Page 41 of Property of Whiskey

Nothing moves.

I head toward the rear dormitory, scanning windows, doors, rooflines, anywhere somebody could sit with a rifle and wait for a stupid biker to wander into range.

Where the hell was this girl seen?

No fucking clue.

I don’t know who called in the sighting, whether they were trying to help, or whether somebody fed the information to us hoping we’d come running.

Either way, I’m here. A sitting duck.

A scrape comes from behind the dormitory. I stop and listen.

Nothing.

Then it comes again. Soft. Dragging. Not an animal.

I draw my gun and round the corner slowly.

An overturned trash bin lies beside a concrete stairwell leading down to what used to be a basement entrance. Rust eats through the railing, and dead leaves have collected against the bottom door.

The sound comes again from behind the bin.

I lower the gun slightly.

“Hey.”

Silence.

“Kaylee?”

Something shifts.

I move closer. “Easy. Ain’t gonna hurt you.”

A bare foot appears first. Dirty. Blood crusted along the heel. Then a hand grips the edge of the bin. Small. Shaking.

Fuck.

I holster the gun and move the trash bin aside.

Kaylee Quill is curled against the concrete wall behind it.

At least I think it’s Kaylee.

The photograph in the file showed a smiling nineteen-year-old with shiny brown hair and enough makeup around her eyes that Wren would’ve asked why adults paint their faces. This girl’s hair is matted against her cheeks, her skin gray beneath dirt and sweat. One side of her shirt has been torn from shoulder to waist, and blood has soaked through the fabric around her hip.

Her wrists are worse. Both are purple and raw. One still has a strip of plastic cinched around it.

Zip tie.

Direct fucking proof tied to a girl who’s still alive. Not old restraints in an empty basement. Not money moving through shell charities. Not another half-assed report calling a missing girl a voluntary departure. Somebody restrained Kaylee Quill at the old Pearly Gates complex, and she is bleeding behind one of their buildings.

Her eyes find my cut. Then my face. Terror hits so fast she tries to crawl backward through the concrete wall. “No.” Her voice is barely more than air. “Stay away.”

I drop into a crouch immediately and keep both hands where she can see them. “Kaylee?”

She shakes her head too fast. Could mean no. Could mean don’t say my name. Could mean she doesn’t know who the fuck she is right now.