Page 43 of Diesel’s Desire

We move fast after that. Up the stairs, through the study, back through the house we cleared coming in. Two more guards materialize near the front entrance, drawn by the gunshot, and neither of them gets more than a hand toward their holsters before Havoc and I put them down. No hesitation. Men who take a paycheck to guard a house where a six-year-old is held captive in a basement don’t get the benefit of any doubt from me tonight.

Outside, the night air hits different after that basement—colder, cleaner, like the whole world’s trying to remind me it still exists past what just happened underground.

Ace and Ryder are crouched near the treeline with Addison between them, and something’s shifted in her posture since I saw her last—shoulders less locked, one small hand gripping the sleeve of Ace’s hoodie like it’s the only solid thing left in her whole world. Ryder’s saying something to her, low, and I catch the tail end of it as we jog up.

“—gonna call a real nice police lady,” he’s telling her. “She’s gonna come get you and take you home to your mom and dad. You just gotta wait right here with us a few more minutes, okay? Can you do that?”

Addison nods. Small. Barely there. But it’s a nod, and given where she was twenty minutes ago, I’ll take it as a win.

Havoc pulls a burner phone from his hoodie pocket, punches in three numbers, and holds it to his ear just long enough to say, “Addison Miller’s standing outside the Pemberton estate wrapped in a blanket,” before he hangs up and drops the phone into the grass, crushing it under his boot for good measure.

Riot jogs out from around the side of the house a minute later, breathing hard. “Surveillance room’s fried. Every drive, every backup. Nothing left to find.”

“Good.” Havoc crouches down in front of Addison, lifts the bottom of his mask enough for her to see his mouth, something human under all that black wool. “You’re safe now, sweetheart. The police are coming. You’re gonna be okay.”

Far off, faint but climbing fast, sirens start cutting through the quiet.

“Time to go,” Havoc says, standing.

Ace ruffles Addison’s hair once, careful, and Ryder gives her a small salute like she’s one of us now, some tiny brother-in-arms who survived something none of us will ever fully understand. She almost smiles at that. Almost.

We’re gone before the sirens crest the hill, cutting through the treeline on foot, bikes waiting exactly where we left them, engines quiet as we push them a quarter mile down the service road before anybody dares start them. We take the back way out, circling wide through two counties’ worth of gravel roads and old logging trails, avoiding every stretch of highway that might catch us on a camera or in a passing headlight.

By the time we roll into the clubhouse lot, dawn’s just starting to gray out the horizon, and my hands have finally stopped shaking enough to cut the engine.

22

PENNY

Isit at my desk with paperwork spread out in front of me like a stage set. Radar logs I filled out an hour ago sitting where anybody walking past can see them. Johnson clocked me in at eleven, still sour from our conversation days ago, but he clocked me in, and that’s what matters.

The call comes through at 2:52 a.m., and half the county’s already moving before I even get my gun holstered.

All available units, Pemberton estate, County Road 4.

I don’t feel satisfaction. I want to, God help me, some ugly little corner of my chest wants to feel something like victory listening to that radio traffic spike, but all I can think about is a six-year-old girl and what the inside of that house is going to look like to whoever finds her, and what her life looks like on the other side of tonight.

Fog’s thinner tonight than it was on County Road 9 weeks back, and the gate’s already standing wide open when I pull up, cruisers parked at every angle, lights strobing red and blue across a lawn that costs more to maintain than my whole yearly salary. I park at the edge and jog the rest of the way, and that’s when I see her.

Addison.

She’s sitting on the open tailgate of an ambulance, wrapped in a gray wool blanket, an EMT crouched in front of her checking her pupils with a penlight. Her hair’s come loose from whatever it was styled into, hanging in dull, flat strands around a face that looks too old and too young all at once.

The blanket slips at her shoulder. She clutches it closed without looking at any of us, and my stomach drops.

Johnson’s already turned away, hunched over near the hedge line, one hand braced against his knee. I hear him retch before I fully register what I’m looking at, and I have to press my own hand flat against my stomach and breathe through my nose, slow, counting, because I need to be steady when I speak to her.

Morris arrives on foot from around the side of the house, his face the color of old paper, eyes fixed on nothing.

“Get her in the ambulance,” I say to the EMT, voice coming out steadier than I feel. “Now. She doesn’t need to be sitting out here in the open.”

The EMT nods and starts helping Addison shift further back onto the gurney inside. I follow, climbing half up into the rig, crouching so I’m at her eye level instead of looming over her.

“Hey, sweetheart,” I say, softly. “I’m Penny. I’m a police officer. You’re safe now, okay? We’re gonna get you to your mom and dad real soon.”

She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t really look at me either, eyes fixed somewhere past my shoulder, and I don’t push. I just stay there, a steady presence, while I pull my phone out with my free hand and dial the after-hours line for social services, keeping my voice low and even while I give them the address, the situation, everything they need to have somebody meet us at the hospital.

Every part of me wants to walk up to that house. Wants to see whatever’s inside for myself, wants to stand over whatever’s left of Douglas Pemberton and make sure he’s exactly as finished as I suspect he is. I don’t move. I stay with Addison, because that’s the job, that’s the actual job underneath the paperwork and politics, and there’s nowhere else I should be right now except exactly here.