were lit and occupied, but some were boarded up and overgrown in the rougher section of the neighborhood.
A dog rushed a fence and jolted her heart, a pit bull on a chain leash. They had to run to avoid the owner’s curiosity. Alexa took it as a bad sign.
“Damn it, Jessie. How much farther?” she demanded.
If Jessie replied, she didn’t hear it. Alexa’s heart was still thrashing in her chest. And to make matters worse, the pit bull had set off a reaction in the neighborhood, with other mutts howling in unison—a reminder they didn’t belong.
“Just great,” she muttered.
The rain had stopped, but the humidity had ramped into high gear and made her sweat. Steamy hot, she felt the steady heat on her cheeks as she straddled another brick wall, staying tight on Jessie’s heels. She was pleased to see the bounty hunter stuck to the shadows and avoided being silhouetted by light.
But the farther they went, the more worried she got.
She’d hoped they wouldn’t stray far from the cars. Once Sam got Jessie’s message, she’d come ready to help. But how would the cop find them now? Alexa had a bad feeling things were about to get worse—and all she’d be able to do was watch. Jessie vanished behind another house, and Alexa quickened her pace to catch up. When she came around the corner, she found Jessie had stopped.
The bounty hunter stood under the bluish haze of a cloud-streaked moon, in the shadow of a deserted three- story mansion. Shattered and boarded-up windows looked more like eyes on an ominous face. And the wide front entry became a gaping mouth. A wall made of stone boulders surrounded the premises. And the grounds—which must have been grand in the day—now were gnarled with brush and weeds. Cracked and uneven cement led to more steps and a massive front door nailed shut with two-by-fours, “X” marking the spot. Vincent Price would have been happy to call this place home, but not Alexa.
She peered at Jessie. Even under the pale light, she saw the look of recognition on her face. The old house was the place she’d been looking for, but why? Had Seth known about this place, or had the killer brought him here?
“I gotta do this,” Jessie whispered, a mantra spoken more for her benefit. “For Harper. I gotta do this.”
“I’m here, Jess. I’m right here.” She wasn’t sure Jessie heard her. “You and me…we’re going in together.” She gripped her weapon and waited for the bounty hunter. “But I swear to God, if you shoot me by mistake, I’m gonna be real pissed.”
When Jessie didn’t respond with her usual smart-ass remark, Alexa knew that something more was going on than Seth and his father, Max. She wished she had Sam’s number, knowing Jessie’s longtime friend would know more. But the woman needed her help, not her questions. Now was the time for trust.
Without hesitation, Jessie squeezed through a chained wrought-iron gate hinged to the stone wall, and Alexa followed, sticking to the shadows to avoid being seen. If Seth and his father were being held inside, the last thing she wanted was to draw attention.
Once they got to the perimeter, they circled the old house, looking for an easier way in, but only one seemed the path of least resistance with fewer obstacles.
The front door.
Standing under the portico of the main entrance, Jessie took something from her pocket. By the sound, Alexa knew it was a lock pick. She worked the keyhole, hampered by the wooden barrier that had been nailed over it. The door finally creaked opened—the sound grating like fingernails on a chalkboard.
The noise would alert anyone inside that they now had company, but that couldn’t be helped. Alexa gripped her weapon and crawled through the boarded entrance, her eyes suddenly blinded by inky black. The stench of mold, stifling humidity, and something more struck her. It was like walking into a wall she hadn’t seen coming. She waited for her night vision to kick in, but that didn’t help much.
Holding her weapon in a two-fisted grip, she stood inside, listening. The door shut behind her. And for an instant she heard Jessie breathing next to her, but soon that stopped.
“Jessie?” she whispered, barely loud enough for her to hear.
When the bounty hunter didn’t respond, Alexa knew she was alone.
CHAPTER 24
Sam had a smile on her face when she walked through the front door to her suburban bungalow, basking in the afterglow of spending time with Ray Garza. Before heading home, she had met him for a drink after work, an impulsive invitation that she couldn’t resist extending. And like she had imagined, being with him only made her hungry for more. He had a way of respecting her as a cop while also reminding her she was a desirable woman—an irresistible combination in an intelligent man.
Working the job and being in a man’s world had given her tunnel vision. At times it felt like all she knew. She’d thrown herself into her career without a thought for the road not taken. But for a couple of hours, Ray had made her forget all that. And she hadn’t let anything get in the way of their time together; it wasn’t exactly
The man looked incredible by candlelight. Hell, by any light.
His dark eyes smoldered with need that she felt to her toes. And although she would have preferred to feast on his full lips, she allowed herself to touch him instead. A diversion. Her fingers stroked the back of his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin. An intimate joy. Resisting her urge for more had taken willpower. She wanted their first time together—really together—to be special and not following a drink after work.
Sam dropped her car keys on the console table near her front door and flipped on lights as she walked through her house. When she found the red light blinking on her answering machine in the kitchen, she hit the message button to listen while she took off her gun and hit the fridge for a short glass of milk.
She poured as she listened. A friend had called about getting together for dinner next week. And her mother reminded her of Uncle Larry and Aunt Joyce’s wedding anniversary. But the last message—the one from Jessie— stopped her cold.
“My God, Jessie.”
She looked at her watch and checked the time stamp for the message. She’d missed the call by only twenty minutes, but in Jessie’s world, that could be a lifetime. With a throttling heart, she tried her friend’s cell phone, but couldn’t get her—she only got a message that Jessie was unavailable. And beyond her cell phone, Sam had no other way to reach her.
“Damn it.” She hit her speed dial. And when Ray came on the line, she said, “Jessie’s in trouble, Ray. I need your help.”
Jess walked the jagged line between the twilight of bad dreams and the reality of what her life had become. She knew something was dead wrong—that her mind had snapped—but damned if she felt strong enough to break free of its control. The only thing that had kept her going was picturing Harper. He and his father needed help, and it was her turn to step up to the plate, no matter what it would cost.
Once she figured out where the van had been parked in relation to High Street—and vaguely recognized the neighborhood—facing her childhood tragedy had become the only option left for her and Seth. What had happened on High Street had to be the reason Seth’s van had been abandoned close by. Any other reason meant he was beyond her help, and she couldn’t force herself to consider that.
High Street was all she had left.
She chose to leave her car behind and walk to the house for a low-key arrival. On the side of good news, the location was close enough, and hiking there gave her time to think. But having time to think was also the bad news.
If the killer wanted to stage Harper’s suicide, what better way than to force him to come to High Street, hoping to rescue his father. The Millstone residence would begin and end his obsession with his father’s cases. In a bent and twisted way, it would make sense to the cops, who already thought he was guilty of being a murderer. His suicide note was as good as a confession. Case closed.
But dread took a firm hold, forcing her to doubt herself. Could she confront her shameful ordeal even for Harper? When she stepped through the threshold of the old mansion—the torture chamber of the serial pedophile Danny Ray Millstone—she was pulled into the chasm of her worst fears. She felt the man’s presence even though she knew he was dead. The windows were boarded up with only slivers of light leaching inside, but Jess saw
