Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97944 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97944 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
“I—I have no idea. His apartment? Last time we spoke, before our fight, he mentioned he’s been seeing a girl and hanging out at some bar where she works.”
His comment chills my blood. “Fuck!” I growl, needing to walk away. I drag my hands down my face. This motherfucker fooled us all.
“Mr. Tillman, we need to take you down to the station. It’s imperative you cooperate. A young woman’s life is at stake.”
“Yes, of course.”
I turn back. “Call your son.”
“Tate, we have no means to trace the call here.”
“Call him. If he answers, talk to him. Ask him questions. Listen to sounds.”
“Tate—”
“Get him to tell you where he is—”
“Enough!” Rochel snaps. He turns and addresses an officer. “Escort Mr. Tillman to the station. I want a full statement in writing, where he’s been, what he knows about his son and—hold on.” He takes another call. “What do you have?” He nods. “I want a team in place. Do not enter until I get there.” He hangs up. “They found the barn.” He turns to Tillman. “Do you own a property about fifty minutes outside of the city with a barn?”
“Yeah, it was a flop purchase. We were going to develop a multi-housing community, but the land was deemed undevelopable. It’s been sitting vacant for years.”
“Does your son know about this location?”
“He’d been working with me briefly when we purchased—”
Rochel thrusts a finger at Tillman and shouts to the men around him. “He goes straight to the station. Get a list of all the properties he owns. Anything Paul could use as a hostage base. Tate, you’re with me.”
The ride is a blur. Fear burns inside my chest. I try to push down the thoughts, but too much time has gone by. He’s had hours with her. My scars from war have faded, but the shit I saw will forever be etched into my mind. The suffering. Torture. It’s ugly. The pain someone can cause when their soul is detached from their mind.
It’s been a long time since my mind has become lost in my memories of Iraq. The sounds of death. The smell. I clench my jaw, closing my eyes, wishing away the images. This is not Iraq. But this is fucking war.
My thoughts are brought back to the present as we hit a side road nearly hidden by overgrown trees. If not for the tire tracks in the mud, we might have missed it. Rochel pulls into a ditch. “We’ve gotta walk from here.” He gets out and opens his trunk. “Put this on.” He throws a bulletproof vest at me and hands me a semi-automatic. “Don’t make me regret this. Use it only if you need to. I’ll have a lot of paperwork if you fire that gun. You hear me?”
“Loud and clear.”
We make our way through the dense woods, meeting up with his task force. “What do we have?”
“It’s been quiet. There’s light coming from the upper level of the barn, but we haven’t seen any movement.”
Rochel waves his hand. “On my count, move close. Once everyone is in place, we go in. Do not shoot unless instructed. I want them both alive.”
The latter isn’t an option.
My heart pounds. My hands shake. I work to clear my mind, knowing I’m not helping her by letting my emotions override my skill. Rochel waves his hand, giving his men the signal. The doors to the barn are busted open, and a team races in. I’m right behind, my gun cocked, eyes scanning the barn.
Seconds pass. Minutes. Nothing.
“He’s not here,” Rochel calls out.
“Sir, over here. We found something.”
His words bubble like acid in my ears as I race to the other side of the barn and stop in my tracks, my stomach convulsing.
Her.
Everywhere.
“What the fuck?” I take in the pictures covering the barn wall. Mindy. At work. In her apartment. Walking down the street. Eating at a café. I move my eyes lower, and my hands shake as red hazes my vision. Naked. Coming out of the shower. Intimate moments where she felt safe and had no idea a psychopath was stalking her.
A worktable off to the side catches my attention, and I walk over, taking in the items. Clothing. A hairbrush. A fucking coffee mug with her lipstick on the rim. “He was the one in her apartment,” I say out loud. “All this shit—how long has he been following her?” This is a man who has spent a lot of time waiting.
Hunting.
An officer runs up to Rochel. “Detective, we found something.”
“What is it?”
The officer leads us to the other end of the barn, stopping short in front of a mound of dirt. “What am I looking at?” he asks.
The officer bends down, snapping on a plastic glove and brushing off some dirt. “It’s a skull, sir.”
Chapter twenty-three
Mindy
I wake up again, this time just groggy. I open my eyes, praying it was all a bad dream. The scenery almost convinces me it was until I tug at my ankle. The sound of a lock grabs my attention. The door opens, and Vince walks in. “Glad to see you’re awake. You must be starving.”