Chapter 5
GRANT
“Is this the right house?” Officer Gunn asks.
Don’t go there, I tell myself. Just get inside.
“Thanks,” I say to Gunn, moving to get out.
“Why don’t I come check on your sister and make sure she’s okay?”
“No,” I say a little too quickly. “No, she’ll be fine now that I’m here. Thanks again for the ride.” And then I’m gone, pushing out of the cruiser and sprinting up the driveway toward the door—which is wide open.
And not just open. The glass panes are shattered along with the sidelights, the wood splintered, the frame bowed like someone kicked it in.
Because someone did, I realize with a chill. That’s exactly what happened.
What’s inside is worse.
I stop the second I enter, too stunned to move.
The couch is shredded. Ribbons of stuffing foam through gills cut into the cushions.
The ottoman is overturned, the coffee table broken.
The floor is strewn in a violent constellation of shattered glass.
But that isn’t what holds my attention. What immediately draws my gaze is the long crimson arrow glistening on the carpet, pointing toward the hall.
Blood. That’s all I can think as I move closer to it. They painted the carpet with Avery’s blood. Oh god. And then the fumes hit—harsh and sharp—and I exhale in relief. Not blood. Spray paint. And fresh. Whoever did this hasn’t been gone for long—if they’re gone at all.
“What happened here?”
I nearly jump out of my skin at the voice. When I spin around, I see Gunn pushing inside with a frown. I look behind him, and the sight of his squad car still parked in the street sends me spiraling. It can’t be out there, and he can’t be in here. Fuck.
“I don’t know,” I manage to stutter.
“Where’s your sister?” he asks.
His question doesn’t register for a moment, but then I remember my cover story. “I’m … not sure.”
He squints at me and then the arrow. The squint deepens. He draws his weapon and edges past me. “Stay here.”
I don’t. I drift after him instead, both of us moving into the hall, where more arrows soak the carpet.
But not just the carpet. They’re painted on the walls and ceiling as well.
Dozens of them—every one angling toward the master bedroom at the end of the hall.
The door is shut, spray-painted with a bright red X that ties my throat in a knot.
What does it mean? Is Avery lying behind that door?
Gunn slows and places a single finger to his lips as I near, his face pure stone. I can tell he’s pissed I followed him, but I don’t care. Whatever lies inside is too important to miss.
Don’t move, he mouths as he turns the doorknob.
I nod.
He thrusts the door open and disappears inside, sweeping his gun left to right. He’s only gone for a few seconds, but it feels like ten minutes have passed by the time he returns. His face is still grim, his eyes wide and alert, but he’s no longer on edge like he was a moment ago.
He holsters his gun and steps aside. “It’s clear. No one’s in here. But you need to see this.”
I move past him and freeze for the second time since walking into the house. A phone lies in the center of the bed, outlined in a blood-red circle. Above it, painted in all caps on the duvet, is an order.
DIAL THE NUMBER.
“What the hell is going on here?” Gunn asks.
I ignore him and snap up the phone. When I do, I realize that despite the demanding words bleeding all over the comforter, I don’t know what number to call.
I’m missing something. I scan the bedspread again and spot the business card.
It’s lying where the phone was a second earlier.
I grab it and stare at the ten digits stamped on the front in black ink—a phone number. That’s it. Nothing else.
Gunn takes a step closer, the crease between his eyes now so deep it might as well be a canyon. “You need to level with me right now, Grant. What’s going on?”
“Listen to me,” I hiss. “I’ll explain everything in a second. But I have to make this call first, and the person on the other end of the line cannot know you are here. Because if they do, they’re going to hurt someone very important to me.”
It stings as I say it. Gunn shouldn’t be here.
There could be cameras in the house. Avery’s abductors could be watching us right now.
Hell, they could be hiding in the house for all I know.
Or seconds away from shooting my wife. There are too many variables to consider at this point, and the only one I control is still clutched in my hand.
“Put it on speaker,” Gunn says as I punch in the number.
“Not a word,” I reiterate, glaring at him. “Not a sound.”
He nods, and I hit the call button.
The phone rings twice before a voice fills the line. It’s deep and gruff, mechanical, two words spilling through the speaker like gargled rocks.
“You’re late.”