Hunter jumps off a step ladder in the middle of the room. The ladder has a circular camera on a tripod attached to the top of it. It will record the room in 3D format.
“She and Hugo went to check out some of the outbuildings.”
I move to a cracked window that looks out at the overgrown fields below. Because of Hugo’s large size, it doesn’t take long to spot him standing next to a black truck at the front of a wooden shed. The vehicle must be locked as Hugo is ramming a flat steel bar down the driver’s side window to jimmy the lock.
Brandon stops to stand next to me. He coughs eyeing me curiously.
“Boss…. umm… Isa…”
A grin spreads across my face. “You can call me Isaac. I'm not your boss,” I correct him.
Brandon nods as a smile furls his lips higher. “I called in a favor with a girl I know. The owner of this property is Carlyle Shroud. He is fifty-eight years old. He has been receiving disability checks since he was injured in a workplace accident nearly two decades ago,” he informs, reading the information from a notepad in his hand.
“His disability checks have regularly been deposited every month, but none of his bank accounts have been utilized in months, which is surprising, as Carlyle is what you might call the local drunk. More than eighty percent of his support payments are spent at the liquor store in town.”
The heaviness that's been weighing down my chest the past week amplifies. “Does he have any vehicles registered in his name?”
Brandon nods as he flicks through the notepad. “Yes, one. A black Dodge truck, license plate number 44W—”
“2285,” I interrupt, reading the plate on the black truck Hugo has just entered.
A sense of dread overwhelms me. Why would Carlyle’s only source of transport be parked in the front of his barn when he lives in the middle of nowhere, miles from the nearest town?He must still be here.
In urgency, I yank on the cracked window. It is locked, held in place by a pile of rusty nails that have been hammered into the frame. My heart thrashes against my chest as I use my suit-covered elbow to smash through the thin glass. Shards of glass drop around my feet and jab into my skin, but my brain doesn’t register the pain. It’s too panicked to register anything.
Hearing the shattering of glass, Hugo emerges from the black truck and glances up at me. “Where is Isabelle?” My voice rumbles in the crisp winter morning.
Hugo cranks his head left and right before he points to the far corner of the property. Isabelle is walking toward a white barn on the very edge of the horizon. Compared to the filthy paint-peeling barn Hugo is standing next to, the barn Isabelle is approaching is so spotlessly clean, it glimmers in the morning sunlight.Just like Megan’s secret room.
Panic scorches through my veins. “Get Isabelle,” I scream at the top of my lungs. Hugo freezes for all of two seconds before he takes off in her direction.
“Shit,” Brandon mutters when the seriousness of the situation dawns on him. He shadows me as I rush down the rickety steps and sprint out of the house.
My body doesn’t appreciate the cooling effects of the crisp morning on its overheated skin. I’m too busy frantically rushing to Isabelle to register anything.
Due to the overgrown fields, only the roof of the barn is visible. Blood thickens my veins as my heart smashes my ribs. My lungs burn from a lack of oxygen since I can’t inhale a full breath.
“My name is Brandon James. I'm an FBI field agent. My number is 443567. I need an ambulance, and a police unit brought to 15634 Snow Mountain Road, Parkerville,” Brandon pants heavily into his phone.
My concern for Isabelle outweighs the fact he just called the authorities. He can call anyone he wants as long as it means Isabelle is safe.
When I reach the clearing on which the barn is located, I assess the situation. Upon spotting a cracked open door at the side, I race to it.
My stomach lurches when a potent smell filters through my nostrils.
“Holy fuck,” Brandon mumbles when he too discovers the horrifying image in front of us.
My eyes shoot sideways when a sob sounds through my ears. Huddled in the barn is Hugo. He is sitting on the hay-covered ground with Isabelle cradled in his lap. Her face is buried in his chest, and his hand is covering her eyes.
With my heart in my throat, I rush for her. She jumps out of her skin when I remove her from Hugo’s firm grasp.
“It’s okay, Isabelle,” I whisper into her ear as my eyes rake her body to ensure she’s uninjured. The wild beat of my heart weakens when I discover she is unharmed. “I’ve got you,” I assure when she burrows her nose into the crook of my neck.
With the assistance of Hugo, I remove my suit jacket to place it over Isabelle’s shuddering shoulders. After she is secure in my lap, my eyes shift to the man hanging from the beam. The smell is potent; from the coloring of his skin, he’s obviously been deceased for several months.
“We need to move quickly. The authorities have been called in. Go and help Hunter pack up his equipment,” I instruct Hugo.
Without warning, Isabelle leaps out of my arms and rushes for the barn door, barging Brandon on the way. She only just makes it to the grass before her petite body heaving breaks through the quiet morning.
