by Alexa Grace
There were no vehicles on the property, or any other obvious signs of trespassers, but he was paid to check it out, so he retrieved his flashlight from the glove box, got out of the squad car, and checked the front door. Finding the door locked, he moved to one of the windows, flashing a light beam inside, but saw nothing but an old fireplace and papers littering the wooden floors. He rounded the house to the back and found the door there unlocked, so he went inside.
"Anyone here?" he called out, his words echoing through the house. Searching from room-to-room, he found nothing that suggested squatters — no sleeping bags, oil lamps, cans of food, or anything else required for impromptu living.
Squatters were common in Shawnee County during the recession, where more homes were foreclosed and deserted than he'd ever seen before. People moved into abandoned houses and called them their own, with some success if neighbors were scarce. Homes like this vacant house were prime pickings.
Checking the house room-by-room, Ryder entered a lower-level bedroom and tripped over something, landing face-first on the floor with a thud, knocking the air out of his lungs, and stirring up a cloud of dust that choked him once he started breathing again. Cursing between coughs, he pulled himself up and dusted off his uniform. He found his flashlight that had rolled across the floor when he fell, and searched for whatever had tripped him. Aiming his flashlight, he found a groove in the wooden floor that blended in so well that one would have to be looking for it to notice it. Fingering the groove, he lifted until he heard the squeaking of a hinge, as a 5' by 3' trapdoor opened to reveal an ancient wooden ladder leaning against a rough rock wall, perched on a dirt floor about 6' below him. Ryder swung the flashlight beam until it lit up the room below. Hesitant about putting his two-hundred-and-fifty pound weight on the ladder rungs, he tried the first one and it held. The third rung cracked as he stepped on it, so he decided to jump the three feet to the dirt floor below.
The room was empty, filled only with stale, mildewed air, and over a hundred years of dust. He walked the perimeter of the room with his fingers running over the coarse, rough rocks embedded in the walls. Hearing only the echoes of his footsteps, he moved to the wall opposite the ladder. Besides the ceiling being lower in this part of the room, there was something else. Fresh air seeped from the wall near the floor. On hands and knees, he discovered the large rocks in the wall were loose. One by one, he pulled out rocks and set them aside. Before long, he realized he'd discovered a hidden cave, or possibly a tunnel. Gripping his flashlight tightly in one hand, he crawled about six feet or so, then entered a long corridor, just tall enough for him to stand up to walk. Lining the walls of the tunnel were rusting lanterns. Jutting off the passageway was a catacomb of rooms, some the size of a closet, others much larger.
It was true what Ryder had heard at the library long ago. Surfing the Internet on his laptop, using the library's free Wi-Fi, and searching for young girls to seduce online, Ryder overheard a conversation two of the librarians were having. In the 1800s, the Smith-Cedar house provided food and shelter for hundreds of runaway slaves. However, neither librarian mentioned that beneath the house was a tunnel with a maze of rooms that hid the fugitives from bounty hunters and plantation owners.
Wondering where the tunnel would lead, he moved forward until he reached another cave. Crawling, he'd reached the end of the cave when the beam of his flashlight hit upon another trapdoor, this one above him. On his back, Ryder strained as he pushed until he dislodged whatever was preventing the hatch from opening. Emerging from the cave, he discovered he was in a wooded area, thick with trees, which undoubtedly, was the escape route for slaves who found refuge in the tunnels he'd just left. Circling the trapdoor was about a half-dozen paper birch trees, which probably served as a marker for fugitives coming from the opposite direction, searching for the house and safety.
Re-entering the cave and closing the trapdoor, he crawled until he reached the main corridor, then plopped down on the floor. He couldn't believe his luck. No one had lived in this house for years, and although the county wanted to purchase the home for a historic landmark, the money wasn't in the budget. It would take years to raise enough. Too bad, so sad. The place was perfect for his purposes. Perfect.
Ryder could house his teenaged slaves here, instead of the basement of his house, which was much more apt to be discovered by the law. The Smith-Cedar place would also be a perfect hideout should he need it.
He spent the weeks and months to come preparing the place for his purposes. Hiding canned foods in one room, he placed them in a corner and covered them with rocks. In another room, he dug a hole in the dirt floor to hide a sleeping bag, a coat with hat and gloves, and clothing in sealed plastic bags. He dug another hole large enough to hold a covered plastic bin filled with candles, matches, lamp oil and lamps. Still another plastic bin held bags of charcoal and a small portable grill he could use outside to grill small animals he'd hunt, as well as heat his coffee. Finding an old shed on the property, he bought an old Toyota with cash, stole a license plate for it, and parked it inside.
<><><>
Ryder raced through the woods, constantly looking over his shoulder, listening for police sirens. He hoped he'd been successful in killing all of them. If he had, he'd be ahead of them for days, if not months or years. They'd never find him in the tunnels of the Smith-Cedar house. Did anyone even know about the tunnels? He doubted it. The Master was back.
In the distance, he located the circle of paper birch trees where the trapdoor to the tunnels and his safety awaited.
<><><>
Carly wiggled out from under Brody's heavy body and reached for his wrist. Thank God. He had a pulse and he was breathing. Wiping her hand across her forehead, she realized it was wet and sticky. It was blood! But whose blood? Was it blood from Sam and Jon? Had Brody been hit? Was she injured? Carly unbuttoned Brody's shirt and discovered he was wearing a Kevlar vest, so she looked for injuries in exposed areas like his face, neck, arms, and legs. No gunshot wounds appeared. He groaned and reached for her.
"Don't move, Brody," she said, still looking for injuries.
"The bullet hit my vest, hard as a fucking sledge hammer. It hurts like hell."
Carly helped him remove his vest, finding a darkening spot near his shoulder. A little higher and the bullet would have found its way to his neck, where the vest didn't cover, which could have killed him. Shuddering at the thought, she pulled him into her arms. They sat on the ground holding each other for a long time.
Finally Brody said, "Carly, it's okay, I'm fine. What about you? There's blood on your face."
"I'm fine. I have to check the others," Carly said, moving toward the two fallen agents next to them. Jon Finnelly was dead; blood had blossomed across his forehead and was drying around the bullet hole. Focusing her attention on Sam Isley, she found he had a very weak pulse and was barely breathing. "He's alive. But we have to get help!"
Brody searched for his cell phone. Finally finding it in his back pocket, he called Dispatch. "Officers down. Jim Ryder has escaped. We need backup. We're behind an old cemetery off State Road 341, just east of Hillsboro. We need help, and fast. Get the medical helicopter from I.U. Health in Lafayette. Get the closest deputies on patrol to close off the road. And put out a fucking BOLO on Ryder. He's heavily armed and dangerous. Driving a newer-model white Suburban."
He ended the call to dispatch and then called Cameron. "Ryder's escaped. Get the copter and come get Carly and me. We have to find him!"
"Are you okay? Is Carly?" Cameron asked.
"We're fine. I want to get us in the air as fast as we can to find that son of a bitch."
"Brody, I'm in Indy meeting with Wayne Griffin. I'm leaving now, but I'm an hour to an hour-and-a-half-away. I'll call Gabe."
<><><>
"Cam says Brody and Carly are fine, but I need to see for myself. Those two have a bad habit of refusing medical help when they need it," Gabe said to Kaitlyn, who sat in the passenger seat beside him as the
helicopter took to the air. He'd just picked up from school and was almost home when he got Cameron's call.
Pulling off the brunette wig Carly loaned her for a disguise, she replied, "They have to be okay. Where's the first aid kit?"
"It's on the seat behind you. I hope the medical copter beats us there. There were three federal agents with them who were shot. Don't know how serious their injuries are."
Soon the helicopter hovered above the cemetery. Four deputies were on the scene, light bars atop their vehicles flashing. Two more deputies had parked to block the road so both helicopters could land safely. The medical helicopter was nowhere in sight.
"There's Brody!" Kaitlyn cried out. Brody stood in the graveyard, waving his hands. Next to him, a man lay near a tombstone. She grabbed the first aid kit from the seat behind her and held it on her lap.
Gabe landed the helicopter on the highway, jumped out, and then joined Kaitlyn to run to his brother.
Reaching Brody, Gabe hugged him hard, then checked for himself to see if his brother had any injuries.
"Will you please stop it? I'm fine. But he's not." Brody pointed to the man beside him who was clearly unconscious, his head bleeding.
"He's wearing a Kevlar vest," said Gabe, as he examined the man.
Brody nodded. "I think Ryder shot him at short range. He may have hit his head on the way down. The impact could also have broken or cracked his ribs. He's still breathing. I just wish that medical helicopter from Lafayette would get here."
"Who is he?"
"Sean Mahoney. He's one of the agents assigned to the case. The other one, Jon Finnelly, didn't make it."
"Where's Carly?" Kaitlyn asked.
"She stayed with the special agent in charge, Sam Isley. He looks like he's hurt pretty bad. Follow the path through the woods. You'll find her. She needs that first aid kit you're holding. Please hurry. Look for a huge sycamore tree. Do you know what they look like?"
"Seriously, Brody? I'm a Hoosier, too. Of course I know what a sycamore tree looks like," Kaitlyn called back, as she entered the woods and followed the path.
Kaitlyn reached Carly, who was sitting on the ground cross-legged, holding an injured man who looked unconscious. The man lying next to him had turned a greenish-blue and was decidedly dead. Carly was covered with blood, making Kaitlyn wonder if she were injured, too, but didn't realize it, thanks to the adrenaline racing through her body.
"Kaitlyn!" Carly cried. "What are you doing here?"
"I came with Gabe in the copter. He's with Brody and an agent named Sean."
"Sean? Oh my God. Did Ryder kill him?" Carly asked, a tear trickling down her cheek. "Sean can't be dead. He and his wife are expecting a baby."
"He's not dead. Ryder's bullet hit his Kevlar vest. He's unconscious, but he's breathing." Kaitlyn sat down near Carly, putting her hand on her shoulder in a comforting gesture and whispered softly, "It's going to be okay, Carly. Are you sure you're not injured? You have a lot of blood on you."
"It's blood spray from Sam and Jon." Carly shook her head. "When Ryder started shooting, Brody got in front of me. He protected me."
"For Brody to lay his life on the line for you, he must love you more than his own life."
"I love Brody in the same way, Kaitlyn. I'd give my life to save his." Carly paused for a second, and then continued. "I don't want to think about not having Brody in my life. I've been such a fool, such a coward. I have something very important to tell him."
"There will be time. Just relax right now."
They heard the distinct roar of a helicopter, its whirling rotors sending trees and leaves into a frantic trembling. Help had arrived.
<><><>
Ryder ate tuna on crackers and downed a couple of warm beers. Who knew killing federal agents would make him so hungry? He chuckled out loud. He knew he'd hit the sheriff in the chest, but what about his bitch ex-federal agent girlfriend? He'd fire up the old Toyota in a week or so and visit a gas station to find a newspaper. If Carly Stone wasn't dead, he'd find her and make her wish she was. Opening a green metal toolbox, he rifled through the disguise paraphernalia he'd purchased at a costume shop in Indianapolis. In the toolbox were beards, mustaches, hairpieces, glasses, makeup, and hats that could make him look like a different man every day of the week if he wanted to. He'd travel about in a disguise, driving his old Toyota, and no one would be the wiser.
Opening the duffle bag filled with weapons, he peered inside. He had enough guns and ammunition to hold off an army if he was ever found. Ryder checked to make sure all his food and supplies were exactly where he'd left them, along with the burner cell phones he'd stored in an airtight plastic container. Instead of waiting to go into town, perhaps he'd give his favorite special agent a call to see if she was alive.
<><><>
Brody, Carly, Gabe and Kaitlyn watched the medical helicopter until it disappeared from view.
"Do you think either of them will live?" Carly asked.
Brody let out a breath. "I think Sean will. He was conscious and talking when they loaded him into the copter."
"What about Sam?"
"Not sure. He's lost a lot of blood. We'll call the hospital later and check on them." Brody wrapped his arms around her. "Right now, I want to find Ryder."
Gabe headed toward the helicopter and fired it up as Kaitlyn, Carly, and Brody piled inside. From the air, they followed U.S. 136 east to Crawfordsville, then back west to Morel, and then east, following State Road 341 all the way to Newtown and back. Then they followed Interstate 74 east all the way to Indianapolis and back. Along the way, the tops of Shawnee County patrol cars, with flashing emergency strobe warning lights, could be seen as deputies searched the area for Ryder.
Brody phoned Cameron, putting him on speaker. "Call the media. I want Ryder's face on every television in the state."
"Will do. I'm at the cemetery and woods with the crime scene techs. Where are you?"
"We're with Gabe in the copter sweeping over the county's roads, highways and Interstate 74, looking for the Suburban."
"Don't you think he would have ditched that beast as soon as he could? Don't forget he was a cop. He knows every method we'll use to find him," said Cameron.
"I don't care what that bastard knows, I'm finding his evil ass," Brody vowed. "Get a list of every foreclosed and empty house in the area. I want deputies to search each one."
"Will do. Got to go. Bryan just arrived."
Brody was just about to end the call when he heard Cameron's voice. "Hey, wait a minute!"
"Yeah?"
"I've got a message from Seth Ziegler for Gabe. Tell him the gun used to shoot at Kaitlyn's house is an AK-47. A list of anyone in the county who owns one will be ready soon. Got one of my detectives working on it. If the Gamers shot at Kaitlyn's house, this list is a good lead."
"What about the necklace Destiny Cooke was wearing?" Gabe asked.
"Wayne Griffin, the detective from Indy, says the necklace belonged to Sharon Maud. He confirmed it with her mother, whose photo was inside the locket."
"Griffin was right," said Brody. "There is a connection between the prostitute murders in Indianapolis and the killings of Abby Reece and Destiny Cooke in Shawnee County."
"Find them," whispered Kaitlyn, wiping at a tear rolling down her cheek.
Brody said to Gabe, "Fly over any place you think Ryder might have ditched the Suburban."
"If I were Ryder, I'd push it over a ravine or into the Wabash River." Gabe grimaced. "Let's go to the river first, then I'll fly over the less-traveled country roads."
"I'll text Cam to get some deputies over to the cottages that line the river to find out if anyone saw anything." Brody pulled his cell out of his pocket.
"How many more hours do we have before we lose the light?" Carly asked.
Gabe narrowed his eyes on the equipment panel. "We've got maybe three more hours, but this copter is equipped with heat-seeking equipment that strips away the darkness."
Kaitlyn fr
owned. "What do you mean?"
"The system senses heat from the ground below, whether it be the heat radiating off sweaty suspects hiding in sheds, or beneath bridges. We're able to pinpoint the exact location on this monitor of all living things, or heat, thousands of feet below." Gabe said pointed to what looked like a small television screen.
"It saves thousands of man-hours, compared to our deputies doing a grid search," Brody chimed in. "It enables us to search an area effectively and quickly. If Ryder is down there on foot, we can direct our ground units to his exact location."
<><><>
Evan wrote Destiny Cooke's name on a large white label that he slapped on a plastic bin filled with her clothing and jewelry. He then placed it on top of a stack of bins nearby. They'd already scrubbed the floor with bleach and removed the sheets from the bed.
