Sins of the Father

by Winter Austin

  Had she been too hard on him in the last few days? After all, he was her father, and through all the blustering and attitude, he only wanted what was best for her. Wasn’t that the root of everything he did and said? He didn’t want to fail.

  Jolie pulled into the drive, slowly put the car in park, and stared at the house. The truth was as plain as the day was long: Dad had already failed someone. His own son. Instead of being more sympathetic to the young man who’d lost a friend, Dad had turned off his empathy and became a drill sergeant, completely destroying the bond he’d had with Ian. Was that empathy completely gone? Was there any thread of the bond she’d had with her father left?

  Shaking her head, she exited the car. Only one way to find out.

  Making a quick assessment of her parents’ property—these instincts and habits were becoming ingrained—she approached the house cautiously. Nothing was out of place, and a peek into the open garage showed both vehicles parked inside, meaning they were home. All the better for Jolie if Mom was here. She could help corral Dad.

  Entering the house through the back like she normally did, Jolie closed the door with a clap. Silence greeted her entry. The kitchen was unoccupied, but a mug sat forlornly on the edge of the breakfast bar. She frowned at the unusual sight; her mother kept a meticulous house. Usually if Mom was using a cup or mug, she’d set it in a special spot near the toaster to keep it out of the way, but that spot was empty. Dad would carry his around the house until he finished whatever he was drinking and then set it in the sink. Rolling up onto her tiptoes, she peered in the sink and spotted a glass.

  “Mom? Dad?”

  With her greeting gone unanswered, Jolie’s hand settled on the butt of her gun, and she unsnapped the strap. Palming the gun for a quick draw, she inched her way through the kitchen, peeking into the mug and finding it half filled with coffee. Jolie poked a finger into the liquid. Lukewarm. Sidestepping the breakfast bar, she crept into the dining room. The air in the place felt off, weird to her.

  “Mom. Dad. Are you in the house?”

  Maybe she was overreacting after today’s discovery and her fight with Xavier. After all, neither of her parents would ever let their guard down after what happened with Ian. Both may have gone outside to check on the cattle. Or to tend Mom’s garden.

  But as she passed the dining room’s only window that happened to look out at the garden, no one was there; not even the chickens were scratching around in it. She lifted the gun clear of the holster and began her search. Clicking her radio, she hailed Jennings.

  “Dispatch, I’m at the Murdoch residence, and I’m not getting good vibes. Copy.”

  “‘Good vibes’ meaning what?”

  “Jennings, something is wrong in my parents’ home. Send another unit.”

  “Ten-four.”

  Jolie cleared the dining and living rooms. Keeping the hall wall to her back, she stared up at the staircase. Indecision weighed heavily on her; go up and clear the rooms, or stay down here, clear the office and then get the hell out of the house?

  Something thumped in the office, and her indecision fled. She hurried forward, swung around the corner, pausing long enough to check the small bathroom under the staircase—empty—and then with the gun preceding her, she gave the partially open door a slight push with her fingers. It swung open on quiet hinges. Jolie eased forward a step, taming her breathing and the panic pressing at the corners of her mind, then another step, until she was inside the room.

  “Mom!” Protocol be damned. Jolie rushed to her bound and gagged mother. “What happened?”

  She dragged the gag out of her mother’s mouth. “Jolie, run.”

  “What? No. Mom, what’s going on? Where’s Dad?”

  Her mother’s eyes widened as she gasped.

  Jolie started to rotate on the balls of her feet. Blinding pain at the base of her skull consumed her, and she toppled forward. The pain faded as blackness swallowed her whole.

  • • •

  Xavier glared at Hamilton. “I’m telling you, Clint was already dead when I found him.”

  “Then who killed him?”

  “I don’t know for sure. But the kid I saw leaning away from him with the knife in his hand was Anthony Maddox.”

  “Then what?” Hamilton asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Hartmann, ‘I don’t know’ isn’t helping us any. Did you happen to remember if you grabbed the knife out of Anthony’s hand, which would explain your fingerprints on the handle? Or if you scared the kid off, he dropped the knife, and you went to aid Clint? Give me something to work with here, because what you’ve told me doesn’t prove you didn’t do it. As it is with your faulty memory, that’s a whole lot of nothing.”

  It had taken a long time for someone to come back here to check on Xavier after Jolie abruptly left. Apparently she hadn’t told the sheriff he’d remembered something. Now, with Hamilton’s questions, everything was blurring. Was he wrong? Had what he seen in his head been something he conjured? For all he knew, he’d forced a memory that wasn’t real to appease Jolie’s plea to prove his innocence.

  Shoulders sagging, he sighed and returned to flop down on the cot once more. “It was worth a shot, I guess. Sorry to have wasted your time, Sheriff.”

  “Hartmann, it wasn’t—”

  “Sir, sorry to interrupt,” Jennings said, blowing into the holding area, his features tight, a look of panic in his eyes. “But Murdoch called in for backup. I’ve tried hailing her to let her know Nash is on his way, and I’m getting no response.”

  Xavier bounced up off the cot and hurried to the bars. “Why would she call for backup? Where’d she go?”

  Both men glanced at him and then disregarded his questions.

  “Where she’s at, she can’t lose reception,” Hamilton said. “Try again.”

  Jennings nodded and exited as quickly as he’d entered.

  Hamilton’s gaze swept to Xavier. “Did she come back here any time after you were locked up?”

  “Yes, she stormed in here demanding I remember what happened, telling me she knew that Clint had been in the park that evening to save Sarah, but that something went wrong and somehow I got caught up in it. She begged me to remember how I got another concussion, which, to tell you the truth, is beginning to nag at me. There was no way for Clint, or even Anthony, to cause that.”

  As Xavier spoke, Hamilton inched closer to the cell. “How did she know what Clint was actually doing in the park?”

  “She didn’t tell you? She claimed she had new ‘light’ on it but wouldn’t tell me what exactly, because she needed to tell you first.”

  “What the hell is that girl thinking?” Hamilton stalked away from the cell, spun around, and glared back at Xavier. “I was under the impression she left the interview with Sarah’s mother and came straight to my office. Then again, I wondered why Wendi and the gal with her were gone by the time Jolie left here.”

  Xavier’s grip on the bars tightened. “Sir, where did she go?”

  He didn’t get an answer as Jennings returned. “She’s still not answering. And I activated the GPS tracker on the car; it’s still parked in her last location.”

  “What about the tracker on the radio unit?”

  Jennings sighed. “Same, sir.”

  “Call Nash, advise him to be on alert. Get ready to roll.”

  Once more, Jennings exited like a bat out of hell. Hamilton regarded Xavier, and he didn’t like the look on the sheriff’s face. “Did she mention anything about Grace Maddox?”

  “No. She was focused on Clint and Sarah.”

  “How was she acting when she left you?”

  “Pissed. Because I wasn’t giving her what she needed. She never told you what I said?”

  “Not a thing.” Hamilton rubbed his chin, his eyes shuttered. “None of this makes sense in regards to where she went.”

  “Which was?” Xavier’s fingers ached from the strain of clenching the bars. If only they were Hamilton’s n
eck. He was so angry at him for dragging this shit out.

  “You do realize you’re suspect number one in the killing of Clint Kruger? I have no obligation to tell you a thing about where Deputy Murdoch has gone.”

  “No, but you damn well know she means a lot to me, too much to leave me in the dark, especially when she might be in trouble.”

  “True. But I’m having a hard time believing she’s in trouble at her known location.”

  “Okay, you arsehole! Just spit it out already. Where the hell did Jolie go?”

  “She’s supposed to be at her parents’, breaking the bad news about Grace Maddox to her father. She insisted on being the one to tell him.”

  “Why?”

  “How the hell should I know? She’s Murdoch’s daughter.”

  “Sir, we’re ready,” Jennings called down the hall.

  Hamilton remained where he stood, his attention never leaving Xavier. “Sit tight, Hartmann, and try to get that memory of yours to work. Murdoch was right about one thing: whatever key you hold to breaking this thing wide open is locked up in that brain of yours. Think hard on how you got that concussion.”

  • • •

  The first thing to assault Jolie was the smell of earth. Damp clay and loam. This was odd. Why would she be smelling dirt? Then the pain exploded in her head, making all wayward thoughts flee. Moaning, she clutched the back of her head. Her fingertips brushed the tender spot at the base of her skull, finding a huge knot there.

  What happened?

  Nausea hit her like a ton of bricks. She had less than a second to rear up before she vomited. Over and over, until her stomach had emptied. Spitting out the taste of bile, Jolie gasped for breath, wincing as every move she made caused lightning bolts to rip through her skull.

  Wherever she was, it was pitch-black. Dry earth shifted under her knees. She gently patted the ground. It was all dirt. The smell was like being in an old cellar, the kind she and Ian used to discover under old, abandoned farmhouses.

  The pain receded to a constant throb. Shifting her body a little, her toes dug deep into the crumbly dirt. Great, she was barefoot. Slowly, she inched back from her vomit and eased down onto her butt, tucking her legs crisscross under her body. Her duty belt was gone and the radio, too. Whoever hit her in the back of the head and brought her here was smart enough to know those things would aid her in getting free or help the sheriff and crew track her down.

  So, who would know that?

  Her stomach roiled again. Jolie took rapid, shallow breaths, letting out pitiful sounds as she tried to quell the storm in her gut.

  “Are you okay?” a voice whispered through the dark.

  Stiffening, Jolie turned her head in the direction she heard the whisper. “Who’s there?”

  There was a rustling sound followed by a soft grunt, then through the dark came the feel of fingers touching her hair. Jolie’s palm shot up, and she grasped the hand. The owner of the hand stiffened but didn’t try to pull free.

  “My name’s Sarah.”

  The pain and misery battering Jolie’s body fled as a surge of joy raced through her veins. “Sarah.” She scrambled around, her hand following the contours of the girl’s hand and arm. “You’re alive. Thank God.”

  “Do I know you?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. I’m Deputy Jolie Murdoch of the McIntire County Sheriff’s Department. We’ve been trying to find you.”

  The girl gave a soft sob and then somehow found a way to hug Jolie. Clinging to Sarah, Jolie let her hands roam the girl’s body to ensure she was whole and hale.

  “Sarah, is there a light somewhere in here?”

  “He keeps a lantern near the door. I can’t reach it, but you can.”

  She wanted to ask Sarah who “he” was, but she needed to get a good look at their surroundings first. “Which direction do I need to go?”

  Sarah patted Jolie’s left shoulder, ran her hand down her arm, and lifted Jolie’s, pointing it left.

  Okay, she could do this. Using whatever it was that Sarah was sitting on—it felt sort of like a bed—Jolie hauled her body upright. Bright spots flashed on the edges of her vision, bringing with it a renewed wave of pain. Fighting through it, she carefully navigated the length of the bed, letting her hand swing in front of her until it made contact with what she assumed was a stone wall. Gradually, Jolie felt her way along it, meeting the rough texture of wood. Picking up a few splinters as she rubbed her fingers against the wood, her hand met another wall. Here she flailed around, eventually cracking her knuckles into a shelf, causing metal to rattle. As she patted the top of the shelf, she bumped a box. God, let those be matches. Taking hold of it, she resisted the urge to shout for joy.

  Matches.

  After a bit of trial and error, she got one to light, and lit the wick. Swinging the lantern around, Jolie froze at the sight that met her.

  Sarah was dressed only in a nightgown no self-respecting woman would be caught dead in. Her skin was filthy, her hair ratty and pulled back from her face in ponytail. Jolie’s heart shattered at the darkened circles on Sarah’s face and along her arms. What truly sickened her was the metal cuff on the girl’s ankle, shackling her to a piece of curved rebar anchored in the stone wall. That was why Sarah couldn’t reach the lantern; she could barely reach the metal bucket that was probably meant to be her toilet.

  “Oh, sweetie.” Jolie hobbled over to the girl and sat on the bed next to her, gathering the girl into her arms.

  Sarah sobbed. Jolie held on to her. Whatever man had done this to Sarah was going to have every finger broken, his limbs slashed open, and his guts ripped out. Jolie would not finish until he was good and dead.

  When the girl had spent her last tear, she drew back. Jolie got a better look at her, the huge bruises on Sarah’s face fueling the flames of rage.

  “Who did this? Who kidnapped you and did this to you, Sarah?”

  The girl’s jawline went rigid, and she shook her head. Who could have put so much fear into her she wouldn’t readily spew his name?

  “Do you know him?”

  Sarah averted her gaze. Jolie wanted to catch the girl’s chin in her hand and make her look at her, but she wasn’t about to inflict any more harm. Instead, she examined the bruises on Sarah’s bare arms; some looked like marks made by a crushing grip. But inside her elbow, there were bruises not made by any hand. A needle made these.

  “He drugged you?”

  Sarah’s gaze darted back to Jolie and then down.

  Oh, hell and damnation was going to befall this man the moment he returned. And Jolie knew in her gut he was coming back for her. She found a safe place to set the lantern and gently settled her hands on each side of Sarah’s face. When the girl’s eyes locked with hers, Jolie brushed the pad of her thumbs along Sarah’s cheekbones.

  “Did he rape you?”

  Sarah’s chin wobbled, fresh tears coursing down her cheeks. “He ... told me … it was … training.”

  Jolie closed her eyes and regretted it instantly as a mental picture of what she imagined had been done to Sarah played through her mind. Snapping her eyes wide open, Jolie schooled her face to keep the fury out of it so that she didn’t scare Sarah.

  “I’ll castrate him and feed him his balls.”

  A wobbly smile tugged at Sarah’s mouth. “How are you going to do that? There’s nothing down here to use as a weapon. And he took all of your stuff.”

  Jolie felt her pockets. Her utility knife was gone. In that moment, she noticed her uniform top had been unbuttoned past her bra, too. So, the sicko had copped a feel and got his jollies going while she was unconscious. She was going to make damn sure he choked on his balls, but not by castration. She was going to kick him so hard they blasted through his body into his mouth.

  “Well, Sarah, here’s the thing he’s not expecting. We don’t need tools to be our weapons.” She held up her hands. “I’ve got these.” And hopefully what little Xavier had taught her would be enough to subdue their kidna
pper.

  One thing was for certain: once Jolie had him on the ground, she was wrapping that chain around his neck. God only help him if she decided then and there whether he lived or died.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  A banging noise drew Xavier’s attention. He sat up on the cot and was swinging his legs over the side when Con barreled into the holding area.

  “Jolie and her parents are missing.”

  Xavier rocketed to his feet, rushing to the bars before Con could blink. “What?”

  “Shane and his crew are searching, but they’re not having much luck.” Con approached the cell. “Did you remember anything more?”

  “No.” Xavier shook his head. “I tried—seriously, I did—but nothing else is coming back, not without giving me a migraine.”

  “Don’t worry about it too much.” Con met Xavier’s gaze. “Before you were an MP, what was your initial training as a marine?”

  “I trained the same as everyone else until I declared my MOS.”

  “You went straight in as an MP?”

  Xavier leaned closer. “Yes.”

  “Did you have an MWD in your squad?”

  “Yes. What are you driving at, Con?”

  Backing away, Con made a sharp forward motion at the hallway. “Hier.”

  Cadno trotted into the room.

  “Platz.” The German shepherd laid down, his head cocked to the side as he watched his owner.

  Con looked at Xavier. “Did you handle any of those dogs?”

  “Only if the dog was receptive to me. Otherwise, I left them to their handlers.” If he could go back and stop that MWD from alerting to trouble, she and her handler would still be alive. That Belgian Malinois had been one hell of a dog.

  “This is so beyond what is right, but I need you to take Cadno and use him to track.”

  “Why me? Why can’t you?”

  “Because I have another crisis on my hands. Grace Maddox’s father is in town and has his ex-wife trapped in a funeral home. Police chief says it’s a hostage situation, and it’s all hands on deck.” Con unlocked the cell door.