Playing a hunch, she went to her vehicle and scrolled through her onboard computer to pull up a city map for the area. When she found what she was looking for, she stared at the monitor in surprise.
“Oh my God,” she gasped. She reached in her pocket and pulled out her cell phone, hitting a speed dial to call Ray again. When he picked up, she said, “I’ve got a new location for you to meet me.”
She gave him the address and told him what she suspected, but left out things too personal to tell him, not now anyway. At some point she might have to answer his questions on the subject of her and Jessie’s relationship. And that would mean trusting him with a whole new side of her, but now was not the time.
“Sam, I know you’re heading for the house on High Street,” he said. “And you’ve earned the right to see this through, but please wait for backup. Follow protocol. Promise me.”
A moment of silence seemed to last an eternity.
“I’m not sure I can make that promise, Ray. Just get there as soon as you can.”
Sam ended the call, not waiting for him to reply. She said everything she could and didn’t feel the need to lie, not to him. And like Jessie, she headed on foot toward High Street, weapon drawn. With any luck, Ray and his team would get there when she did. They’d arrive loud and proud, Code Three, using sirens and lights. But if she didn’t have company, she preferred a more stealthy approach.
Either way, Jessie would get help. Sam would see to that.
Returning to the basement had taken its toll, and Jess knew that any nightmares to come would be fueled by the vivid details of her terror revisited. She crept through the dark with the Colt Python aimed, but could her eyes be trusted? Could her brain assess any real threat?
Sweat trickled from her brow, stinging her eyes. And shadows undulated, playing cruel tricks on her mind. The incessant pounding of her heart kept pulse with her shallow breaths. And her body shook without her ability to control it.
But when a large rat crossed over her foot, she felt its weight and heard its high-pitched shrieks. That sound. My God, that sound. It hurled her into the past.
Nightmarish images came back to haunt her in a rush, triggered by that sound. She remembered the scratches of rats as they scurried in the dark basement years ago. As a child, she’d slept with one eye open, afraid the rats would bite her—that she’d wake to find parts of her missing. Fear gripped her like it had back then.
And the rat that darted for cover had triggered a panic attack. Dizziness set her adrift in the dark—her equilibrium challenged—and the nausea returned. She felt as if she were being smothered, unable to catch her breath. And her heart punished her ribs. She almost lost it. Her nerves were fraying, a slow torture.
If she was Harper’s last chance, God help him.
She stepped closer to the source of the dim light in the room, a spot behind a wooden post that had been a remnant of an old shelf. As she neared, she knew where the light was coming from, and her eyes brimmed with tears. A glimmer filtered through a hole, one she had dug many years ago. She ducked behind the post and knelt. Trash she’d stuffed into the cavity, to keep the man from finding it, had long since blown away or rotted.
Moonlight and the distant city lights streamed through it now. And a faint breeze touched her cheek as she peered through the crack. She remembered how it felt to see through it for the first time. Back then she’d worn down an old spoon and a few big nails that she’d used as tools to cut through two layers of cracked old brick. The simple comfort of fresh air on her face had made her cry then, as it did now. And images of her first encounter with little Samantha Cooper flooded her mind.
She thought she had been found that day, that someone would come to rescue her, but Sammie must not have understood. And when days went by and help never came, the setback crushed her spirit, finally and completely. She’d never told anyone that, especially not Sam. Hell, she hated admitting it to herself.
She had tried to bury that thought, but being here again was a cruel reminder that Danny Ray Millstone had beaten her down. He’d stolen her innocence and robbed her of ever feeling safe again. He died the day she was rescued, but she got a life sentence. A rush of sadness hit her hard, as if it had happened only yesterday. She clutched a fist to her chest and shut her eyes, fighting back the pain.
“Oh, God,” she whispered. “Please.” Her version of a prayer.
But Harper needed her now. This wasn’t about her demons. She had to find Seth.
She stood on shaky legs. And when she was ready, she ventured into every corner of Millstone’s basement. There were lots of places to keep secrets. This had been her world for a time. And she knew it well.
When she got to a familiar air vent, she knelt once more and listened. Jess never thought she would be in this very spot again—the place where she’d first seen Max Jenkins and witnessed the end to her living hell. Struggling to block out a rush of dark memories, she listened at the vent, but her gaze trailed down to the large, dark splatter that stained the floor near her feet.
Stay focused, Jess. She fought to control her breathing.
Shutting her eyes to concentrate, she was surprised how little she’d forgotten. From this point, sounds in the house echoed and traveled through the air vents. Noises from the floors above could be heard by sitting very still and listening. She’d gotten good at deciphering what they meant. It had been her early-warning system when she was held captive. If the man had plans for her, she’d hear it through the air vents first.
But hearing noises from deep within the house also had its price. Every kid crying alone and the torturous screams of others had scarred her. There were nights she still heard them, even now.
She’d never be free of Danny Ray Millstone and his house. Not ever.
As a tear dried on her cheek, she heard a soft footstep above. Her head jerked toward the noise, and she stood. The ground floor was her guess. Although listening through the air vent was tricky, she knew the sound had been too close for it to come from the second or third floor. It could be Alexa, but if she heard the woman’s footsteps, then so could someone else—someone who might know the house better than her friend.
She had thoroughly searched the basement and hoped the worst was behind her. Now it was time to find Alexa and put an end to this, but one thing she knew with certainty.
Harper was here. She felt it.
The house on High Street had a vibe to it—the kind that haunted anyone who came here. Alexa sensed the smell of old death and something…more. She wasn’t one to believe in evil spirits, yet something lingered in this place.
And she hadn’t been immune to its force.
She’d nearly finished her search of the first floor, the process slow going in the dark. Her night vision had improved. And she took advantage of every elusive trace of light that had found its way into the gloom.
But the creak of a loose floorboard forced her to stop.
Holding her gun in both hands, she listened for a beat, then crept along a wall, hoping to avoid the same mistake of stepping on a creaky board. Up ahead, she sensed a presence, and the hair on her neck drove goose bumps down her arms. She fixed her eyes on a subtle movement across the floor, a vague shift of light.
Or had she only imagined it?
Jessie. She had to remember that Jessie had gone missing in the house. The shadow up ahead could be her. Alexa gripped her weapon and crept closer, but movement to her right startled her. She turned and aimed her weapon. An open doorway.
That’s when she heard it.
“It’s me,” the bounty hunter whispered from behind cover, then moved into view. Not much more than a shadow, she raised her arms and let herself be seen.