by Lisa Harris
“Why did IDing the call take so long?” Nikki asked.
“The call came through on a prepaid cell phone,” the sergeant said, “and he must’ve been indoors. The operator wasn’t able to get a location.”
He pulled out his smartphone and played the file.
911. What is your emergency?
I need help. They’re going to kill me.
What is your location, sir? . . . Sir, I need you to tell me your location so I can send someone to help you.
My wife . . . Lucy . . . Please . . . you have to find her . . .
His voice sounded panicked. Someone scuffled in the background. Then nothing.
“So the wife was kidnapped?” Nikki asked.
“Implying there was a third intruder,” Jack added.
“Agreed, but this is all we’ve got,” the sergeant said. “That and the fact that he was using a prepaid cell instead of his regular phone when he called 911, which is also odd.”
“Is the rest of the house trashed like the living room?” Nikki asked.
Dillard nodded. “Most of it. Yes.”
“A typical burglar uses a search pattern—master bedroom, bathroom, living room—a quick sweep for electronics and valuables,” Jack said. “No more than a minute to break in, and out in under ten. But in this case, the entire place is trashed, and they certainly didn’t try to cover their tracks.”
“Because they were looking for something specific,” Nikki said.
She worked through the limited information the sergeant had just given them. What had been worth searching for that had ended up costing them their lives?
“But something still seems off,” she continued. “Going with the theory that the homeowner killed a couple intruders and ran, my question is why run? If Mr. Hudson owned two guns, legally, he should have known that when facing imminent danger of death, he’s allowed to use deadly force. If this was a simple burglary, he had every right to defend his property.”
“And if he did run, where is he now?” Jack asked. “And what did he mean, you have to find her?”
“Those are the questions I’m hoping the two of you will help us answer,” Sergeant Dillard said.
“What do you know about the Hudsons?” Nikki asked.
“I’ve got officers canvassing the neighborhood now. From the limited information we’ve been able to gather so far, we know a couple things. As of eight this morning, Lucy’s boss told us she didn’t show up for work, which apparently isn’t like her. Same is true for her husband. He never showed up at work today.”
“What else do you know about them?” Nikki asked. With every missing person case, time was of the essence. They needed to get through the basic facts as quickly as possible.
The sergeant flipped open his notebook. “The profile I have so far is sketchy. No children. No family in the area. They were friendly to their neighbors, though kept to themselves. According to the next-door neighbor, Mac Hudson is a research scientist who works for Byrne Laboratories. Lucy’s a kindergarten schoolteacher who works a couple miles down the road where she’s been teaching the past five or six years.”
“And beyond this 911 call, no one heard anything?” Nikki asked.
“At least two of the neighbors are retired and on vacation. The weather’s been pretty warm the past few days, which means people have their windows shut and their air-conditioners on.”
She picked up an eight-by-ten framed wedding picture of the couple off the mantel. They looked happy. Content. Lucy smiled up at the camera beside her husband, a radiant bride with her ebony skin, long, straight hair, and a stunning white dress.
Nikki set the photo back down and glanced around the living room. The neutral-colored throw pillows on the grey suede couch had been ripped open. Accent pieces from the coffee table had been knocked to the floor, and an embroidered wall hanging that said “Happily Ever After” had fallen to the ground, its glass cover shattered.
Something had gone terribly wrong in their fairy-tale world.
“What about their cars?” Jack asked.
“Mac’s car is still in the garage. Lucy’s is gone.”
“And who initially made the 911 call this morning?” Nikki asked.
“A neighbor found their two dogs wandering around her yard and realized no one was home. She went into the backyard planning to lock them up in the house with the spare key the Hudsons had given her and discovered the dead bodies.”
“I’d like to see the rest of the house,” Nikki said. “Then we can talk to the neighbor.”
They started toward the back of the house to the master bedroom. Once again, the room had been ransacked, but makeup, toothbrushes, and a contact lens case were still sitting on the bathroom sink. If either of them had run, they hadn’t taken the time to take anything with them.
The second room had been set up as an office and looked even more disheveled than the master bedroom. Files were scattered across the floor, alongside books and reference materials. A broken laptop lay on top of the pile.
“The last room is an unfinished nursery,” the sergeant said as they moved on. “Doesn’t look like it was touched.”
The room was empty except for a pile of baby clothes, a bassinet covered with white lace, and a few baby blankets.
“Is Lucy pregnant?” Nikki asked.
“If she is, no one has mentioned it,” the sergeant said. “Our crime scene unit will finish going through the house, then we’ll pass on whatever we find.”
“Great,” Nikki said. “What’s the name of the neighbor who called 911?”
The sergeant glanced at his note pad. “Colleen Jeffers. She lives in the house next door. She’s pretty shaken, considering she was the one to discover the bodies. According to her, she and Mrs. Hudson are good friends. Last time I saw her, she was standing on her front porch.”
“Sergeant Dillard?”
Someone from the other room called the officer.
“I need to go for now,” he said. “We’ll keep you in the loop.”
Jack glanced at his phone as they headed for the front door, then shoved it into his back pocket.
“If you need to take a call . . . ,” Nikki said.
“It’s nothing.”
“Am I missing something here?” Nikki stopped beside him on the porch, pulled off her gloves and booties, and handed them to one of the officers. “Your phone’s been going off every five minutes.”
“It’s nobody,” he said.
“You met someone?” she asked.
Jack frowned. “I didn’t say anything about meeting someone.”
“You didn’t have to. I can see it in your eyes.” Nikki grinned at him as they headed for the neighbor’s house. At nine o’clock, the temperature was already rising. It was going to be another hot, humid day.
“Fine. I went to see a different allergist a couple of weeks ago,” Jack said, matching her pace. “We hit it off and have gone out a couple times. End of story.”
“And the real reason you went to be retested. Hmm . . .” She glanced at his profile. “Though I sense a ‘but’ coming.”
“I don’t know yet. She’s beautiful. Stunning, actually. But she might be a bit needy. She won’t stop calling me.” Jack tugged on the end of his tie. “Back to our case, what do you think?”
“You’re changing the subject,” Nikki said.
“You bet I am.”
Nikki’s phone rang. Gwen was on the line. She answered the call and put it on speakerphone.
“Carter caught me up on what’s going on from this end. I’ve been trying to trace the Hudsons’ phones and finally got a hit on the husband’s,” Gwen said.
“Where is it?” Jack asked.
“At a marina about fifteen minutes from where you are. The Royal Harbor Marina. I’m sending you the address now.”
“That’s okay,” Nikki said. “I know the place.”
Seventeen minutes later, Jack pulled into the marina parking lot while Nikki got Gwen back on the phone.
“Tell me what we’re looking for, Gwen. There are a couple hundred boats, a restaurant . . .”
“Give me a second . . . Take the left pier and head toward the end of the dock. I’ll get you as close as I can.”
Nikki hurried in the direction Gwen gave them, with Jack right behind her. The full-service marina would be crowded and noisy on the weekend, especially in the summer, but for the middle of the week, it was fairly quiet. Dozens of boats filled the slips they passed, primarily small sailboats and a few larger yachts.
She stopped and told Gwen where they were.
“Another fifty feet or so,” Gwen said. “End of the pier.”
Nikki continued down the pier, then stopped in front of the forty-foot boat. “Wait a minute. Are you sure? This can’t be the boat.”
“What do you mean?” Jack asked. “You recognize the boat?”
“Yeah.” An odd sense of dread swept over Nikki. “It’s the Isabella.”
“That’s got to be it,” Gwen said. “Looks like it’s registered to . . . Tyler Grant?”
Nikki’s mind whirled with confusion. “Yes, it’s his.” Images of Tyler and her best friend, Katie, flooded her.
Gwen was silent. Jack’s initial look of shock turned to concern.
“Tyler’s been planning to sell the boat,” Nikki said, “but as far as I know he’s not even been back since Katie died. We’re here now. I’ll call you back in a minute.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and breathed in the damp, sweet smell of the lake. Tyler had inherited the boat from his father. Before his wife, Katie, had died, they’d spent every free day they could out on the water, often inviting her to come with them. Cutting the ties of someone you cared about, even though they were gone, wasn’t easy. Which was why selling the boat was another piece of closure Tyler had yet to conquer.
The three of them—Tyler, Katie, and their son Liam—had gone sailing last spring. Everything had seemed perfect. Tyler was home from the Middle East and had promised Katie he wasn’t going on another tour. They were awaiting their second child, and Liam had been over the moon with the news of a baby brother. They hadn’t decided on a name yet. At four months along in the pregnancy, there had been plenty of time to choose one.
Or so they’d thought.
Katie had been feeling off that week. Tired of feeling nauseated. Tired of feeling tired. Tyler had thought a day on the water would make her feel better. His guilt over that decision had yet to completely fade. He believed it was his job to protect Katie, and yet he hadn’t been able to keep her from dying. She’d slipped, hit her head, then fell over the edge of the boat. By the time Tyler managed to pull her out, she was already gone.
“Nikki?” Jack’s voice pulled Nikki back to the present. “What’s the connection between Tyler and our missing couple?”
She opened her eyes and shook her head. “None that I know of.”
Which was why it didn’t make sense. Why would Mac and Lucy Hudson’s disappearance lead them to Tyler’s boat? Shoving the questions aside for the moment, she stepped onto the boat ahead of Jack.
She stepped down into the cabin, taking in the details of the familiar room. Michael Grant had spared no expense when he bought the boat over a decade ago, eventually willing it to his son. Cherry cabinetry, leather seating, and an updated drop-down flat screen TV. But none of those things had her attention.
For the second time today, the scent of death filled her nostrils. Her mind tried to process the scene in front of her. Blood pooled on the carpeted floor. And Tyler Grant hovered over a man’s lifeless body.
Acknowledgments
I’m always so grateful to those who work alongside me in the writing of a new story. It truly takes a village.Thanks to my wonderful editors, Andrea, Barb, and Ellen, for helping me take my stories to the next level. To the team at Revell . . . you all rock! Thanks for everything you do to get the word out about my books. A huge thanks to Eric and Janet for helping me with the rappelling scene and ensuring my police procedure is accurate. Any mistakes are all my own! And lastly to my wonderful family, who stands by and supports me while I write. Love you guys!!!
Lisa Harris is a bestselling author, a Christy Award finalist for Blood Ransom, Christy Award winner for Dangerous Passage, and the winner of the Best Inspirational Suspense Novel for 2011 from Romantic Times. She has sold over thirty novels and novella collections. Along with her husband, she and her three children have spent over twelve years living as missionaries in Africa, where she homeschools, leads a women’s group, and runs a nonprofit organization that works alongside their church-planting ministry. The ECHO Project works in southern Africa promoting Education, Compassion, Health, and Opportunity and is a way for her to “speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves . . . the poor and helpless, and see that they get justice” (Prov. 31:8–9).
When she’s not working, she loves hanging out with her family, cooking different ethnic dishes, photography, and heading into the African bush on safari. For more information about her books and life in Africa, visit her website at www.lisaharriswrites.com or her blog at http://myblogintheheartofafrica.blogspot.com. For more information about The ECHO Project, please visit www.theECHOproject.org.
Books by Lisa Harris
SOUTHERN CRIMES
Dangerous Passage
Fatal Exchange
Hidden Agenda
THE NIKKI BOYD FILES
Vendetta
lisaharriswrites.com
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