“Go,” he whispered into his mic.
One by one, the team scaled the fence and crept across the open grass, each man to his assigned location. Stevens went last, joining the two men covering the sliding door at the back.
A click over the comm signaled red three and red four were in position. A few seconds later a double click confirmed the same for red five and red six.
Stevens clicked his mic button three times, signaling everyone to move in.
Safe houses were modified to make them difficult to enter — unless you had ties to the agency overseeing it. Master keys had been waiting for them in the Suburban, keys that not only freed the locks but also contained micro-transponders that disabled the home’s security system. After the glass door slid open, everything remained nice and quiet.
Red one entered first, pausing just inside for a quick look around before motioning to Stevens and red two that it was clear. Silently, they made their way through the family room into the kitchen and the dining room. There they linked up with red five and red six, who indicated the front of the house was also clear.
On the other side of the first floor was a hallway that led to a guest room, a bathroom, and the garage. Stevens looked down it as red three and red four emerged from the guest room. They informed him no one was in that part of the house.
So far things were going even better than Stevens had hoped. No one on watch meant the targets were likely sound asleep in the second-floor bedrooms.
He silently instructed red five and red six to remain at the base of the stairs before he headed up with the others.
Another hallway ran the length of the second floor. To the left was the massive master suite, and to the right four more bedrooms, a bathroom, and a linen closet. Leaving red three and red four to hold at the top of the stairs, Stevens went left with the other two.
At the master suite, red one did the honors of opening the door and pushing it inward. When they heard no response from inside, they slipped through the gap, but within seconds all three lowered their weapons.
The bed wasn’t just empty, it had no sheets on it, only two pillows and a folded blanket stacked at the foot of the mattress, waiting for the room’s next occupant.
Stevens directed red one to check the bathroom and red two to check the walk-in closet, but both returned shaking their heads.
Apparently the targets didn’t feel the need to use the best room in the house. That made a certain amount of sense given that Stevens had been told one of the targets was a hostage. Her captors must have felt it necessary to stay in the same room as she. It’s what Stevens would have done.
They moved back into the hall and headed to the other end, taking red three and red four with them.
The first bedroom was exactly like the master — stacked blankets and pillows, no sheets.
The same was true of bedroom two.
And three.
The bathroom was also clear.
Stevens felt both confused and irritated as they approached the door to the final bedroom. As red one moved to open it, Stevens tapped him on the shoulder and signaled that he would do it. He turned the knob and pushed the door inward.
The room was empty.
Cursing, he pulled out his phone.
CHAPTER 8
The alarm on Quinn’s cell went off exactly four hours after he’d laid his head down. He tapped the screen, killing the noise, and swung his legs off the bed.
Caffeine would be nice, he thought as he stood up. Two or three gallons’ worth should do the trick.
Nate was already in the kitchen when Quinn entered.
“I see you slept like a baby, too,” his partner said.
Quinn grunted as he set his phone on the counter and poured himself a mug of coffee from the pot Nate had brewed.
“I take it Helen didn’t call with new instructions,” Nate said.
Quinn shook his head. With the exception of his alarm, his phone had remained silent since their arrival at the safe house.
He took a sip and began to feel a bit more alive. After another, he asked, “Any noise from our guest?”
“Not a peep.”
Quinn cocked his head. “Please tell me she’s not gone.”
“I took a look in before coming down. She’s still there.”
Sipping from their cups, they shared a long silence.
“Did you check the news?” Quinn asked.
Nate looked at him, not quite understanding, then his eyes widened. “Oh, right.”
He disappeared into the living room, where the only television in the house was located. Quinn refilled his cup and followed, arriving just as Nate tuned in to a local morning news show.
On the screen was a helicopter shot looking down on a neighborhood, the focus on a familiar house.
“Looks like they sent someone to check out your call,” Nate said.
Dozens of police officers roamed the yards surrounding Samuel Edmondson’s home, their cars jamming the street. Even at this early hour, a crowd of looky-loos had gathered, but could only get as close as a barricade two houses away.
At the bottom of the screen, a graphic read:
2 ALIVE/2 DEAD IN COLUMBIA CITY HOME
“Turn it up,” Quinn said.
As Nate increased the volume, an anchor was saying, “…found on the premises. Let’s bring back in Tom Markewicz, who’s on the scene. Tom, what’s the latest?”
The image switched to a ground-level shot of a reporter standing just inside the barricade. The camera was angled to capture Edmondson’s front door in the distance.
“Carol, while the police have not yet released any names, neighbors say the home is owned by a man named Samuel Edmondson. One woman told me Mr. Edmondson seemed friendly but tended to keep to himself.” He went on for a while longer, sharing no real information.
The screen then split into graphic boxes, with the female anchor in the left box. “Any word yet if Mr. Edmondson was one of those discovered inside?”
“Not yet. All we know at this point is that one of the deceased is a woman and one a man. I’ll report back as soon as I have more.”
“Thanks, Tom.” The shot of the anchor then took over the whole screen. “Rita Meyers is standing by at Swedish Medical Center with an update on the two people found alive inside the house.
Another switch, this time to a reporter with the hospital in the background. “Just a few minutes ago a hospital spokesman told us that the two women are in fair condition. From what I understand, neither woman is—”
Nate turned it off. “It’s kind of weird seeing our handiwork on TV.”
Weird wasn’t strong enough a word as far as Quinn was concerned. Though he was relieved to have confirmation that the women were no longer in their cells, he had an intense desire to quickly get as far away from the area as possible.
As he took another sip of coffee, a thump on the floorboards overhead signaled that their guest had woken. This was followed a moment later by the doorknob rattling and a fist slamming against the door.
“Hey!” Danielle yelled. “Let me out! I need to go to the bathroom!”
Nate held out his fist. “Rock paper scissors?”
Frowning, Quinn said, “I’ll do it.” He handed his cup to Nate and headed upstairs.
“You guys are just like Mr. Black!” Danielle yelled as she continued to hit the door. “New room, different prison!”
Raising his voice to be heard above the racket, Quinn said, “Hold on, I’m coming.”
He might as well have kept his mouth shut because she continued pounding on the door until he unlocked it.
“Stand back,” he ordered. His gun was in his room, but he knew he could handle her without it.
He waited until he heard her move away from the door before he pushed it open. As soon as it was wide enough, though, she sprinted at him, her hand restraints surprisingly missing.