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“Damn it. We could really use Sonya right about now.” Drew sounded pained to admit that.
“I’m telling her you said that,” Daniel said, hands in his pockets.
“How much longer?” I pressed.
Drew flashed me a dirty look. “Almost there. You ever tried to pick a deadbolt?”
“No. I didn’t realize I’d ever need to.”
“Ah, fuck it.” Drew pulled out his gun and shot the last troublesome lock out before Daniel and I could stop him.
“Way to be discreet. Let’s go.”
I was already over the threshold. On high alert, my eyes darted over to the living room.
Up the staircase.
Down the hallway.
Lights were on, but the house felt empty. Almost as if its occupants had simply vanished.
Drew edged past me, gun raised. We weren’t on some cops and robbers show, for God’s sake, but I said nothing. His actions might not be overkill after all.
Patrick made a strangled sound from behind me. I spun, a woman draped over his back, her arms locked around his neck. Daniel pulled at her, but she held tight. He pried one arm from Patrick, who coughed and spluttered.
“What the actual fuck?” His face was scarlet when he ripped her other arm away.
“You owe me,” she screamed.
I lifted my chin at Drew to keep going. This was a distraction we didn’t need. Daniel and Patrick had it handled.
Drew moved toward the kitchen. I followed and paused by a door at the back of the staircase. Could be a closet, but in these old houses . . .Basement.
I turned the brass knob, and my stomach mirrored the motion. I needed to find Trish but was terrified of discovering her down here with that monster. Ignoring the niggling feeling in the back of my head, I craned my neck at the sound of voices below me. I crept down the first step and cursed inwardly when it creaked.
Silence.
“HUXLEY! SOMEONE’S HERE!” the woman who’d strangled Patrick screamed.
I bolted down the stairs, screeching to a halt at the bottom. The horrific sight of Trish bound to a chair, naked and bleeding, froze me in my spot.
“Please. Help me.”
I tore my eyes away from Trish toward the voice. Another woman moved toward me, though she was fully clothed. She quivered when she glanced back to a man who wielded a butcher knife. He slid behind Trish and held it against the delicate skin of her throat.
“Move and she dies,” he said with a calm that gave me pause.
The woman had edged closer to me. Out of the periphery of my vision, I saw her lift an arm above her head, the butt of a pistol protruding from her grasp.
Everything happened in slow motion.
Her arm lowered.
I caught it with my hand just before she struck me in the head.
I twisted.
She hissed.
