Page 142 of D for Dead

Oh shit.

Howie’s mouth dried up. He glanced at the radio, wondering if he should call it in.

Don’t be an idiot. It’ll just be stupid kids.

He still had to check it out. Reluctantly he reached for his flashlight, exiting the car. The night was warm, the trees still. Overhead the sky let out a low deep growl. The storm was close.

Clicking on the flashlight and drawing his sidearm, Howie made his way around the side of the house, following the direction in which he had seen the beam. He shone the light around, saw no one. Maybe whoever it was had been passing by, or they had seen the police car and decided not to approach. It had to be stupid kids and he was overreacting.

Still, he made himself do a walk around the perimeter of the house, relieved when he saw the safety of the car come back into view. He would lock himself back inside, finish his crossword, see if Carlene had responded to his text and maybe have another cup of coffee. Four and a half hours to go and then he could get out of this creepy place.

A rustle came from behind him. Before he could react a hand clasped across his forehead, yanked his head back and he felt the slice of a blade against his throat.

For the briefest moment Howie struggled to catch his breath, tasted blood in his mouth, and then he was gone, slipping to the floor, his moment of passing marked by another ominous rumble in the sky.

* * *

Taking the deputy out had been easy. It was dragging him back to the car that proved hard work. He was a heavy son of a bitch and, while it was tempting to leave him where he’d fallen, it was safer to have him positioned back in the car, make him look as if he was still on duty. Although it was unlikely anyone would pass by, it was better to be prepared.

Finally getting him into place, leaving the window slightly ajar and radio quietly playing, he hoisted open the garage door before heading back to where he had left his car. Knowing the coast was now clear, he drove it straight up to the house, quickly parking it in the garage and killing the lights. He closed the door, clicked on his flashlight and opened the trunk, smiling at the man inside.

He had already transferred him between cars, knew his strength was ebbing and he wouldn’t put up a fight. Acting quickly he pulled him from the trunk, lifting him over his shoulder, pushed the lid shut and made his way through the side door into the main part of the house. Sitting the man down in the hallway, he took a moment to catch his breath before opening the door to the basement.

He hit the switch, saw the faint flickering beam from the room cast a creepy glow over the staircase and he smiled, before turning his attention back to the man.

‘Come on. Let’s get you into place.’

* * *

After learning Amy and Boaz had gone missing, Jake found it impossible to settle.

His initial reaction had been to drive back to Juniper.

‘There’s nothing you can do,’ Hickok told him. ‘I have everyone out looking and we will find them. Keep looking for clues in Melford. We need to connect the dots.’

Jake knew the Fed was right, that by the time he’d driven back to the city it would probably be too late. He had to put faith in Rebecca and Hickok; hope they would somehow find them. That still didn’t mean he would be able to rest.

Unlike Rivers.

The federal agent had been shocked when they’d received the news, but had retired to his room shortly afterwards, telling Jake that as there was nothing they could do they might as well get some rest.

Jake couldn’t believe Rivers was going to be able to sleep, knowing what had happened, but then he guessed the man hadn’t gotten himself personally involved with the girl who was now missing. So while Rivers slept, Jake paced the motel room, making call after call, needing to know everything possible was being done, as anxiety and frustration knotted in his gut. Amy had to be okay. They had to find her.

Eventually, no longer able to stand the confines of the four walls of the motel room, he snatched up the keys to the car. He couldn’t do anything to help Amy or Boaz, but he could put himself to use in Melford, and he would start by checking out the address Emily Benson had given him for Virginia Martin’s place.

* * *

Amy had somehow managed to drift off, her crying jag and the exhaustion of trying to free herself having proved too much.

The sound of the van door opening and then slamming shut brought her to, and quickly.

Raw panic clawed its way up her throat as she remembered where she was and what had happened.

He was back.

She rolled over, struggling against the rope, while trying to scoot back into the corner, expecting the door to open at any second. Instead she heard the engine start, felt the van move again.

Where was he taking her now?