hey baby, need a lift?” he asked.
Molly stopped walking and looked over at him. She crossed the street and leaned into his window with a smile on her face. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you to not pick up hitchhikers?” she asked.
“I like to live dangerous,” Nick said.
“What if I’m some deranged killer?” she asked.
“What if I am?” he asked.
Molly reached in and grabbed Nick by the back of the head, and the two shared a kiss.
“I’m sorry for everything I said,” Molly said. “I didn’t mean any of it. I was just being emotional. Can you forgive me?”
“I forgive you. Now, get in,” Nick said.
Molly rounded the car and got in on the passenger side.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
We asked Lieutenant Hampton what he could do about finding someone in the boy’s family that we could turn him over to—as far as I heard a few minutes prior, they were still looking. The lieutenant had called someone from child services to attend to the boy, which left a bad feeling in my gut—I didn’t like the thought of the boy possibly spending the next fourteen or fifteen years in the foster system if a family member didn’t claim him. Beth had been sitting with the boy in the back of Agent Gents and Makara’s fed-issued cruiser, which they’d pulled up nearer the house. The last time I’d walked over to them, he seemed to be responding to Beth as she tried to talk to him.
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