The kitchen was neat. Open blinds allowed in plenty of sunlight. There wasn’t a table, but two stools were tucked under the island. A water glass sat in the sink. Avery pulled out a pair of gloves and slipped them on. In case new evidence was uncovered, she didn’t want to taint it.
Weston pulled out his phone, presumably to call Grady about the motorcycle. Avery tuned out the conversation and opened the fridge. Half a loaf of bread. A gallon of milk. Condiments lined the door. Everything was neat and orderly.
She continued into the living room. It was sparsely furnished with a torn pleather couch and coffee table. No television, although there was a stand. Perhaps Debra had a TV in her bedroom. She wasn’t making much money as a janitor for the university. A couple of self-help books littered the coffee table. How to Gain Confidence, Getting the Love You Deserve, and Non-Abusive Communication. Avery’s heart ached reading the titles.
Several photographs had been hung on the wall. Debra posed with her younger sister and parents. Her smile was wide, her dark eyes sparkling. The ache in Avery’s chest grew. While Debra had made a mistake in her relationship with Victor, it was obvious she was trying to set her life right.
Had Victor killed her for it? Or had Debra come across her murderer in another way?
Avery touched the young woman’s face in the nearest photograph. “I’ll get to the truth. I promise.”
She continued down the short hallway. A tiny bathroom was on the right. To the left was an office. It smelled of furniture polish. Avery opened the last door and stepped into a bedroom. The blinds were lifted, allowing an unobstructed view into the backyard, and a sliding door led to a small porch. On the bed, a lavender quilt was tangled with the sheets. A takeaway food container and drink carton littered the carpet. Half hidden under the bed was an orange backpack.
Avery frowned. One of the items reportedly stolen from the university in recent weeks was a similar backpack. She stepped farther into the room.
Air whirled as a figure, hidden behind the bedroom door, rushed forward. Avery half-spun, her hand flying to her weapon, but something heavy slammed into the side of her head. Stars exploded across her vision. Her fingers went limp and her knees hit the carpet with a bone-jarring thump.
Someone shoved her face down and straddled her. Panic welled, sending Avery’s heart rate into overdrive. She thrashed, but the person holding her down was too heavy. Her mouth opened and only a squeak came out. No air. She couldn’t pull enough oxygen into her lungs to scream. Out of the corner of her eye, the shadow of her assailant loomed above her. A man. But she couldn’t make out his features. Blood dripped into her eyes.
The unmistakable feeling of a gun barrel pushed against the back of her skull. Please. God, no. He leaned down close to her ear, his breath hot against her cheek. “Don’t move or I’ll kill you.”
His weight oozed the last of the air from her lungs and Avery feared she might pass out. The attacker’s hand went to her waist. He yanked the handcuffs from her belt. Avery tried to fight back, in her mind she was yelling for Weston, but the knock to her head had slowed her responses. He secured her hands behind her back with the cuffs. The cold steel dug into the delicate skin at her wrists.
The gun returned to her head.
Weston heard a muffled noise coming from the rear of the house. He pulled the cell phone away from his ear, ignoring Grady who was giving orders for a trooper to gather the camera footage from the gas station.
“Avery?” he called out.
Silence answered him. A pinprick of unease jabbed the back of his neck. Weston glanced at the back door, focusing in on the doorknob. The gold shine covering it was tarnished. Old. The owner hadn’t changed the locks.
And Debra had either let the killer in, or he’d had a key.
Weston’s hand went to his weapon even as he raised the phone back to his ear. “Grady, I think someone may be in Debra Channing’s house with us. I heard a sound and Avery isn’t answering.”
“You think, or you know?”
“I think. Avery may have fallen or she may not have heard me call her name.” He eased toward the doorway separating the kitchen from the living room. “Detective Mike Steel is supposed to meet us here. Get him on the radio and warn him. Send backup as well.”
“Consider it done. I’m going to mute my side but leave the line open.”
“Okay.” Weston tucked the phone in his front shirt pocket. Keeping the line open enabled Grady to provide responding officers with vital information about what was happening in the house.
He peeked around the corner of the doorjamb. The living room was empty. Weston pulled his weapon from the holster but kept it pointed at the ground. If someone was in the house, there was a small chance the individual had every right to be there. He had no idea how many keys Debra had given out to friends or family. Weston and Avery might have startled or terrified the person.
He slipped into the living room, keeping his back along the wall. The windows faced the front of the house and the blinds were drawn tight. His boots whispered over the carpet. Weston’s heart was beating like a jackhammer, but the hands holding his weapon were steady.
“Moving into the hallway,” he whispered, for Grady’s benefit.
He stopped and listened for any sound. Nothing. There was no reason for Avery to be so quiet. Something was definitely wrong. He wanted to rush down the hallway and get to her as fast as possible but battled back the urge. Weston couldn’t be careless. He couldn’t help Avery if he was dead.
Instead, he slipped down
