Faith swore in frustration as she yanked her car to the side of the road a good two blocks from her home. There were dozens of police cars parked along both sides, their red and blue lights flashing off the bushes and trees that covered the mountain. Several unmarked, dark-colored SUVs, likely the TBI, were scattered around, some parked in her front yard. Her driveway was taken up by a big black SWAT truck. Farther down the road, on the far side of her property, an ambulance waited.
Her stomach churned at the image branded in her mind of Daphne’s bruised and blood-streaked face. She’d hoped the police would have rescued her by now. But part of the SWAT team was just now creeping up toward the front door. Others headed around the side of the house, no doubt to cover any exits—not that there were any. There was no backyard. Her home, like so many in the Smokies, looked like a typical one-story ranch in front with an expansive yard. But the back was on stilts, drilled into solid bedrock deep in the mountain. The basement didn’t have any doors out back, just a few, small, high windows that let in light. The only real access to that basement was through the stairs inside the house.
She checked the loading of her pistol, then shoved it back in her pants pocket and took off running toward her house. She’d only made it halfway before at least a dozen officers surrounded her, guns drawn, ordering her to stop.
Holding her hands in the air, she froze. “I’m Faith Lancaster. That’s my house. My sister’s inside.”
“Show some ID,” the nearest policeman ordered.
She swore, wishing some of them were cops she knew. There wasn’t time for this. “My purse is in my car, back there.”
“Check her for weapons,” he told another policeman.
“Oh, for the love of...my pistol’s in the front right pocket of my jeans. Yes, it’s loaded. I’m a former police officer, a detective with Nashville PD. I work for Unfinished Business now.”
She wanted to shout at them to let her go. But she knew how out of control and dangerous things could get really fast. Everyone was hyped up on adrenaline and. She endured a humiliating pat-down after one of them took her pistol away.
“There, I’m unarmed now. Please, let me go. I need to talk to the SWAT commander. I need to know what’s happening. I can give him intel on the layout of my house and—”
“They already have intel on the layout of your house. I gave it to them.”
She turned at the sound of Asher’s voice. Grayson and Russo were with him, ordering the police to lower their weapons.
“Asher, thank God.” She ran to him and grabbed his hands in hers. “What’s going on? Why haven’t they gone inside yet? Have they got eyes on Daphne—”
He squeezed her hands and pulled her to the side, leaving the bosses to deal with the group of anxious police.
“They had to secure the scene first, get a negotiator to try to make contact.”
“What? Are you kidding? He’s a freaking sociopath. Forget negotiations. Get my sister out of there!” She reached for her gun then stopped. “One of the cops took my pistol. I need to get it back and—”
“And nothing. We’ll worry about that later. Faith, listen to me. SWAT’s about to go in. You need to wait out here and—”
“I’ll go with you. I can help. Just need my gun.” She frowned and looked around for the cop who’d taken her pistol. The police were all huddling behind the cars parked in her yard now, using the engine blocks for cover as they aimed their pistols at the house. “What are they doing? Daphne’s in there. Tell them to put their weapons down.”
He lightly shook her and she looked up in question.
“Faith, we’re going in, right now. You need to fall back, get somewhere safe to wait this out.”
She frowned as he motioned at someone behind her. “We? You’re going in too?” Her eyes widened. “Wait, you’re wearing a SWAT vest. Hell, no. Asher, what are you thinking? You can’t go in there with the SWAT team. Your back—”
“Is fine. And you know damn well I was SWAT before I switched to detective work. I need to do this, for you, for Daphne. God willing, I’ll protect her and bring her out in just a few minutes. But you have to calm down, get to cover and—”
“No. No. If anyone’s going in there, it’s me. Give me your gun and I’ll—”
He glanced past her again. Suddenly strong arms wrapped around her middle, anchoring her arms against her sides.
She bucked, squirming, trying to break the hold. “What the...let me go.”
Asher jogged across the front lawn, away from her, weapon drawn, joining the SWAT members on the porch.
“Get your hands off me now!” She tried to slam the back of her head against whoever was holding her.
Swearing sounded in her ear. “Stop fighting me, Faith. It’s Lance.”
She immediately stopped. Then he picked her up and jogged with her arms still clasped against her sides. She kicked with her legs, twisting and desperately trying to get loose.
“Lance, damn it. Where are you taking me? That’s my sister in there.”
“Which is why—ouch, stop kicking me! You’re too emotionally involved to help. You’ll only endanger her. Seriously, Faith, will you knock it off?”
He stopped with her beside the last police car in the long line of them parked against the shoulder and finally set her on her feet. As soon as he let go, she took off running.
He swore and grabbed her again. He yanked her up in the air and stuffed her into the back seat of the patrol car, then slammed the door.
She screamed bloody murder at him and pounded on the glass. “Let me out of here!”
He leaned in close. “It’s for your own good. I’ll let you out as soon as the place is secure.”
She could barely hear him through the thick, bulletproof glass. She pounded on the window again in frustration then showed her appreciation with a rude gesture.
He mouthed the word sorry, then jogged back to her house to join the others watching the SWAT team.
Faith had never been so frustrated in her life. A little voice in her head told her that Asher and Lance were right in keeping her from trying to go in and rescue her sister. But her heart told her she couldn’t wait and do nothing when Daphne was in danger.
As she watched from almost too far away to see the action, her front door was busted in and the SWAT team, along with Asher, ran into the house.
Her shoulders slumped in defeat. Daphne’s life, her safety, was now completely out of her hands. She dragged in a deep, bracing breath and pulled her phone out. She wasn’t about to sit in this police car while they—hopefully—brought Daphne out. She needed to be right there for her and ride with her in the ambulance.
Please let her be okay. Please.
She thumbed through her favorites in her contact list, searching for Lance so she could tell him to let her out of the car.
The back door swung open.
She jerked her head up. Before she could even react, a policeman reached in and grabbed her phone out of her hands and tossed it into the woods.
“Hey, what are you—” She stared in horror at the face staring back at her. Stan. No, not Stan. Fake Stan, the killer. As her stunned mind finally realized what was happening, she drew back her fist to slam it into his jaw.
The door swung shut and her fist struck the window. She swore, shaking her aching hand, blood trickling down her knuckles.
The driver’s door jerked open. He hopped into the driver’s seat, closing the door on her screams for help.
He glanced at her in the rearview mirror through the thick plexiglass that separated them. And smiled.
THE HOUSE WAS eerily quiet. And clean, neat, as it always was. Nothing seemed out of place, as you’d expect if a madman had busted inside and kidnapped someone. Everything seemed...off.
Asher knew his job, to wait for the team to clear the main level before accessing the basement. But he also knew that a young woman he and Faith both loved very much was right now at the mercy of a killer. He’d seen the picture that Faith had sent him and knew right where she was when the picture had been taken. He wasn’t waiting one more second to help her.
He sprinted into the kitchen and rounded the end of the row of cabinets to the staircase behind the wall that led to the lower level.
Ignoring one of the SWAT members frantically motioning from across the room for him to wait, Asher headed downstairs. Although he desperately wanted to take the steps two at a time and sprint into the basement to rescue Daphne, he also knew that getting himself killed wouldn’t help her. So, instead, he stealthily moved down the stairs, gun out in front of him, avoiding the spots he knew from experience would creak. At the bottom step, he ducked down behind the wall that concealed the stairs so his head wasn’t where the killer would expect if he shot at him. Then Asher quietly peeked around the wall.
Daphne was tied to one of the support posts about twenty feet away. Her mouth was duct-taped and her hands were zip-tied above her head to the post. Her ankles were zip-tied together, but not to the post. She was wearing shorts and a T-shirt, both dotted with blood in a few places, probably from the small cuts on her face that had dripped onto her clothes. Her chest was rising and falling with each breath she took. She was alive.
His mind cataloged all of those details in a fraction of a second as he swept his pistol back and forth, looking for the killer.
The sound of something knocking against a pole had him swinging back toward Daphne. She was twisting her tied feet back and forth, hitting the pole. Her eyes were wide and frantic above the gag as she watched him.
Seconds later, several SWAT team members emerged from behind the wall that concealed the stairs. He motioned to them to secure the basement and ran to Daphne. She seemed desperate to tell him something and every instinct in him was screaming to pull off her gag. The feeling that all was not as it seemed, that had hit him the moment he’d entered the house, was now an all-consuming feeling of dread.
He loosened the edge of the duct tape on her cheek. “This is going to hurt, Daph.”
She nodded.
He ripped the tape off in one long swipe.
She gasped at the pain, sucking in a sharp breath.
“Where’s the man who did this to you?”
She blinked, tears running down her face. Then her eyes widened again. “Asher, where’s Faith? Where’s my sister?”
“She’s outside. She’ll greet you when we get you out of here. Are you hurt anywhere else besides your face?”
She ducked away from his hand when he tried to brush the hair out of her eyes. “Are you absolutely sure Faith’s safe?”
He frowned. “Safe? What are you—”
“It’s a trap,” she said. “All of this. I’m bait, to get Faith here. It’s her he wants.”
“Ah, hell.” Asher took off running, taking the stairs two at a time and sprinting through the house. At the ruined front door, he paused, only to make sure none of the police outside mistook him for the killer and opened fire.
“Clear,” he yelled, motioning inside.
Russo ordered his men to lower their weapons and they started running toward the house.
Asher sprinted down the porch steps, searching the groups of TBI agents and other police until he spotted Lance with Grayson, standing behind one of the police cars a short distance away. He ran up to Lance, dread and worry making his blood run cold when he didn’t see Faith and didn’t hear her swearing at him for not allowing her to go into the house.
“Where is she?” he demanded, turning in a circle before whirling back around. “Lance, where’s Faith?”
“I put her in the back of a patrol car to keep her from interfering.”
“Where? Show me.”
Lance frowned. “Is Daphne not okay? Is that why you’re—”
“Daphne’s fine. She was bait. He wants Faith. Where the hell is she?”
Lance’s eyes widened. “The last police car, way down there.” He pointed and Asher took off running again.
His heart slammed in his chest, his healing lung and back protesting with twinges of pain as he raced down the row of cars. Each one was empty, lights flashing but no one inside. When he reached the last car and looked through the back window, he fisted his hands and whirled around.
Lance and Grayson both stopped in front of him, gasping for breath.
“She’s not here. Is this the right car?” Asher demanded.
Lance’s brows drew down. “Well of course it—wait, no. No, it’s not. This is one of the Sevier County Sheriff’s cars. The last one was a Gatlinburg PD patrol unit. It’s...it’s gone.”
Grayson whipped out his phone and stepped away from them.
Lance motioned at some of the police, drawing their attention. As they jogged up to them, Asher pulled out his own phone.
“I never use this thing,” he mumbled as he opened an app. “Hopefully I can figure out...there. Right there, that dot. That’s her.”
Lance stepped beside him, looking down at the screen. “Is that Faith’s infamous find-Asher app?”
“She calls it a number of different things, depending on who she’s tracking. She made me put it on my phone to track her in case we ever got split up. Her phone is that dot. It’s not moving, it’s...” He jerked his head up. “Right over there. In the woods.”
He and Lance both drew their weapons and rushed to the trees. They swept their pistols in an arc, each covering the other as they followed the blinking dot on his phone. Less than a minute later, Lance swore and crouched over the bloody body of a man dressed only in his underwear. He pressed his fingers against the side of his neck and shook his head. “He’s gone. Throat’s slit. He’s not our perpetrator.”
“He’s a policeman. I met him earlier.” Asher bent down and picked up a small brightly colored piece of paper with a number written on it.
Lance stood. “What is that?”
“AFID. Anti-Felon ID confetti tags. Some Taser canisters shoot them along with the darts to help identify who pulled the trigger on a Taser. It’s only useful if the ID numbers trace to a legal buyer though.”
“This guy was Tased then his throat slit. Why?”
Asher checked his phone again then stepped around the body and walked a few more yards into the woods. His stomach sank with dread. “I found Faith’s phone.” It lay discarded on a bed of leaves and pine needles.
Lance stood and crossed to him. “Oh, man.”
The sound of shoes crunching on leaves and twigs had Lance and him whirling around, guns drawn.
Russo held his hands up. “Hey, hey. Only friendlies here. Everyone holster your guns.” The uniformed police officers with him slowly put away their weapons. Lance and Asher did the same.
Grayson stepped around Russo and stopped in front of Lance and Asher. “What have you...oh, no.”
Russo knelt by the body. “Sweet, Lord. It’s Sergeant Wickshire.”
Asher glanced down at Faith’s phone then at Grayson. “It was a setup from the beginning. Daphne said the man who abducted her didn’t want her. He told her she was bait, to draw in Faith. We played right into his hands. He must have killed Sergeant Wickshire, took his uniform, then drove off in the car with Faith in the back seat. She was supposed to be safe there. Instead, we delivered her directly into the hands of her enemy. And because of me, she doesn’t even have her gun to defend herself.” His voice broke and he took a steadying breath. “We have to find her. We have to find her before it’s too late.” He ran back toward the road with Lance and Grayson running after him.