“Gracie?”
At first Grace thought she might have imagined the voice, deep and silky smooth, a trick of the mind, the product of her imagination and ringing ears.
“Is the cop dead, Grace?”
She jerked herself back, out of his line of sight. A scream scrambled up her throat, kept in check only by her clamped lips. She brought the shotgun back to her shoulder, rested her finger on the trigger, and peered around the doorframe.
At least from here, she would be able to see him coming. Even now, she could detect the light shifting on the scarred wall.
“He’s got to be dead, right? I hit him in the chest. Gracie… Gracie…”
Grace set her jaw. He was trying to draw her out. Make her step into the hall. Did he think she was stupid?
Aunt Val would come back eventually. She would know something was wrong. She would have every law officer in the area on their way. The county tactical team, too.
Grace knew the procedure. One night when Grace couldn’t sleep, Aunt Val had explained everything that would happen if Hess ever came to their house. He didn’t stand a chance. All Grace had to do was wait for help… and shoot, if Hess was bold enough to try the stairs again.
“You didn’t hit me, Grace. You hit Carla.”
Carla?
Grace remembered the woman. The one who had adopted Ethan, the one who had disappeared when Hess escaped. The one who had helped him.
“I don’t believe you.”
“She’s hurt. She’s dying, and it’s all because of you.”
Grace grasped the shotgun hard to keep her hands from shaking. Carla wasn’t a good person, but Grace hadn’t meant to kill her. “When my aunt gets here, they’ll help her.”
“Maybe so,” came Hess’s answer. “But will they be able to help you?”
Grace peeked around the corner, the shotgun ready. She rested her finger on the trigger. Whatever Hess was about to try, she was ready.
Grace’s pulse drummed in her ears. She waited, watching for movement on the staircase, waiting for…
The grandfather clock chimed from the living room downstairs.
She didn’t know what the smell was at first, mixing with the odor of burned gunpowder, growing more intense. But as the stench grew, so did the haze filling the hall.
“Oh, my God.”
“What is it?” Brad asked from behind her.
“Hess is burning down the house.” Grace focused on the stairs, the smoke seeming denser by the second. “We’re going to have to get out of here. We’re going to have to run for it.”
“But you said that wouldn’t work.”
Grace’s mind whirred, her head feeling light, from smoke or fear, she didn’t know. “We’ll have to make it work. How is Officer Edgar?”
“He’s not breathing. At all. And I can’t find a pulse. I’m pretty sure he’s dead.”
Grace squinted into the hall, the smoke growing thick. It was hard to see the splintered stair railing. Her eyes burned. She squeezed them shut for a second, fully expecting that when she opened them, Hess would be standing in front of her.
He wasn’t, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still in the stairwell. Waiting.
“Brad?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re sure? That Officer Edgar is dead, I mean.”
“Yeah. I’m sure.”
Grace pulled in a shuddering breath. Dead. All because he was trying to protect her. And Brad would be dead, too, if she didn’t get him out of here. “Can you open the window?”
She heard the sash sliding, the screech of the old storm.
“Okay. Got it.”
“Be careful when you climb out on the roof. That snow is going to be really slippery.”
“I’m not leaving without you.”
“I’ll be right behind. I just have to make sure…” She didn’t finish, but Brad could probably figure it out. “Are you out?”
“I’m going. Come on, Grace.”
A cold draft swept into the room. Grace waited a heartbeat, then another. She couldn’t quite believe Hess would just leave, that he wouldn’t be waiting to storm the room as soon as she turned around. But she also knew she couldn’t stay here much longer. Her eyes were watering now, tears streaming down her face, and her breathing was a shallow rasp.
Now or never.
Grace stepped backward into the room, locked the door. She gave Officer Edgar one last check. No breathing. No pulse. Insides trembling, Grace forced herself to turn away. She went to the window and ducked through the open sash. Snow swirled around her, wet flakes pelting her face.
A six-foot lip slanted down from the window to the gutters at roof’s edge. Clinging to the side of the dormer, Brad offered his hand. She gave him the shotgun and climbed through.
The wind was cold and fresh, snow dotting the sky so densely the air looked solid.
“Now what?” Brad said, eyeing the branches of the old oak, too distant to reach from the edge of the roof.
“Jump, I guess.”
“You guess?”
Grace looked down. She’d read that humans had a visceral fear of falling from the time they were born, and she’d certainly felt that the times she’d climbed out on this roof to wash the outsides of the windows, her fingers clutching the edge of the dormer like they were doing now.
But this was different.
The garden below was blanketed in white, impossible to judge the distance down. And with the alternative being burned with the house or coming face-to-face with Hess, she was almost eager to make the leap. “It will be okay. The snow should cushion us.”
Brad didn’t look so sure, but he gave her a nod anyway. “Make sure you bend your knees when you hit the ground.”
“Will do.” Grace took a deep breath. The shingles were icy under her feet. No sidling up to the edge then jumping. She’d have to just go for it.
She released her grip on the siding, took several uncontrolled, sliding strides, and launched off the edge. The ground came up to meet her. The impact shuddered through her feet, into her hips, and up her spine. Her legs folded, pitching her forward into the snow. She thrust out her palms, catching herself on hands and knees.
“You okay?” Brad called.
Grace forced herself up, her hands cold and aching. She tried her best to dry her palms on her wet jeans. Looking up, she held out her hands to Brad. “Throw me the shotgun.”
He tossed it. The gun smacked Grace in the hands, then slid from her wet fingers and plunged into the snow, sinking deep.
Grace stooped to dig it out.
“Gracie, Gracie…”
Chills clambered up Grace’s spine. Remaining crouched over the gun, she looked up and focused on the cold eyes of Dixon Hess.
He was holding a pistol, a big one, the barrel aimed straight at her. He wore a black coat and jeans. So normal he would fit in just about anywhere. Average build. Average looks. Nothing about him particularly memorable.
Yet he was the monster Grace would never forget.
For a moment, she felt so dizzy she thought she might pass out.
“Show me your hands. Now.”
Still crouching, she raised her hands from the snow.
“Good girl.” He smiled, lips pulling back from straight, white teeth.
Grace strained her ears, praying to hear the wail of a siren on the wind. But all she could detect was the drip of snow melting off tree limbs. And something else. The scuff of shoes on slick shingles. She resisted the urge to glance upward. “Aunt Val will kill you.”
“I hope she’s on her way.” He tilted his head, then smiled again.
Of course. Aunt Val wouldn’t know what she was walking into. Not until she was here. Not until it was too late. What Grace had been praying for a moment ago now felt like approaching doom.
And Grace was powerless to stop it.
Movement flashed in her peripheral vision. Hess jerked his attention upward, his pistol barrel following his gaze. Brad came down on
top of him. A shot exploded from Hess’s gun.
Grace couldn’t think. She couldn’t breathe. She plunged her hands deep and clawed through the heavy snow for her own weapon. Her fingers hit something solid. She gripped it with frigid fingers, began to lift it out—
A foot pinned the shotgun to the ground.
But before Grace could wonder what happened to Brad, before she could find him in the swirling white, he was slamming into Hess, hitting, fighting.
Grace yanked at the shotgun, but the killer didn’t move.
“Run!” Brad yelled.
Releasing her weapon, Grace thrust to her feet. She was too slow, as if she were slogging through water. Each sight seemed surreal, as if it were happening to someone else.
Brad hitting Hess, trying to wrestle the gun from his hands.
Hess tripping the boy’s feet out from under him.
Brad stumbling toward her, reaching for her hand.
The blast of another shot.
Chapter
Eight
Lund
He smelled it before he saw it.
Not wood smoke but something darker, deeper, more pungent. Something that sounded an alarm in his brain. “House fire.”
Val’s gaze snapped to him, her body tense. She tapped a number into her cell phone and relayed the information to Oneida.
Lund knew what Val was thinking. Grace was in that house. And maybe Hess. And now a fire, too. “Chris Edgar is with her.”
Val nodded.
Lund wished he could say more to reassure Val that everything would be okay. But both of them would know it was a lie, and they didn’t lie to one another. Not anymore.
Lund accelerated past the ruins of the old house where his deceased wife, Kelly Ann, had grown up. Just beyond was Val’s farm. Lund couldn’t detect smoke in the air, but the dark scent was growing stronger.
Val ended the call. “Backup is several minutes out. Fire department, too.”
“I have an extinguisher in my truck. We’ll go in. You and me.”
Val’s house came into view, seemingly unchanged from the time they’d left. How Lund wished that was the case. He swung to the shoulder before he reached the drive, the car skidding in slush.
Val threw her door open before the car’s movement stopped.
Lund hit the release to open the trunk for Val, then made for his pickup. He kept on the other side of the tree line that flanked the drive, moving quickly and quietly. The odor of smoke was thick now, tendrils escaping around the edges of old double-hung windows. If anyone was still inside, they wouldn’t be conscious for long. But Hess had never been a man who failed to think through his options. He would be prepared, for the fire, for police. If Lund and Val had a prayer to get to Grace, they couldn’t afford to make any mistakes.
Lund reached his truck, still hitched to the horse trailer, and opened the cargo box he kept in the bed. When going on calls, he never took his truck but drove Unit One. Still he liked the feeling of being prepared—the Boy Scout in him—and he was never so grateful to have the habit as he was now.
He pulled out the extinguisher. No protective clothing, no helmet, no oxygen, but that couldn’t be helped.
Val limped up to him and leaned the crutch against his truck. She was wearing a Kevlar vest and carrying a rifle. And although he wanted to keep her from going in without backup, he knew he should save his breath. There wasn’t a chance either of them were waiting for the cavalry. Not when Grace might be inside. Frightened. Hurt.
He pushed all other possibilities from his mind. They would find Grace. Alive. That’s all there was to it.
Val handed him a spare vest. “I don’t see an ambulance anywhere, and Hess sure didn’t get here by walking.”
“So he might not have been able to get inside.”
“Or we might be too late.” Val paused for a second, obviously fighting to keep her emotions under control. “Any sign of Edgar?”
“Not that I’ve seen.”
Val nodded, but her bleak expression suggested she was worried. “Ready?”
Vest on, extinguisher in hand, and adrenaline humming through his body, Lund could almost forget his shortness of breath, the pain threading his rib cage and throbbing in his head. He nodded, and Val started for the kitchen porch. Her limp was more prominent without the crutch, and Lund could only guess what other difficulties she hadn’t told him about. But none of it mattered now.
Nothing mattered but Grace.
Val reached the step, shouldered her rifle, and nodded for him to go ahead.
Lund mouthed the words.
Three.
Two.
One.
Lund turned the knob. It moved under his hand.
Go.
He pushed it open.
Smoke hung in a thick haze. Val stepped to the side to clear the room visually as best she could. Then she entered, leading with the rifle, her master eye lined up with the barrel. She moved with her knees bent and weight balanced, the limp still there but not slowing her down.
Val cleared the dinette, then the kitchen. They passed the table where he and Val had eaten breakfast that morning, newspaper folded just where he’d left it, coffee cold in cups. Then they moved into the living room.
Or what Lund knew was the living room. The smoke was so thick it changed daylight to twilight.
Val moved to the side, one step, then another, clearing the area. She motioned to Lund.
He headed for the center of the room. Crouching as low as he could, he focused on the glow of light filtering through the dim, the only thing he could see. Glass crunched under Lund’s boots. Sweat trickled down his back. Smoke burned his eyes, sending tears down his cheeks.
There seemed to be a single source; the couch, smoldering and belching smoke.
Lund focused the extinguisher and squeezed the lever. Sweeping back and forth, he covered the sofa until all evidence of smolder was gone. Then he stepped to the sliding glass door and slid it open.
Damp air swept into the room. He scooped in a breath, then another, watching to be sure the flame didn’t reignite. Val cleared the rest of the floor, then pulled her pistol from its holster and handed it to Lund.
“Upstairs,” Val mouthed the word.
Lund left the extinguisher, took the weapon, and they started for the second floor.
Reaching the base of the steps, Val again stepped to the side, one step, two steps, peering upward, letting the stairwell open in front of her, clearing the space before stepping into it.
The railing at the top gaped, splintered wood stabbing out over the staircase. The opposite wall, once smooth and spotless, was now peppered with holes, spots of plaster blasted away. Brown smudges marred the white walls.
Lund had heard cops refer to staircases and long halls as vertical coffins. Once you stepped into a space like that, there was no cover, nowhere to hide. Someone had been shot here. He could only pray it wasn’t Grace.
Val led the way up the steps, slowgoing with her weak leg. The upstairs was silent. Not a creak of floorboards, not a whisper of breath. Lund had never trained in breaching buildings, but he caught on fast, mimicking Val’s stance, the way she led with her gun, the methodical way she cleared all she could see before entering each room. Val’s bedroom, Grace’s room, the bathroom. Their next stop was the office.
Lund tried the knob. “Locked,” he mouthed. Val nodded her go-ahead. He aimed a sharp sidekick under the doorknob, and the door flew inward.
Val cleared all she could from the outside of the room, then they stepped inside. The first thing Lund noticed was the open window. The second was the open gun safe.
The third was Christopher Edgar sitting slumped against the wall.
Val
Val stifled the cry scrambling up her throat.
Oh, God.
She knelt beside Christopher Edgar, her stomach hollowing out. They hadn’t even had a chance to give Jimmy Weiss a funeral, and now she’d lost a second officer. A second friend
.
He was a good man, a good cop.
And now he was gone.
Val felt for his pulse, just to make sure, and found none. His skin already felt cold, and somewhere in the back of her mind, she realized that was probably due to the open window.
The open window…
“Grace.”
Lund held out his hand to help her up, and they went back downstairs.
As soon as Val opened the kitchen door, she heard the heavy growl of an engine coming from the driveway. She stepped out to meet them while Lund split off to check the back of the house.
In large cities, the SWAT or Emergency Response Team was often a full-time division. Not so in rural Wisconsin. Here county deputies volunteered in addition to their usual duties. Val knew the commander, a sergeant with the county named Bobby Vaughan. Good man. Had a brother who volunteered in the fire department. Since Hess had escaped from jail, the ERT had been on alert. Val was relieved they’d made it so quickly.
She couldn’t handle this on her own.
The dark hulk of their armored vehicle halted just beyond the tree line. Sergeant Olson’s SUV pulled into the drive behind the ERT vehicle. Good. Someone from Lake Loyal. Someone who knew Chris Edgar even better than she did. Someone who would take care of him.
She’d just retrieved her crutch when Lund called her from the corner of the house.
“Val?”
“I have to fill them in on what we’ve found.”
“You’re going to want to fill them in on this, too.”
Lund pointed to the footprints that led toward the paddock, then to another, this one heading in the opposite direction. A sole at least two sizes larger than Val’s own.
“It’s not Grace. We wear the same size.”
“Has to be Hess. There’s another set near the driveway. Smaller. Probably Carla.”
Val compared the prints. The two sets, one markedly larger, were likely Grace and Brad. “But if the kids ran for the woods…”
“Hess is heading in the opposite direction.”
“Exactly. But I can’t see him just giving up.”
Val squinted in the direction the other footprints led. The forest. The ridge. No neighbors. Nowhere to run for help. Unless…
Dead Too Soon: A Thriller (Val Ryker series Book 3) Page 4
