“Hey, how come you’re not with those FBI agents? I heard you work with them.”
“Not since three years ago.”
“You found my daughter. I don’t care whether you work for the sheriff or the FBI or anybody. I owe you my life.”
A vehicle door slams. Cherise jumps, but it’s a newspaper reporter climbing out of his car. Though Cherise wants to see Nina, she’s petrified. There’s so much she doesn’t know about Nina’s abduction and the last ten years of the girl’s life. Cherise’s imagination fills in the details, and it’s devouring the poor woman.
“Cherise, I can’t imagine what Nina went through, but she made it this far. When you see your daughter, be there for her, but give her room.”
Darcy wonders if the speech was for herself or for Cherise. The woman cups her elbows and gives a quick nod, then her eyes return to the van. The door opens, and Agent Reinhold supports Nina by the elbow as they step down. Cameras flash, and the two reporters shout a litany of questions as Filmore prevents them from advancing.
“Who kidnapped you, Nina?”
“Did he rape you?”
“Where is he keeping the other girls?”
Darcy ignores the reporters. She’s a statue frozen in place as Cherise takes a hesitant step toward her daughter. Agent Reinhold whispers into Nina’s ear and points at Cherise. The girl gives the profiler a frightened look, and Reinhold pats Nina’s shoulder and nods. Nina stumbles toward her mother as if walking on stilts. Cherise’s mouth quivers, and she lets the tears roll down her cheeks as she forces herself to wait for her daughter to come to her. When Nina is two steps away, Cherise opens her arms. The chasm closes between them, and Darcy’s heart splits as mother and daughter reunite.
As Darcy moves aside to lend Cherise and Nina privacy, Reinhold finishes a call and hustles to Darcy’s side. Filmore fields a call at the same moment, and Darcy’s heart pounds as news spreads among the law enforcement contingent.
“We know who the kidnapper is,” Reinhold says, answering the question on Darcy’s face. “Eric Stetson, twenty-six Spruce Street in Scarlet River. Turns out he’s active in plenty of chat rooms geared toward teenage girls.”
Tipton points at Reinhold, who nods. She grabs Darcy’s arms and holds her eyes.
“Listen, you’re a civilian, but this is your daughter, and you’ll beat us to Stetson’s address if we leave without you. You’re welcome to ride with us or follow in Hensel’s SUV, provided you leave the investigation to us. Your choice.”
“I’ll follow, but this makes little sense. Nina’s directions point to a remote area downstream from the falls.”
“Yes, Stetson has a secret location, somewhere private to take the girls, but he owns property in town. With any luck we’ll catch him at his official address.”
Darcy draws in a breath.
“Okay, lead the way.”
“But promise me you won’t interfere,” Reinhold says as they walk toward their vehicles. “You need to stand back while we enter Stetson’s house.”
“Deal.”
Keeping Hensel’s rental on the road proves challenging as Darcy’s nerves unravel. The discoveries of Stetson’s locations came too late. If only they’d found Nina a day earlier or brought Gil Waggoner in for questioning when Darcy first told Tipton about the incident at the grocery store. Something terrible happened to the girls. Darcy feels the truth in her bones.
Stetson’s house is a decrepit two-story that appears as if no one has inhabited the residence in years. The porch leans to one side, and the white paint on the front of the house peels away to old, weathered boards. Blue paint covers the side of the house, an unfinished renovation for a dwelling Stetson doesn’t care for. A tall wooden fence protects the backyard from prying eyes, and Darcy wonders what Tipton might find if he digs into the earth.
Darcy grips the steering wheel to keep herself from flying off the spinning earth. The engine ticks with leftover heat as she parks beneath a line of old trees. From the curb, she watches Tipton scale the porch steps while Reinhold circles around the back of the house. The female agent struggles to find footing as she scales the fence. Then Reinhold’s athleticism and agility surprise Darcy when she pulls herself up and over. Darcy cranes her neck, but the fence hides Reinhold from view.
Tipton slips inside. The silence doesn’t last long. As Darcy steps out of the vehicle, a gun blast flashes across the window and booms through the night. Instinctively, Darcy hits the pavement. Then she crawls over the curb and places her back against the oak, pulse thrumming as she slides the Glock out of her holster. Inside the house, a deadly silence runs as deep as the darkness at the windows. Where is Reinhold?
She can barely hold the phone as she calls Hensel. The phone rings and rings. He might not have cell coverage beyond the falls.
“Dammit, Eric. Pick up.”
As Darcy races to the porch steps, she kills the call and dials 9-1-1. The male dispatcher sounds overwhelmed when he answers.
“This is Darcy Gellar at Eric Stetson’s address on Spruce Street in Scarlet River. Shots fired in the house. Tipton is inside.”
“Do you have eyes on the sheriff?”
“Negative. It’s been a minute since the shot. No sign of Tipton.”
The dispatcher requests backup, but the sheriff’s department is stretched thin. With the last remaining deputy taking Nina and Cherise back to the station, Darcy worries the department won’t have another cruiser to send.
From inside the house, footsteps pound toward the front door. Darcy raises her gun as the door slams open, and a pale-faced Agent Reinhold stumbles onto the porch. Blood covers her hands.
“Tipton’s been shot,” she says.
“Help is on the way,” says Darcy as Reinhold races back inside to aid Tipton.
Two sirens scream from the far side of Scarlet River—one sheriff cruiser and an ambulance.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
It’s after nine when the paramedics wheel the gurney out of Stetson’s residence. With Reinhold, two deputies, and the paramedics surrounding the sheriff, Darcy can’t get a good look at Tipton. What she sees tells her the sheriff’s situation isn’t good. There’s too much blood. It covers Tipton’s button-down shirt and stains his hands. The door slams, the siren fires, and the ambulance speeds away from the curb with the cruiser in close pursuit. Filmore stays behind to investigate the house, but the stricken look on his face tells Darcy his heart isn’t in it.
Reinhold shuffles toward Darcy, the profiler’s eyes blank and lost as she shakes her head.
“It was a trap,” Reinhold says, leaning over with her hands on her knees. “The bastard rigged a shotgun with a tripwire. No way Tipton could have seen it until he turned the corner into the living room. The damn fence slowed me down. I didn’t even make it to the back door before I heard the gunshot. If I’d gotten to him sooner…”
Darcy kneels beside Reinhold and brushes the hair from the profiler’s eyes.
“Don’t go there. You did everything you could.”
“No…no, I should have hit the back door when Tipton entered the house. This is my fault.”
Darcy grasps Reinhold’s chin and turns the agent’s face toward hers.
“I could tell you plenty about the dangers of digging holes you’ll never climb out of. Don’t blame yourself. I went through first aid training before I became an agent, same as you. You believe either of us could have saved Tipton? We’re not paramedics or doctors.”