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Jasper looked at the wall, then ducked and looked inside the fireplace. Tilted his head and glanced up the chimney. When he said nothing, Gage figured he hadn’t found the vic stuffed up there. Jasper straightened. “The fire department could get us through the wall.”
“So can my boot.” Liam headed for the wall beside the fire.
Blake snorted. “Mine, too, Sarge—I mean, Lieutenant.”
Given Gage had been in the rank a few weeks, he let that go. “See what you can do, Reed. Jasper, go outside and check on Dakota.”
“Copy that.” Jasper touched his hair on the way by. “Wouldn’t wanna get dust in my hair gel.”
Gage grinned. The guy didn’t actually care—they’d all seen him go toe-to-toe with a bus full of hockey players in a rainstorm and wound up covered in mud in five minutes—but he wanted them to think it was about the mess and his hair. Instead, it was about checking on their friend. “Don’t let him sit in the truck!”
They would pull it closer to the house and call their captain. Let him know what they were doing. Gage wanted a result so they could tell the captain they actually found something. Otherwise Gage was going to get a chewing out for going off on a hunch.
He didn’t care as much about losing the leader spot as he did about the simple fact it would mean the team was split up.
“Check this out.” Liam spread his fingers on the wall, just above where a thin rail of trim split the bottom half from the top. “Nope. I thought I had it.”
Gage studied the bottom half. “You do.” He shooed the sergeant out of the way and pressed his hands against the lower part of the wall. It clicked and popped out. “On me.”
They covered him. Gage had to crawl through the opening. Inside was barely bigger than a closet. He clicked the flashlight on his rifle and shined it around. Found the missing girl, curled up in the corner.
A hefty figure clipped his shoulder on the way to the opening. Gage stuck out his foot and tripped the guy. He slammed his head on the top lip of the hatch and slumped to the floor with a thud.
“Got ’im.” Blake crouched to peer through the opening. “We’re gonna go get lunch if you’ve got this covered.”
Gage said, “She’s in here.”
He ignored the stale smell, and the dirty mattress against one wall, and crouched beside the girl. Gage touched two fingers to her throat, checking for a pulse, then keyed his mic. “Get an ambulance. She’s alive.”
FOUR
“Thank you.” Clare strode past Russ Franklin’s assistant and into the Benson PD Commissioner’s office. “This place suits you, Russ.”
The former US marshal sat behind the desk in an office decorated in wood and brass, complete with leather chairs. Muted light shined through the windows, the sky outside gray and overcast like it so often was in the Pacific Northwest—and the United Kingdom. She’d spent a stint at a base in England, and much preferred blue skies to dreary days and drizzling rain.
He grunted and removed his glasses. Rather than wearing a suit, which would have made him look like a mobster, he wore tan slacks and a buttoned gray-and-blue shirt. He hadn’t shaved. He pushed back his chair and rounded his desk. “Hey, kid.”
As he opened his arms, she stepped in for a quick squeeze. “Hey, yourself.” She caught a whiff of cigar, which meant he had a lot going on and felt the need to sit on his back deck and spend some time thinking. That wasn’t how she processed, but she understood feeling the same urge. The file Peter had given her—the original police report of Selena’s father’s disappearance— offered her more questions and little in the way of answers. The sheriff didn’t remember the case, and the deputy who’d written the report had died in a car accident years later.
He leaned back, the crinkles around his eyes deepening. “How’s your mom?”
“Still kicking butt and taking names as Seattle’s most cutthroat criminal attorney.”
“Of course she is.” Russ chuckled.
“How’s Addie?” Clare asked. “I haven’t gotten into the FBI office lately.” Never mind that she didn’t want to, and no intention of doing so anytime soon.
Addie Franklin, the FBI Special Agent who ran the Benson satellite office, had married a local photographer but kept her maiden name for her professional life. Clare didn’t know if it helped or hindered her that her uncle was now the police commissioner. Maybe it made her inroads with the PD.
“FBI and Benson Intelligence division are chasing a domestic terror case,” he said.
“Out of town?”
Russ motioned her to a seat and took his own behind the desk. Behind him rows of leather-bound volumes were flanked by petrified wood bookends. “They should have it all wrapped up soon enough.”
Clare nodded. “I have a fully equipped cyber division as well as a full forensics lab staffed with the best people I could hire and state-of-the-art equipment.” She didn’t want to make it sound like the PD needed her help. “If it might help to have any evidence processed faster than the lab here is able.”
“You know they’re backlogged. Everyone is backlogged.”
