“I just got an anonymous tip.”
“Anonymous?” Lund asked.
“Let me guess,” Val said to Oneida. “Kasdorf himself.”
“Pretty sure.”
Lund’s brows arched. “Huh. He must hate Hess even more than he hates cops.”
A stroke of luck. They could use some luck.
Lund accelerated over the hill, and the worn red of Kasdorf’s barn peeked through trees and falling sleet. Since the last snowplow pass, only a few vehicles had left tire tracks on this lonely section of road. Only one set of tracks trailed in then out of the ruts in Kasdorf’s dirt drive.
Lund pulled as far to the shoulder as possible and stopped, letting the armored truck pass.
Concentrating hard, Val managed to force her fingers to function well enough to pull the Glock from her holster and transfer it into her left hand. It was doubtful the ERT would need her help, but doing nothing while Grace was in danger wasn’t an option.
Val pushed open the door, and a gust of ice-laden wind swept into the car. She hoisted herself out into the weather, plunging ankle deep into snow and half sliding into the ditch. She grasped the door to keep her balance.
Lund got out of the car as well and waited for her at the rutted dirt driveway. He offered her his arm.
She didn’t take it.
The tactical team swarmed through the trees and stone foundation, all that was left of the old house. Then they zeroed in on the barn. Val and Lund were still a good distance away when they breached the structure, and Val realized she was holding her breath.
No gunshots.
No sound at all.
She pushed herself to walk faster.
Val’s radio crackled to life. “Chief Ryker? We found Bradley Haselow. You might want to get in here.”
No mention of Grace. That couldn’t be good. Val met Lund’s eyes. “You’ll locate Kasdorf?”
“Yes.”
Last time Lund had tried to save the man, he’d almost gotten shot for his efforts. Another firefighter had and ended up in the hospital. “Be careful.”
“With Kasdorf? Always.”
Val ran to the barn. At least as close as she could get to running.
Although the sky outside was far from bright, the inside of the structure was dark by comparison. Several seconds passed before her eyes adjusted.
Cobwebs draped from corners, thickened by dust. Bird nests clung to low ceiling beams. The concrete driveway was wet with condensation and stained by droppings.
Val focused on the pile of moldy hay where Brad Haselow lay. The teen’s face glistened with sweat and twisted in pain. A deputy leaned over him, applying pressure to the boy’s side, his sweatshirt dark with blood. Grace’s scarf wrapped one of his long legs.
Val knelt at his side. “Brad. It’s okay now. We got you.”
Tears streamed from the outer corners of his eyes and trailed down his throat. “I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t…”
“Take it easy, son,” Vaughan said. “We’re here now.”
Val held up a hand. There was one question she needed to ask. One answer she was afraid to hear. “Where is Grace?”
No words. Only tears.
A hollow void opened up in Val’s chest.
“She’s not in the barn. Not down here, not up in the hayloft,” the commander said.
“Outside?”
“We’re searching the woods now. But Chief? That’s virgin snow. And there are no tracks except those in the yard and driveway.”
“Gone.”
The word was so quiet Val couldn’t be sure Brad had spoken. “What was that, Brad?”
“Gone,” the boy repeated. Then more tears. “Dixon Hess took her.”
Val couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. She’d tried so hard to protect Grace. She would have willingly given her life.
She’d failed.
And now she had no idea how she would go on.
Chapter
Ten
Lund
When Lund heard the ERT commander on the radio, saying they’d found Brad Haselow in the barn, no mention of Grace, he hadn’t been willing to absorb it. As he stepped into the barn and saw Val hunched over Brad in the dim light, the blow hit him for the first time.
“Val?”
She twisted toward his voice, her expression as empty and grasping as Lund felt. “What is it?”
“I found Kasdorf.”
“He saw Grace?”
“I don’t know. But if you don’t get out there, I’m pretty sure he’s going to get himself shot.”
“You’re going to be okay, Brad. You are. And we’re going to find her. Don’t worry.” Val struggled to her feet and limped to the door.
More than anything, Lund wanted to help, to wrap his arm around her, to let her lean on him. But he knew Val. She wouldn’t want comfort, and she wouldn’t want that kind of help. She would want to take steps, to do something.
“Follow me,” he said.
“Make way,” a male voice called from outside. Emergency Medical Technician Oscar Carruthers bulled his way through the door.
“Take good care of him, okay, Oscar?” Val said.
The old EMT glanced from Lund to Val. “Of course we will. You worry about yourselves. Both of you. Looks like you need it.”
Baker followed with a stretcher, and Val and Lund cleared out to give them room.
What was once snow and then sleet had mostly changed to rain. Cold rain. Val raised her hood. Lund let it patter down on his hair. The snow was already decaying under the onslaught, but there was still enough on the ground to make walking a chore.
Lund circled the old foundation and moved into the forest, scanning evergreen mingled with the naked branches of maple and birch. “He’s up in a tree.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“He’s Kasdorf. What can I say?”
“How did you find him?”
“I didn’t. Crazy bastard found me, as always.”
They walked farther into the forest, the jumbled voices of cops and EMTs fading behind them. Lund was just about to call out when a voice came from above.
“I told you. I don’t want to be involved.”
Lund looked up and spotted the gun’s barrel. A Remington Model 798 with a Leupold scope. He focused on the grizzled face behind the weapon.
Val moved her hand to her holster. “Put the gun down, Kasdorf.”
Kasdorf didn’t move.
Lund had found few things as viscerally terrifying as having a gun focused on him. Even though Val was armed, if Kasdorf wanted to take them out, she wouldn’t be able to draw her gun fast enough to make a difference. Add that to Kasdorf’s history of shooting first responders, and what was a very bad day could easily become worse in a blink.
“All I want to do is talk,” Val said. “But the tactical team, they are itching to shoot something, and if they see you drawing bead on a police chief, you’re going down. Whether you want to be involved or not.”
Kasdorf made a sound halfway between a growl and a groan, then lowered his weapon.
“Good choice,” Lund said.
“My niece was here. I need to know what you saw.”
“I said I don’t want to get involved.”
“I didn’t want my seventeen-year-old niece to be kidnapped by a killer, either. Now talk.”
“I didn’t see who took her.”
“But you talked to her.”
“Yeah.”
“And you called 911,” Lund added.
Kasdorf shifted uncomfortably in his tree stand.
“You did, didn’t you?”
“She asked me to.”
Val nodded. “Because Dixon Hess was following her and her boyfriend?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you see Dixon Hess?”
“Nope. I was making the call.”
Lund let out a derisive snort. “Give me a break. You didn’t see anything because you were making a phone call?”
&nb
sp; “I don’t exactly use a cell phone any damn fool can listen in on, do I? I didn’t see him.”
Lund had to wonder if a few well-aimed punches would refresh Kasdorf’s memory. Probably smart of the nut to climb a tree.
“So you left to make a call,” Val continued. “And where was Grace the last time you saw her?”
“Back in the barn with the other kid.”
“She’s not there now.”
“I know.”
Lund was this far from doing something really stupid, even though he was the only one who was unarmed. “Answers, Kasdorf. What happened to Grace?”
“When I came back up, all I saw was an ambulance driving off.”
“Ambulance?” Val and Lund exchanged glances. That was it. The mystery ambulance from the bus crash. “What EMS?”
“I don’t know.”
“Red? Dark blue? Light blue? Black and yellow?” Val prompted, listing the colors used by districts in the area. “Stripes or a solid color?”
“Green. Or red. Maybe a dark orange. Kind of zigzagged, I guess.”
Lund shook his head. “Could you be more unclear?”
“I’m telling the truth.”
“You’re color-blind, aren’t you?” Val said.
“Listen, Grace is a nice girl, and you know I got no love for Hess. That’s what I saw. I can’t tell the color better than that.”
“Maybe we should go to the station and see if we can get together some photos, help you remember a bit more detail,” Val said.
“I ain’t going to your police station.” Kasdorf started to raise the rifle.
“Put it down. I still owe you a beating for shooting Sandoval, and I don’t need much of an excuse.” An empty threat in the face of that rifle, but it made Lund feel better all the same.
Kasdorf lowered the weapon. For now.
“Tell you what, I’ll give you a choice.” Val’s tone was calm but firm. “You meet me there in an hour, and I’ll make sure the whole process is very easy and brief.”
“Or?”
“Or I ask the tactical team to bring you in, and you can enjoy the county’s hospitality for a bit. I’m pretty sure I can get a warrant to search the place while you’re detained.”
Kasdorf stared at them.
Lund had had it. He wanted to hit something, and Kasdorf’s face would make a good stress reliever. “I suppose now you’re going to say you were lying about the ambulance. That you saw nothing at all.”
“I ain’t lying,” Kasdorf said. “And I’ll be there in an hour and a half. You find that ambulance, and you find the girl.”
Grace
The world was swaying.
Grace lay facedown on the stretcher, each bump, curve, and turn in the road making the ambulance pitch and roll like a boat on rough water. Tears swamped her eyes and soaked into the sheet under her.
Brad was dead. She knew it.
And Grace would be, too. Soon enough.
All Aunt Val’s training, all the safety plans they’d practiced, all the time spent shooting at the range, and none of it had done any good. When it came down to actually facing Hess, Grace had frozen. She’d said the wrong things. She’d let everyone down.
She closed her eyes, but that didn’t stop the tears. She tensed her muscles, but her trembling persisted. She thought about each thing that had happened. The bus crash and the knock on the door. The shotgun and the dash through the woods. Leaving Brad in the barn.
If only it were a nightmare, and she could drift back to sleep, change things.
What if she’d walked down the steps shooting before Hess had gotten the chance to start the fire? What if she’d brought Kasdorf back to the barn with her instead of asking him to make a phone call? Could she have saved Brad? Would she now be on her way to the hospital or home instead of this?
The ambulance made a sharp turn, then bounced and jolted uphill over rough terrain. A stop. Then slow movement. Finally another stop and the engine silenced its rumble.
They’d arrived.
Grace was afraid to know where.
Time passed, Grace wasn’t sure how much. The muscles in her back and shoulders started to cramp. Her shakiness subsided, replaced by a fatigue so deep it was all she could do to keep her eyes open. She wanted to sleep, to stop thinking. She wanted to be numb.
Head facing the wall, Grace couldn’t see the ambulance door open, but she heard the sound. Light streamed in.
“Hi, Grace. You comfortable?” Not Hess. Carla. Her voice carried a mocking tone.
Grace didn’t answer.
Carla climbed up into the ambulance and stopped beside the stretcher. “I hope you’re comfortable. I’d sure hate to think I tied you too tight.” Carla grabbed Grace’s arm and pulled her up to her knees.
Pain shot through Grace’s shoulders and centered at the hard plastic band grinding her wrists together. “Ow.”
“That didn’t work for you? How about this?” Carla took a fistful of Grace’s hair, wrapped it around her hand, and jerked her head back. “Better?”
“What do you want with me?”
“What do I want? I want you dead.”
“Then what are you waiting for?”
“I want my son back more.”
As much as Grace wanted to get out of there, the thought of that sweet little boy at the mercy of Carla and Hess made her feel sick. “You’re not going to get him back.”
“Oh? I think your aunt might have something to say about that.”
“Aunt Val isn’t going to just hand him over.”
“Hand him over? He’s mine. I’m his fucking mother.”
“He’s safe from you now.”
“Safe? You think you’re so smart. Do you know what happens to kids in foster care?”
Grace hadn’t thought about it, not really. She knew one girl in school who lived with a foster family, and she seemed okay. “It’s better than being with you.”
“You little bitch.” Carla shoved Grace forward, smacking her head into compartments along the ambulance wall.
The force clanged through Grace’s skull. The tang of blood filled her mouth.
“Are you going to shut up now?”
Grace managed a nod.
Hand still entwined in Grace’s hair, Carla jerked her up to her feet and steered her out of the ambulance.
They were inside some kind of brick building with high ceilings. Gray cinderblock sealed the spots where arched windows should be. A balcony surrounded the space, like some sort of ancient ballroom. Dust swirled in the glow of artificial lights.
Surrounding the ambulance were additional vehicles—two police cars and a small fire rescue truck. There were other things, too. Tall tables and ornate chairs. An ancient-looking statue of a clown and one of an elephant. A set of velvet ropes like Grace had seen in theaters. The air was oppressively still and smelled like musty old basement mixed with tar.
Carla marched Grace between vehicles to a door, the sign overhead proclaiming it the ticket booth. She opened the door and pushed Grace inside. The ticket booth was small, the size of a large closet, and a skinny, queen-size mattress lay on the floor, nearly filling the cramped space. An old heating radiator ran along one wall, its white paint dirty and chipped. A heavy chain encircled the radiator’s fins, and dangling from that chain was a set of handcuffs.
Carla released her hold on Grace’s hair and gave a hard shove.
Unable to catch herself, Grace’s knees hit the mattress hard enough to feel the smack of concrete beneath, then she flopped facedown.
The mattress was even thinner than it looked, a foam pad with a fabric cover. The scent of old sweat and urine and God knew what made her gag.
“I worked so hard,” Carla was saying, “so hard, and you almost ruined it all.”
A sharp pain drove into Grace’s ribs. She gasped for breath and tried to roll away.
Another kick landed, then another.
Grace shifted onto her side and curled into a ball under the ons
laught. Carla was still talking, but Grace couldn’t make out the words.
“Carla, get out.” Hess’s voice cut hard, brutal.
The blows stopped.
Grace blinked, trying to focus, able to make out nothing besides the dim room and the dirty mattress.
“I was just…”
“You just can’t resist fucking things up, can you?” Hess said.
Grace cringed, ready for the blows to resume. Although from Hess they would be sharper, harder, like the slice of his blade. She closed her eyes, her face jammed into the smelly mattress.
A strong grip closed over her arm. She heard a sharp chhkk sound, then a crack, like a knife slicing through…
Her wrists were free. Her fingers tingled, then stung, blood rushing back to her hands. Then something hard and cold closed back around her right wrist.
One of the handcuffs she’d seen hanging from the chain around the heat register.
“Flip over. I want to see you.”
Grace didn’t move.
It didn’t matter. A simple tug, and she was staring up at Dixon Hess.
His face looked ordinary, even what some would consider attractive. Sturdy cheekbones. Nice lips. Straight, white teeth. His size and build were average. His arms strong, but nowhere near muscle-bound. It was only when you looked into his eyes that you saw it.
Cold.
Dead.
This man was a monster.
“Are you all right?”
“Why do you care?”
“Carla blames you for the loss of my son.” He held a knife in his hand, the knife he must have used to cut the plastic tie. The steel glinted in the artificial light.
Grace couldn’t breathe. She also couldn’t look away. For over a year, she’d had nightmares about Hess holding a blade just like this, bringing it to her throat, killing her with a flick of his wrist.
“You’re nothing. Your aunt is the one to blame,” Hess said.
“This time she’s going to kill you.”
“You really think she’s up to it? I mean, I know she probably hates me. It’s her physical condition I’m concerned about.”
Grace’s throat was so dry. She tried swallowing but ended up coughing instead. He couldn’t know, could he? How could he possibly know?
“That whole nonsense about the Haselow kid not being your boyfriend. You think it was a coincidence that out of all the kids on that bus, I took him?”
Dead Too Soon: A Thriller (Val Ryker series Book 3) Page 6
