reacted to that?
The unthinkable. They could have decided Billy Clyde wasn’t going to play fair and killed Theresa instead. They’d told Billy Clyde that was his one pass at not following the rules but they might have been lying.
Kidnappers tended not to be the most reliable of people.
Gun in hand, he opened the door and stepped in.
Silence.
Giving his eyes time to adjust to the darkness, he stood and listened. Room after room, upstairs and down. No sign of Theresa. No signs of life in the house. If someone had been here recently, they’d covered their tracks well.
Finally, the only area left to check was the basement.
Keeping his gun in one hand, he pulled out the flashlight from his pocket. He hadn’t wanted the light to call attention to the house, on the off chance anyone was up at this time of the morning and looking out their window. But the basement would be more protected and darker.
And h e needed the light to see.
He stepped onto the first step. Creak. The first sound he’d heard since entering the abandoned house other than his own breath. He was pretty sure he was alone, but he and Billy Clyde hadn’t made it out of Afghanistan by being pretty sure.
He waited until he was certain there’d been no reaction to the noise. Step by step, he made his way down to the basement. The temperature dropped several degrees and mustiness filled his nose.
He turned on the flashlight.
His eyes blinked at the sudden brightness.
A dirt basement. At the bottom of the steps he moved the flashlight in an arc. A chair stood beside a crate. Looked like some bottles and food on top of the crate.
Someone had been here.
Dylan walked over to it and pointed the light down to get a better look. Ants crawled on the bags and the paper cups. He picked up the paper cup, shaking the ants off of it.
Beads of moisture. That meant the debris was recent.
He arc hed the light around the room once again. A door in the corner. He walked over, his heart thumping. Please God, don’t let Theresa be in there dead. The door squeaked as he opened it. He ignored it. Didn’t care about the noise. He wanted to see if Theresa was in that room, dead or alive.
He flashed the light.
The room was empty.
He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or not. A part of him had hoped, Theresa would be in here waiting to be rescued. But at least she wasn’t in here dead. He stepped in to take a closer look.
An old bathtub sat in the corner . He moved closer and leaned in. There was something in the tub. A bright red, yellow, and orange scarf. Just the sort of thing Theresa would wear. He reached in to pick it up.
A scuffled step.
He put his finger on the trigger of his gun and—
CHAPTER 27
His head throbbed. Dylan opened his eyes but the darkness remained.
Blindfolded.
He attempted to move his legs and arms, but couldn’t.
Both tied.
His head hurt where he’d been hit. He felt woozy, slightly sick to his stomach as if drugged. Probably had been.
How long had been here? He had no idea. Was Billy Clyde awake and looking for him? He hoped so. Too bad he hadn’t left a note explaining where he was going.
Dylan kicked out with both feet but they were blocked. The soles of his feet clanked against a barrier. He was in a container of some sorts. Hard, almost a metallic sound when he kicked.
The tub. Of course.
Whoever had snuck up on him had knocked him out and then put him in the tub.
The sam e tub where Theresa had no doubt been hours earlier.
Something slithered over his leg.
He wasn’t alone. His foot wanted to kick out at the intruder, but Dylan knew that wasn’t a good idea. It could be anything. No reason to aggravate it.
It moved up his leg. At least it was on the outside of his pants.
He held his breath. Your will, dear Lord, not mine.
It was the prayer he always used when in danger. He’d learned long ago in the mountains of Afghanistan
The unthinkable. They could have decided Billy Clyde wasn’t going to play fair and killed Theresa instead. They’d told Billy Clyde that was his one pass at not following the rules but they might have been lying.
Kidnappers tended not to be the most reliable of people.
Gun in hand, he opened the door and stepped in.
Silence.
Giving his eyes time to adjust to the darkness, he stood and listened. Room after room, upstairs and down. No sign of Theresa. No signs of life in the house. If someone had been here recently, they’d covered their tracks well.
Finally, the only area left to check was the basement.
Keeping his gun in one hand, he pulled out the flashlight from his pocket. He hadn’t wanted the light to call attention to the house, on the off chance anyone was up at this time of the morning and looking out their window. But the basement would be more protected and darker.
And h e needed the light to see.
He stepped onto the first step. Creak. The first sound he’d heard since entering the abandoned house other than his own breath. He was pretty sure he was alone, but he and Billy Clyde hadn’t made it out of Afghanistan by being pretty sure.
He waited until he was certain there’d been no reaction to the noise. Step by step, he made his way down to the basement. The temperature dropped several degrees and mustiness filled his nose.
He turned on the flashlight.
His eyes blinked at the sudden brightness.
A dirt basement. At the bottom of the steps he moved the flashlight in an arc. A chair stood beside a crate. Looked like some bottles and food on top of the crate.
Someone had been here.
Dylan walked over to it and pointed the light down to get a better look. Ants crawled on the bags and the paper cups. He picked up the paper cup, shaking the ants off of it.
Beads of moisture. That meant the debris was recent.
He arc hed the light around the room once again. A door in the corner. He walked over, his heart thumping. Please God, don’t let Theresa be in there dead. The door squeaked as he opened it. He ignored it. Didn’t care about the noise. He wanted to see if Theresa was in that room, dead or alive.
He flashed the light.
The room was empty.
He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or not. A part of him had hoped, Theresa would be in here waiting to be rescued. But at least she wasn’t in here dead. He stepped in to take a closer look.
An old bathtub sat in the corner . He moved closer and leaned in. There was something in the tub. A bright red, yellow, and orange scarf. Just the sort of thing Theresa would wear. He reached in to pick it up.
A scuffled step.
He put his finger on the trigger of his gun and—
CHAPTER 27
His head throbbed. Dylan opened his eyes but the darkness remained.
Blindfolded.
He attempted to move his legs and arms, but couldn’t.
Both tied.
His head hurt where he’d been hit. He felt woozy, slightly sick to his stomach as if drugged. Probably had been.
How long had been here? He had no idea. Was Billy Clyde awake and looking for him? He hoped so. Too bad he hadn’t left a note explaining where he was going.
Dylan kicked out with both feet but they were blocked. The soles of his feet clanked against a barrier. He was in a container of some sorts. Hard, almost a metallic sound when he kicked.
The tub. Of course.
Whoever had snuck up on him had knocked him out and then put him in the tub.
The sam e tub where Theresa had no doubt been hours earlier.
Something slithered over his leg.
He wasn’t alone. His foot wanted to kick out at the intruder, but Dylan knew that wasn’t a good idea. It could be anything. No reason to aggravate it.
It moved up his leg. At least it was on the outside of his pants.
He held his breath. Your will, dear Lord, not mine.
It was the prayer he always used when in danger. He’d learned long ago in the mountains of Afghanistan
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