DAVE CHECKED HIS WATCH FOR THE THIRD TIME. Five thirty. His cell phone rang. “Dave Moore.”
“Dispatch said to call you,” Dre said.
“Where have you been? This place is a madhouse.”
“Hey, I stopped for lunch. Got the be-on-the-lookout on Wes. Been on patrol ever since. Cell’s worthless most of the places I’ve gone.”
Dave dry-scrubbed his face. “So what do you have? And please make it good news for a change.”
“No sign of Wes. I swung by Gwen’s place about two twenty. All’s quiet. Swung by the animal hospital. Ron’s watching it for now but said a reserve deputy should be arriving shortly.”
“I got ahold of the ATF at the Missoula satellite office. They’re sending some agents first thing in the morning. FBI will be here as well. Missoula’s working the Mattie angle, all my reserve staff— Hello? Hello?” Dave thumped the cell on his desk. Maybe dispatch could get Dre back on the line.
The phone rang. “Yeah, Dre—”
“It’s Beth. Gwen told me to call you.” She explained about a possible terrorist attack the following day.
Dave scribbled notes. “You have no idea where this might happen?”
“No. Just the time.”
“I’ll see what I can do. Maybe the FBI will have some ideas.”
“Good. Aynslee is with Mattie—”
“Where’s Gwen now?”
“She’s on her way home. If Aynslee isn’t there, she’s going to go looking for her.”
Dave gripped the phone tighter. “Winston?”
“The dog’s here. What do you want me to do?”
“Stay put.” Dave thought for a moment. “The girls have a three-hour head start. If they were heading to Gwen’s place, they’d be there by now and Gwen will let us know when she gets home.”
“But her phone is out.”
“She’ll manage somehow. I don’t have a single available officer to put on this thing because of that stupid parade. Gwen’s on her own for a bit.”
I pulled up next to the house and parked. Stepping from my car, I stopped.
The front door stood open.
My stomach twisted. I crept to the entrance, then paused and listened for voices.
The house was deathly silent.
I slipped inside. My rifle from the gun-display cabinet was missing. I turned left and entered my studio. Empty. I spun and raced to the kitchen. Two dirty plates lay on the table along with a number of amber prescription bottles. I picked up one bottle, then another. All were in my name. “Aynslee? Mattie?” The backdoor was still locked. I ran to my bedroom, opened the closet, and reached for my SIG Sauer.
Gone.
Frantically, I checked the bedside table, then my dresser. “Mattie? Aynslee?” My voice echoed in the empty house. I sprinted to the living room, this time looking in the drawer under the gun display. A full box of .22 bullets sat untouched. Pivoting, I charged to Aynslee’s room, abruptly halting at the door. The floor was covered with Aynslee’s stuffed animals, clothes, and pillows. Bedding tangled in a heap at the foot of the bed.
A smear of blood stained the sheet.
The room seemed to spin, then blackness.