Chapter 12
TWELVE
BUTCH
I can’t deny there’s a certain amount of pressure that comes with an inexperienced woman. Being any sort of her first requires a careful approach. Patience. A gentle touch.
I possess none of those things.
Becca deserves someone who’ll make all her firsts exactly what they should be. A man who can be what she needs.
The main problem I’m running into is, if she did find a man who was careful, patient, and gentle, I’d have to fucking kill him for trying to put his hands on her.
Especially now that I’ve seen how pretty she is when she comes.
It’s been a long fucking day, and she’s been such a fucking trooper through all of it. Stood by my side. Defended me.
Protected me.
And I want her to see I can do the same for her. That I can be the one to give her everything. I want to show her how fucking much I appreciate her for giving me what I’ve been missing for so long. For being who I’ve been missing in my life.
Someone I can trust. Someone I can rely on.
Someone who doesn’t want to regularly stab me with a fork.
Becca blinks up at me, her eyes wide. “That was…” She seems to lose her train of thought. “That was…” Again she loses track of her words—well done me—seems to recalibrate, and her next ones shoot straight to my dick. “Let’s do that again.”
Hell. I’m gonna end up fucking her. I don’t care about periods or the lack of leverage I’ve got on this damn air mattress.
If I let this continue, Becca’s gonna end up coming on my cock.
“I—” The cell in my pocket starts to ring, saving her from me and me from myself.
Pulling it free, I connect the call. I’m expecting it to be Simon, or one of the other men from the block, telling me they’ve changed their minds and I can pound sand. Instead, the gravely voice of one of my informants carries through the line.
“Heard you’re lookin’ for a little girl.”
My eyes snap to Becca’s. Like she can read my mind, she starts wiggling away, adjusting her clothes and grabbing the items I got to help keep her safe when we have to split up.
It’s a relief to slide back into familiar territory as I chuckle. “Who’d you hear that from?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Scooter—a man I’ve known since my early days undercover—blows out a long breath I can guess carries the heavy scent of marijuana. “All that matters is I heard someone might know where to find her.”
“Interesting.” I keep my tone flat. Uninterested. I know Becca’s feeling hopeful—not sure she can get ready any faster than she is—but I’m not convinced this is a reliable lead. “I find it kinda hard to believe you’re giving me genuine information, considering…”
“Considering there’s nothing in it for me?” Scooter takes another puff of his joint, making me wait as he holds it before continuing. “Thought about that. Decided I didn’t want the stain of a bunch of abused girls on my soul.”
That’s… surprisingly noble coming from a mid-level criminal.
“Okay.” I take Becca’s hand in mine, leading her toward the door. “Tell me what you’ve got.”
“Are you sure this is the place he told you?” Becca studies the unassuming single-story house through the windshield of our SUV. “It looks like my parents’ house.”
Pressing my binoculars against my eyes, I slowly scan the quiet, suburban street. “I hate to break this to you, B, but there are plenty of bad people who look just like your parents.”
Before parking, we circled the block, looking over the neighborhood. Checking for anything that might give us a clue about whether or not we’re on the right track. I have to agree with her. This isn’t the sort of place I would normally be staking out. But what we’re dealing with isn’t normal.
At least I fucking hope it’s not.
My eyes reach the corner of the small, perfectly manicured yard surrounding the house in question, and pause.
In my career, I’ve been through just about every kind of house imaginable, and it would be extremely unusual for the mid-century build in front of us to have a cellar.
A walkout basement, maybe. But not a lower level with an entry point like the one I’m looking at.
I would expect the double doors set at an angle low to the ground on an old farmhouse, or even a historic mansion.
That sort of wide passage was used to provide easy access for delivering large quantities of coal or for bushels of produce to be brought in before winter.
But this house never had a coal furnace, and nobody’s farming a quarter of an acre in a Memphis suburb.
That means they’re bringing something else in those doors. Something that would be easier to get through a wide space. A space broad enough arms couldn’t reach to grab at the sides. One a person—even someone fighting for their life—could be easily carried through.
I pass Becca the binoculars before shoving the earpiece connected to my Walmart grade walkie talkie into place. “You ready?”
I should probably be more nervous to enter a building alone with nothing but a tiny computer engineer as backup.
But after wondering who I could count on for years and being surrounded by contemporaries I trusted less and less, I gotta say, I’d pick this woman over anyone else. Because I know she’s got my back.
Becca nods, her own walkie talkie clutched in one hand, the binoculars in the other. “Do you really think she might be in there?”
I wish I could tell her I did. But while I think Scooter’s information was probably accurate at one point, I don’t know how old it is. In situations like this, they don’t keep people in one place long. “I think we’re about to find out.”
I make sure my weapon is in place and check the connection of our walkie talkies before turning to give Becca a stern look. “Do not leave this vehicle. Got it?”
Her expression matches mine. “If I want to leave this car, I will. And you’ll have to deal with it.”
I should have seen that coming.
Becca’s determined to do her part in finding her sister. And if she’s not included in what’s happening, she gets a little…
Escapey.
“Fine.” I rummage around the SUV, looking for something I can give her to make me feel at least somewhat better about the possibility she might leave the relative safety of the car.
I don’t have much in here, but I do manage to locate my old toolbox in the back seat.
After pulling out a couple options, I hold them up. “Pick your poison.”
Without hesitation, she takes the hammer, twisting it in front of me. “This has two ends to choose from. The hammer end, and the claw side. The pry bar only has one.”
I toss the pry bar back into the tool box. “Good thinking.” Hooking one hand around the back of her neck, I pull Becca’s lips to mine for a quick kiss. Because I’ll be damned if I go out without doing it at least one more time. “Stay safe while I’m gone.”
I’m out of the SUV before the sight of her pressing two fingers against her lips can reel me back in. I need to get in and get out so we can be one step closer to figuring out what’s going on. And one step closer to figuring out what’s happening with her and me.
Because there is absolutely something going on between us. Something that is fast-moving and all-consuming.
As much as I want to, I can’t let it distract me. Becca and her sister deserve for me to be at the top of my game. So I shut everything else off, pushing it to the side as I slowly move in, carefully making my way toward the small house Scooter claimed Becca’s sister was taken to.
It’s quiet and dark. Not surprising considering it’s well after midnight at this point.
The air is heavy with moisture, making it feel cooler than it really is as my boots silently move across the grass.
My steps are light but steady as I pick my way around trees and bushes, keeping an eye out for motion activated lights and cameras.
I have to assume this place has them, and the only way to ensure they won’t see me coming will likely also give away my presence.
But, hopefully it will buy me enough time to get in and out before anyone inside discovers my location.
Looking overhead, I follow the path of the electric wires leading to the home.
I find where they converge against the brick exterior, moving cautiously as I search for any cameras angled toward that spot.
There were plenty aimed at the strange cellar doors—making me even more confident in Scooter’s information—but there don’t seem to be any back here.
I’m still careful as I close the distance between me and the house, crouching down as I use the limited amount of moonlight to search for the main electric shut off.
It’s not a simple on-and-off switch, but a recess that requires a special metal key with an oddly shaped end.
A key only electric companies are in possession of.
And first responders.
I’m real fucking glad I had the foresight to hang onto one of these. The one I have is almost a decade old, so hopefully it still works.
When I find the spot I’m looking for, I carefully slide the metal shut-off key into place, twisting it to the side as I hold my breath. The house is old enough that the meters outside are the kind with the spinning gauges, and I watch as they slow to a stop.
Then I start to move, rounding the back of the building as fast as I can.
When I reach the double doors, I unhook the bolt cutters from their loop on my pants, wedge them under the padlock, and squeeze with everything I’ve got in me.
It takes some effort, but soon I have the lock off, tossing it to one side as I swing open the doors.
The smell of piss and shit and unwashed bodies hits me like a fucking wall, sending me staggering back.
“Jesus Christ.” I turn my head and pull in as much fresh air as I can, then step over the ledge, descending the stairs into a hell I don’t want to witness. The silence inside is deafening, and disheartening.
“Is she there?” Becca’s voice is quiet in my ear, and the hope in it breaks my heart.