Melissa was already on her phone. A moment later, she shook her head. “Bree’s not answering, either.”
Grant headed for the elevator, walking fast. Melissa caught up. Together, they stepped into the lift. Grant punched the button for the ground floor, counting the seconds it took for the door to close and then the time it took for them to make it down.
The door had barely opened when Grant squeezed through and ran for the exit.
Melissa raced after him. “My truck,” she said and veered toward the bright red pickup, parked closest to the hospital.
Grant stayed on course for his rental car, yanked open the door and retrieved the gun beneath the seat.
Behind him, the roar of an engine was followed by the sound of tires squealing.
Melissa screeched to a stop beside him. “Get in,” she called out through the open passenger window.
Grant stepped up on the running board and dove into the passenger seat.
Melissa took off before Grant was fully inside.
In his opinion, she couldn’t move fast enough. “Go!” he called out, pulling the door shut as Melissa gunned the accelerator, shooting the truck out of the hospital parking lot and onto the main road.
“They were heading for Mr. Logsdon’s place,” Grant said, fumbling with the map on his cell phone. “Where the hell does he live? Why don’t I know this?”
A text came through from the sheriff with a pin of Logsdon’s address and a note that he was on his way.
Melissa broke all speed limits getting to the little house on a quiet street.
Bree’s SUV was parked on the street. A light shone brightly on the porch, and the front door gaped open.
Before Melissa came to a complete stop, Grant was out of the truck, racing for the house. He leaped onto the porch, gun drawn and charged into the house. The lights were on.
Grant ran through the cottage, checking every room before he arrived back on the porch, breathing hard, his heart a hard rock in his chest. “Not here,” he said through his teeth. “Dear God, he’s got them.”
“Fuck,” Melissa said.
Grant’s pulse pounded through his veins, his mind ripping through everything they’d learned over the past few days, coming up with nothing useful. They hadn’t found the killer’s lair, and now he had Avery and Bree and had taken them there—wherever there was.
“We have to find them,” he said. “They have to be close. He couldn’t have taken them far.”
Melissa bent down, grabbed two items from the ground and held them up. “I was hoping we could track their phones.”
Grant recognized the cell phone he’d purchased for Avery. His heart sank to his knees. How the hell were they going to find them?
“They came to check on Mr. Logsdon. Even he’s gone,” Melissa said.
Grant shook his head. “The killer wouldn’t take the old man. He’d have his hands full with the two women. He’s been dealing with one woman at a time. Two will slow him down enough as it is.”
“Is it possible Mr. Logsdon tried to follow them?” Melissa asked.
“The killer had to have taken them away in a vehicle. He couldn’t have followed on foot. But he might’ve seen the killer’s face, maybe recognized him.” Even as Grant said it, he realized it was a stretch. Mr. Logsdon’s mind wasn’t a reliable source of information. Still, it could be all they had. “We have to find Mr. Logsdon.”
“A man with dementia wandering around at night?” Melissa shook her head. “He could be anywhere. He could be lost.”
“When he ran into us on the street near the sheriff’s office yesterday, he talked about going to work. He’d been heading to wherever he’d worked for years. His caregiver, Seth Ryland, had reminded him he’d retired years ago. It had to be from there. He might be on the way there now.”
“Which would explain why Logsdon and his caregiver aren’t here. Ryland is probably trying to find Logsdon as well.” Melissa hurried toward the truck.
Grant followed and jumped in. “Head for the sheriff’s office and keep your eyes peeled.”
Melissa turned the truck around and drove through the streets as quickly as she could while they looked left and right for the old man.
