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“And what about him?” John pointed to Regis. Would any deputy actually arrest him? Could anyone be trusted?
“I can talk to him. If you find him. I can reason with him. Get him to tell you where they are.” Regis’s plea fell on deaf ears.
“If you could do that, then why haven’t you already?”
Violet called Agent Kip Pulaski, who was still at the search for Bella Dawn. He and Regis were friendly, but he was the only one she trusted to book him. After he arrived, she and John headed for Cecil Johnson’s childhood home.
As they parked on the edge of the road, black, ominous clouds rolled in. The wind gusted, blowing Violet’s FBI windbreaker open. She buttoned it and hunched as a few drops of icy rain dotted her face. She drew her weapon as they approached the cave where they’d found the victims, Violet’s boots sinking in the mud.
“What’s our game plan?” John asked as they hit the muddy path that led to the cabin. Violet stayed to the edge of the woods, using the branches for as much covering as possible. The rain began a steady fall. She gripped her gun and squinted. “Cabin’s not big. Cecil works during the day. Why don’t you call the shop and see if he answers?”
John searched for the number then called, but it dropped. “No cell service.”
Violet ground her teeth. “Let’s proceed with caution then. Secure the perimeter before we go in. You take the east side, and I’ll take the west. We’ll meet at the back door and go from there.”
Violet darted from the tree line, but John caught her arm and drew her to him, then quickly kissed her cheek. “Be careful. Watch your back.”
She touched the warmth radiating on her chilly skin. “You too.” Dashing along the edge of the woods, keeping behind trees for shelter, she glanced up at the hanging bridges connecting to one another in a maze. Would he be up there lying in wait on the bridge or in one of the two tree houses?
With her back up against the outside of the cabin, she edged along the side, peeping in broken windows. The two bedrooms on her side too filthy to see through. She had no way to tell if Bella Dawn or Ruby were stashed inside. She eased to the back door.
John wasn’t there.
She waited. Surveyed the area then texted him.
Text wouldn’t go through.
She opened the back door and stepped inside the dark ramshackle cabin. Wood, earth and decay reached her nostrils. The damp air slithered over her skin, and her breath plumed before her.
She stepped forward, listened then took another step. No sound but wind whistling through broken windowpanes and the skittering of trash blowing and skimming the old wooden flooring. Chills broke out along her skin, and she ran her bottom lip through her teeth as she proceeded to the small hallway that connected the two bedrooms.
The door to the left was ajar and she approached, finding it empty, but the one to the right—the one where they’d found the photo of Cecil—was closed. Where was John? Violet had a sick feeling ooze in her belly and shoot a burning sensation into her throat. She eased down the wall, glanced back at the other room, then reached out and laid a hand on the doorknob, the metal cool against her fingers.
Violet opened the door and shined her light, then gasped.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Monday, October 23
9:13 p.m.
“I’m a federal agent, and I’m here to help you.” Violet rushed to the twin bed, shocked that Bella Dawn was alive, but she’d been through the wringer to say the least. A half-eaten sandwich lay in a to-go box on the night table. She removed the duct tape as gently as possible, but Bella Dawn winced. “Sorry. I know it hurts.”
Bella Dawn didn’t speak. Violet grabbed the old box she and John had riffled through. She removed the pocket knife and slit the ropes tying Bella Dawn’s wrists to the iron posts of the headboard.
“You’re safe now. Get dressed as fast as you can.” They were going to lose all kinds of evidence by not bagging her clothing, but right now getting the woman out of this pit was more important.
Bella Dawn sat stunned. Violet shined the light in her eyes. She was in shock. Her skin was like ice to the touch. The blanket Cecil tossed across her body had slipped off—probably due to her trying to break free, which meant she’d been lying bare in the cold, shivering for hours in this weather. Could she get her to move? And where was John?
“Bella Dawn,” she said with more grit and force. She patted her cheek. “How long has Cecil been gone? Talk to me.”
Violet laid the knife on the table, grabbed Bella Dawn’s flimsy dress and yanked it over her head, maneuvering her arms inside like a child’s, then pushed it down over her torso and down her hips. Not much material to keep her warm. Shoes. Did she have shoes?
Bella Dawn’s pale blue lips chattered.
Violet pulled her phone in a feeble attempt to call in backup, hoping for once there would be at least one bar.
No service.
