Chapter Twenty-Five
“We’re almost there,” Brantley told Atticus as they threaded their way between a cluster of mesquite trees with low-hanging branches.
“Can’t say I’m disappointed,” Atticus huffed, grunting and cursing.
Brantley grinned. He couldn’t help it. Then again, he’d chosen this particular field because he knew it would keep them hidden from the road.
Of course, they also risked encountering an animal determined to keep them out.
So far, they’d been lucky, but the birds had already sensed their presence, so it wouldn’t be long before larger, more insistent wildlife figured it out.
“Do we know what we’re walkin’ into?” Atticus asked, slightly out of breath.
“All I know is the original owners use it as a deer lease.”
“When is deer hunting season?”
Brantley grunted. “Now.”
“Seriously?”
He nodded.
Atticus huffed. “Meaning, we might run into some hunters with guns?”
Brantley shrugged. That was the price of admission, he figured.
“When we came through earlier, I noticed fast food containers in the trash cans by the road.”
“Which means someone’s stayin’ there. They might be waitin’ for us.”
It was possible. Especially since Archer and Reese had picked up another tail.
He didn’t know who they were dealing with.
If they had half a brain, someone would stick by their hidey hole to keep it safe.
If they didn’t … well, Brantley was hoping they didn’t because he wanted to get a look at the place.
He kept up his quick pace for a few more yards, then slowed, shifting to the west so they could come in from behind.
He was going on the original real estate listing, which boasted several hunting cabins and a main residence on the property.
It had been on the market for seven hundred eighty-one days, so there was no telling what condition it would be in.
If the bent and rusted For Sale sign by the road was anything to go by, there was a chance it was falling in on itself.
Holding up a fist, Brantley stopped. Atticus followed suit, moving up beside him. Brantley pulled a pair of binoculars from one of the pockets in his pants. He used them to scan the area, looking for signs of life. He expected to see armed guards pacing back and forth. There were none.
Shit.
“What’s wrong?” Atticus asked, his voice low.
Brantley passed the binoculars to him.
“No guards,” Atticus said a moment later. “Looks empty.”
Yeah, it did. Which meant one of two things: he was wrong and Kylie had never been here, or he was right but Kylie was no longer here. Either way, it wasn’t what he was hoping to find.
Only one way to find out.
Taking the binoculars back, Brantley shoved them in his pocket, then removed his gun from the holster.
“Stay close until I tell you,” he instructed Atticus before moving forward.
Atticus remained on his six, his weapon at the ready. Brantley kept his eye out for movement, but the only signs of life were a couple of squirrels chasing each other through the large oak tree in the front yard. And that pretty much told him there was no one outside.
The main house—or what he assumed was the main house—was nestled in between several oak trees, their branches stretched out, shielding the wraparound porch from the midday sun.
The house appeared in decent condition. It could use a good spray-down to get the mold off the siding, but the roof wasn’t sagging, and the porch wasn’t leaning.
He heard no sounds as they moved closer. Still, they kept low, silent. Brantley used hand signals to direct Atticus to go to the front of the house while he moved to the back.
By the time he reached the porch, he knew for sure no one was there. The windows were open, and he could see through to the front. The few pieces of furniture inside were turned over, and cobwebs were growing from the ceiling.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered as he went inside.
They cleared each room as they went. Brantley started with the kitchen, moved to the living room, and then to the bathroom, leaving the two bedrooms to Atticus. By the time Brantley was walking back to the kitchen, he felt the full weight of disappointment. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
“Hey, boss. You should come see this.”
Securing his weapon, he walked toward the sound of Atticus’s voice. He found him at the end of the hall in the larger of the two bedrooms.
“It looks like someone’s been here,” Atticus said.
Yeah. And whoever it was hadn’t been there willingly.
Not if the cuffs and chains were any indication.
There was a wooden chair in the corner, a pair of cuffs dangling from the front two legs.
On the floor was a twin-size mattress with a dingy yellow sheet.
He wasn’t sure whether yellow was the original color or if it had turned that way over time.
Beside the mattress was a chain bolted to the floor with a cuff on one end.
Probably used to keep their captive in place while they slept.
Atticus moved around the room, keeping to the outer edge while Brantley stood at the door, attempting to imagine Kylie chained up in this room. Surely, not. And damn sure not for nearly two fucking years.
“There’s blood, boss.” Atticus pointed. “Not a lot, but we might get DNA.”
Well, the kid kept right on surprising him.
Brantley pulled out his phone and dialed Reese.
“Yeah?” he answered, sounding breathless.
“We’re in the house. No one here.”
“That’s good to know.”
“What are y’all doin’?”
“Archer’s showin’ off his Nascar skills.”
“You haven’t shaken the tail yet?”
“Not yet. On purpose.”
“Well, when you do, meet us in town. We should be back that way in half an hour or so.”
“Will do.”
Brantley ended the call, then reached into another pocket, retrieving an evidence bag, a Q-tip, and a small vial he kept on him for this purpose.
“And Reese makes fun of you for wearin’ those pants,” Atticus said, grinning. “You got food in those pockets, too?”
“Maybe. Why? You hungry?”
Atticus shook his head, chuckling, then took the plastic bag when Brantley passed it over.
“Get a sample of the blood. I’m gonna check out the perimeter, make sure we haven’t missed somethin’.”
Pretending to be surprised by someone’s presence wasn’t nearly as easy as it appeared on television.
Not for Becs, anyway. Especially since seeing Allison brought back memories of the short time they’d worked together.
She remembered the woman being bossy and bitchy.
Then again, she also remembered that she hadn’t been all that friendly to Allison either.
Allison had rubbed her the wrong way from the beginning, and Becs hadn’t been her best self.
None of that mattered now, of course. Allison was on their most-wanted list, and talking to her was crucial to this investigation. Becs had to put her personal feelings aside and do the job.
She left the table, intending to stroll right up to Allison, smile, and feign surprise at seeing her after so long. She made it to the table, but then kept right on going. Straight for the restroom.
“Chicken,” she muttered as she pushed open the bathroom door. “Chicken, chicken, chicken.”
Huffing her disappointment, Becs stared at herself in the slanted mirror over the sink.
“Definitely not investigator material if you can’t even talk to someone.”
She turned on the water, thrust her hands under the stream.
“You can do this,” she told her reflection. “Go out there, walk up to her, and say something.”
She pressed the button on the soap dispenser and let the foam fill her hand.
“It’s just a conversation. Not like you have to arrest the woman or anything. Evan can do that part.” She rolled her eyes. “Or whatever.”
Scrubbing her hands together, she continued to stare at her reflection. When she knew she couldn’t stall any longer, she rinsed her hands and grabbed a paper towel.
“The second time has to be easier,” she said as she walked out of the bathroom.
It wasn’t. She walked right past Allison, wiping her sweaty palms on her jeans, her gaze locked on Evan, who was still sitting at their table.
“I can’t do it,” she told him, her hands trembling.
Rather than sit, she stood there like an idiot, not sure what to do next. Apparently, he wasn’t having the same issue because he reached for her arm, pulling her toward him until she was forced to sit beside him in the booth.
“Relax,” he whispered near her ear.
Oh, yeah. Sure. Like she could relax with his warm breath fanning her ear. It was bad enough she’d failed at being a super stealthy spy, but now she was going to turn into a puddle of goo beside him.
“We’ve got time,” he said, his voice low, his fingertip soft as he moved her hair back.
She felt that barely-there touch throughout her entire body. It made the hair on her arms stand tall and her nipples pull taut in her bra.
This is not happening.
“She’s not paying any attention to us,” Evan said softly, and she swore she felt his lips brush her earlobe.
“But she knows we’re here,” Becs argued, hating that her voice was trembling. “I worked with her, Evan. And I wasn’t exactly nice. I’m sure she remembers me well.”
“That was a long time ago.”
Not that long. Not to her, anyway.
“We just have to pretend we don’t remember her.”
“And how do you propose we do that?” Turning slightly to look at him, Becs’s breath caught in her throat when she realized how close he was.
Evan’s finger curled beneath her chin, and a second later, his lips were on hers.
Before she could react the way a normal, cautious woman would, Becs found herself leaning in, her tongue sliding out to meet his.
The kiss heated her from the inside out, the same way it had the first time her mouth mated with Evan’s.
It was intensely sweet and devastatingly familiar.
It took effort, but she managed to pull back without shrieking. She told herself she needed to maintain her cover because of Allison, which was the only reason she didn’t smack him for that.
Okay, that was a lie. She didn’t smack him because she could see he was just as dazed and confused as she was. The gleam in his eyes was brighter as he stared at her.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his lips barely moving.
“Me, too,” she said, meaning it. She was sorry for so many things, but most of all, she was sorry that Evan couldn’t give her what she needed.
If only she could sacrifice her happiness for a moment of delirium, then she could slake the lust, and they could move on, avoiding instances like this.
But no, Becs had sacrificed far too much of herself for other people. She was doing things differently now.
Shoring up her nerves, she managed to get to her feet. She smoothed her hand down her shirt and turned, intending to talk to Allison, only to realize the woman was no longer sitting at the table. Her gaze snapped to the door when the bells sounded, and she saw her walking outside.
“She’s leavin’,” she told Evan before racing after her. As soon as she stepped outside, she called Allison by name.
The woman turned, clearly surprised.
“Hey!” Becs tried to sound as though she was a long-lost friend, thrilled to see her. “How are you?”
Allison’s eyebrows angled downward as she stared back.
“It’s me, Gladys,” she said without thinking. “Gladys Overwith.”
Allison’s frown deepened.
When Becs was close enough, she dropped the facade. “That was a joke. I’m not sure if you remember me. Rebecca. I go by Becs. We worked on the task force together.”
Allison shook her head. “I think you’ve got me confused with someone else.”
“I’m pretty sure I don’t. You’re Allison Bogart, an FBI agent working for Martin Calloway.”
There was a minuscule shift of the muscles over her left eyebrow that gave her away, but Allison attempted to play dumb. “I don’t know who that is.”
“But I’m sure you know Brantley Walker and Reese Tavoularis.”
Allison’s eyes shifted to something over Becs’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’ve got to go.”
Watching as Allison turned to walk away, Becs saw everything they’d worked for go right down the drain.
“No, wait,” she said, grabbing Allison’s wrist so she couldn’t leave. “We need to talk.”
“Let me go,” Allison hissed, jerking out of her grip. “You’ve got me confused with someone else.”
Becs was preparing her argument when Allison turned on her heel and raced off.
At that moment, Evan appeared at her side, watching as the woman they’d been looking for darted between cars. A moment later, she backed out of a parking space in a black, four-door sedan that looked like something the FBI would drive.
“Did you talk to her?”
“She kept sayin’ I’d confused her with someone else.” She looked at Evan. “That is her, right?”
“Yeah. That’s her.”
Becs pursed her lips, staring after the car as it left the parking lot.
“What is it?” Evan asked.
She looked at him. “I guess I was expecting someone a little less … scared.”
“Scared?”
Becs nodded. “Yeah. I’d go so far as to say that woman was terrified.”
“Of what?”
“That’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question.”
Evan chuckled. “You are far too young to remember that show.”
Smiling for the first time since he kissed her, Becs looked up at Evan. “You’re right. I am. But are you?”
“Old man jokes. Nice.”
She thought so.