Chapter 51
Chapter
Fifty-One
Austin waited at the fender of the lead SUV, mist beading on the hood.
The two-story farmhouse slouched at the end of the drive as though someone had set it down and walked away.
It had a steep roof. A stone chimney climbed the near wall.
The porch roof dipped in the middle. One post leaned away from the steps.
Paint hung from the clapboards in long gray strips, and the narrow upstairs windows stretched in a blank row.
Weeds had taken the yard, but not the drive. Two ruts cut through them, the mud inside glossy and new. The gate between the stone pillars hung open, its chain in the gravel with one link cut clean.
Beyond the house, a barn lurked at the edge of the woods, a round window under its peak catching the first gray light. Between the barn and the house, two low mounds of stone humped out of the grass.
But it was the house that kept his attention.
The front door stood open several inches.
Wind nudged it inward, then let it drift back with a faint complaint from the hinges. Beyond the threshold, a narrow strip of hallway disappeared into darkness.
Austin’s hand settled near his weapon. An open door should have made entry easier. Instead, it felt like a trap. Anyone waiting inside would have an unobstructed view of the porch and everyone approaching it.
Prine pointed toward the SUV. “You and Nash stay behind cover. Neither of you is part of the entry team.” She tapped the radio at her shoulder. “Neither am I. Somebody has to run this from out here.”
Austin didn’t argue. He was an FBI agent, but he was on bereavement leave and had no official role in this operation.
The tactical team moved onto the porch while Austin, Prine, and Nash took cover behind the vehicles. No lights burned inside the farmhouse, and the dark windows reflected the weak morning sky.
The team leader stopped beside the entrance. “Law enforcement! If anyone is inside, come out with your hands visible.”
No response came.
After several seconds, the first two officers crossed the threshold. The others flowed inside behind them.
Austin tracked their progress through Prine’s radio.
Front room clear.
Kitchen clear.
Hallway clear.
Each announcement tightened the pressure behind his ribs.
If Cross had left the door open, he’d either fled in a hurry or wanted them to come inside.
Neither possibility reassured Austin.
The team cleared the second floor, then moved into the cellar. Other officers checked the barn and remaining outbuildings.
Finally, the team leader’s voice crackled over the radio. “Main structure clear. No occupants.”
Cross was gone.
So were Christian and Preston—if they’d been here. They still didn’t have definitive proof.
Austin’s gaze shifted toward the woods behind the farmhouse. They might have missed them by minutes—or Cross might have known they were coming before the first vehicle reached the property.
The team leader appeared in the doorway and signaled that they could enter.
Prine left cover. “Stay with me.”
Austin and Nash followed her across the yard.
The farmhouse smelled of damp wood, dust and something faintly chemical. Most of the furnishings had been removed, leaving pale rectangles on the walls where pictures had once hung. Mud streaked the floorboards, and drops of water formed a broken trail through the front room.
Someone had been here recently.
The team leader met them in the kitchen. Empty water bottles and food wrappers filled a trash bag beside the counter. Two disposable coffee cups sat near the sink. Two empty juice boxes had been crushed and tossed into the trash.
“We found a sleeping area in the back,” he said.
Austin followed him down the hall. Nash and Prine came behind him.
The room had probably been a study once. Now it held two thin foam mattresses on the floor, each covered with a gray blanket. One was long enough for a teenager. The other had been cut shorter, leaving a ragged foam edge exposed.
The blanket on the smaller mattress was tangled near the foot, and the foam sagged in the center as though someone had slept there more than once. The longer mattress looked less disturbed, but damp mud darkened the floor beside it.
Preston had been missing a few days now. Christian had only been gone a few hours.
A possibility formed in Austin’s mind.
Cross could have brought Preston here after abducting him, then left the boy with an accomplice while he returned to Fog Lake and joined the search. Later, Cross had come back with Christian.
The coffee cups suggested another adult had been here. Maybe the person was now waiting to transport the boys somewhere else.
A plastic tray sat between the mattresses with the remains of two sandwiches and an unopened juice box.
Austin crouched without touching anything. No clothes lay nearby. No toiletries. No books, toys or other possessions that suggested anyone had intended to stay for long.
This wasn’t somewhere Cross kept the boys permanently.
It was somewhere he held them until another person arrived to take them elsewhere.
One sandwich had only a few bites missing. The other had been torn into pieces, but almost none of it was gone.
Both boys had been in this room.
And neither had felt safe enough to eat.
The crying came again.
The sound was faint and broken. Definitely a child.
Deputy Harris lifted one hand, warning Nora to stay inside. Then he moved past the gray SUV and followed a narrow opening between the trees. Thick mountain laurel closed behind him as he disappeared down the slope toward the creek.
Nora gripped the door handle without opening it. Every instinct screamed at her to follow. But charging into the woods would only distract Harris and give him one more person to protect. She forced herself to remain still as he vanished into the mist.
For several seconds, she saw nothing.
Then the brush shifted on the opposite side of the SUV, away from where Harris had gone.
A small boy stumbled out of the trees.
Her breath caught.
Was that . . . Preston?
She blinked, and his face came into focus.
It was.
It was Preston.
Mud covered his jeans, and one sleeve of his shirt had torn near the shoulder. His face was pale beneath streaks of dirt, and tears carved clean lines down his cheeks.
But he was alive. He was on his feet.
Relief nearly buckled her.
Nora unlocked the door before she realized what she was doing. If Preston reached the SUV, she could pull him inside and lock it again. She could keep him safe.
She eased the door open and kept her voice low.
“Preston.”
His head jerked toward her.
Recognition flickered across his face, followed by such desperate hope that Nora’s heart twisted. “Miss Nora?”
“It’s me. Come here.” She reached her arms toward him. “Hurry!”
He took one step.
Then another.
Something moved in the brush behind him.
Preston glanced over his shoulder, and the hope vanished from his face.
Before Nora could warn him, a hand shot from the trees and caught the back of his jacket.