See Her Die

by Leigh, Melinda

  “Todd was almost in position to shoot the dog,” Matt said. “You would have been all right.”

  “Not because of anything I did.” Bree was disgusted with herself. She had a perfectly good firearm on her hip. Her Glock was enough to stop a pit bull. Yet she’d just stood there, useless.

  “You held your ground. If you had run, you might have engaged its prey instinct, and the situation could have turned out much worse.”

  Bree’s voice was a rasp. “I didn’t hold my ground. I froze. I was not functional.”

  Matt sighed. “No one is perfect, Bree. Not even you.”

  The dog had upended every nerve in Bree’s body. Her stomach roiled. Under her body armor, sweat soaked her shirt.

  “Are you all right to drive?” Matt asked.

  “Yes.” Bree had better be. She gathered her willpower and shoved the dog encounter to the back of her mind. She’d deal with it tomorrow.

  The three-mile drive took ten minutes. Bree stopped the vehicle on the side of the road. The rest of the team had already parked their cars on the shoulder of the road near the construction entrance of the development. A hundred yards away, the shells of two large houses squatted on waterfront lots. Oscar, Rogers, Stella, and Todd stood in a circle next to Todd’s cruiser.

  They’re waiting for you. Get your act together.

  Bree got out of the car and approached the group. “We’ll walk from here. No flashlights unless absolutely necessary. I don’t want to alert him to our presence.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Todd said.

  Bree grabbed a pair of binoculars and a small tool kit from her vehicle. Blocking every thought that didn’t relate to the job at hand, Bree checked her armor and weapon. Rogers and Oscar pulled their AR-15s from their trunks. Stella drew her Glock from its holster.

  The team split up. Bree veered right, Matt and Rogers close behind her. Todd, Stella, and Oscar turned left and headed for the other house. Sunshine earlier in the day had melted the snow, leaving mud that was refreezing in the cold night air. A thin layer of ice crunched under their boots. They approached the house. White house wrap covered the exteriors, and the windows had been installed. Would that be enough to muffle the sounds of her team’s approach?

  The house was huge, at least six thousand square feet, with a two-story open foyer and a three-car attached garage. The windows were dark. Bree led the way. She stopped when the house was in sight and looked through her binoculars. “I can’t see inside. The windows are too high.”

  Matt scanned the surroundings. “There’s no high ground.”

  “We’ll make a circuit around the house.” Bree made a circling motion in the air with her forefinger. “Let’s see if we can locate Joe and Christian inside the house before we go in.”

  The under-construction neighborhood was wide open with little available cover. Bree held her breath as her team jogged across the open lots, moonlight guiding their way. They stopped at the front of the house. Behind it, she could see the moon reflecting on the frozen lake.

  Matt and Rogers crouched on either side of the concrete stoop. Bree went up the steps and glanced in the narrow window next to the door. The house was dark inside. If Joe was in there, he’d need some sort of light. She made a circular motion in the air with her right forefinger. Weapon in hand, she jogged around the side of the house. Rogers and Matt stayed close. The windows were over their heads. Bree gestured for Matt to give her a boost. While Rogers covered them with his AR, Matt laced his fingers, and Bree stepped into them. He boosted her so she could see in the window. They repeated the process at each window. But Bree saw no one. At the last window, she grabbed the windowsill with both hands and peered over the top. Moonlight streamed in through a rear window. The room was empty.

  Was this not the right house?

  She glanced at the other house, but she couldn’t see the rest of her team.

  Bree felt the first chills of panic as she jumped down and whispered, “There’s no one there.”

  Matt motioned for her to keep moving toward the back of the house. They passed a pile of construction materials: pallets of shingles, a roll of orange safety fencing, lumber, and bags of ready-to-mix concrete encased in clear plastic. They rounded the corner. A light at Bree’s feet caught her attention. She motioned toward it with her weapon. Someone had nailed plywood over the narrow basement window, but light leaked around the edges of the wood.

  Bree crouched and listened. She heard the murmur of voices. Someone was down there.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Matt listened. He couldn’t identify the voice or the words, but the tone sounded male.

  They needed to get into the basement, and they couldn’t go through the window. It would take too long to kick the board out and shimmy through the tight opening one at a time. Joe was armed. He would shoot whoever went first. They’d be dead before their feet hit the floor. They needed to find a door.

  Matt motioned for them to continue around the back of the house. Matt spotted a set of french doors, but the threshold was five feet in the air, clearly designed to open onto a deck that hadn’t been built yet. They stopped at the opposite corner, at a regular exterior door. Moonlight shone through the panes on the top half of the door. Matt shielded his eyes and peered through the glass. The shape of the room and placement of pipes in the wall suggested this would be a laundry room.

  Bree gestured for them to lean closer. She whispered, “We need to get inside and find the stairs. I’m going to pick the lock. Cover me.”

  Rogers adjusted the grip on his rifle. Bree holstered her gun and reached into her pocket for her small tool kit. She pulled out two slim metal tools and inserted them into the lock. The mechanism clicked softly. Returning the tool kit to her pocket, she drew her weapon again and eased the door open. Bree slipped inside. Matt let Rogers, who was carrying the AR-15, go next. Unarmed, Matt felt less than useful. He pulled his knife out of his pocket and unfolded it. The knife didn’t require as much finesse as pulling a trigger.

  The inside rooms were roughed out with drywall but no doors had yet been hung. Particleboard covered the floor. Matt walked near the edge of the wall to minimize the chance of the subfloor squeaking. They eased through the laundry room and emerged into a short hallway. His heart thudded, and under the body armor, sweat dripped down his back.

  They moved slowly, trying to be quiet. The hallway opened into a large room. Pipes protruding from the wall indicated this would be the kitchen. Construction materials littered the floor. Faint light shone through an open doorway. Bree went to the opening and cocked her head.

  Matt stepped over a spool of electrical wire, moved closer, and listened.

  Joe’s voice floated up the stairs. “You’re going to die.” He sounded gleeful.

  Matt thought of the video of Joe killing Brian. Murdering three people had bolstered his confidence.

  “Why?” In contrast, Christian’s words quaked with terror. If Joe had stayed true to his MO, Christian was probably also freezing. There was no heat in this unfinished house.

  Bree eased down another step.

  “Because you’re an entitled little prick,” Joe said. “A rich, useless shithead who girls want to fuck just because he’s privileged enough to be born rich and good-looking. You won a genetic lottery. Instead of using your advantage for real benefit, you chose to be a douchebag.”

  “I don’t understand,” Christian cried. “What does that have to do with you? I’m sorry we treated you like shit. Sometimes we’re assholes. But that’s no reason to kill people.”

  “Sure, it is. Killing your friends made me feel a whole lot better about myself. I’m excited to kill you. I’m making the world a better place. If all of you privileged assholes are gone, women will have to consider guys like me. Guys who work for a living and earn their own place in the world.”

  Christian didn’t respond, but then what could he say? Joe was a nutter. An armed and angry nutter.

  “Please, don’t do this,�
�� a female voice cried.

  Alyssa?

  “I’ll do whatever the fuck I want!” Joe shouted. “You’re hardly innocent, sweetheart.”

  “No one was supposed to die!” Alyssa yelled. “You killed Harper.”

  “That’s what happens when you blackmail someone.” Joe’s voice was condescending. “Why do you care, anyway? Sara played you. She dragged you into her stealing scheme too. She was going to double-cross you just like she did me. She was running with all the stuff you helped her steal. Now the police have the jewelry, and we’re screwed. All that work for nothing.”

  “I made some mistakes,” Alyssa admitted. “But killing him won’t get the jewelry back.”

  “Killing him has nothing to do with the stuff we stole,” Joe said. “Burglary was work. This is pure pleasure.”

  “So, I guess you’re going to kill me too?” Alyssa said, her voice shifting from fear to bitter resignation.

  “You didn’t leave me a choice. You called the sheriff!” Joe screamed.

  “Because you shot Harper!” Alyssa screamed back.

  Joe lowered his voice. “Shut up or I’ll shoot you right now. I should have killed you already. I shouldn’t have brought you here, but I thought maybe I could talk you into being on my side.” Joe’s voice slid from angry to lonely to sullen. “But you’re just like the rest of them. You don’t understand me either.”

  Bree eased down a step. Rogers didn’t move, and Matt nearly ran into him. Sweat shone on the deputy’s forehead, and his face looked pasty in the moonlight coming through the bare windows. His fingers opened and closed on the rifle in his hands. His eyes were open wide enough to show the whites.

  Matt felt the nerves swirling in his gut, but Rogers looked more than nervous. He looked terrified. But there was no time to reassure him or take stock of his condition.

  Bree crouched low and craned her neck as if she was trying to see more of the basement. Rogers should have gone next, but he seemed to be frozen in place. His eyes had gone wide with fear, like Bree’s earlier, when the dog had rushed her. Matt jostled him with an elbow, but the deputy didn’t react.

  Bree looked back. Her face was alarmed as she scanned Rogers. She jerked her chin toward the rifle and then inclined her head at Matt. Rogers plastered his back to the wall and trembled.

  Matt’s pulse hammered as he pulled the AR-15 out of Rogers’s hands. He was grateful that it was a long gun. Someone had to cover Bree, and he could shoot a rifle much better than a handgun with his left hand. Bree eased down another step. Matt passed Rogers and started down the steps, moving swiftly to catch up with Bree. She shouldn’t have to face Joe alone.

  The next step squeaked under Bree’s boot. A shot rang out, and wood splintered near her foot.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  A chunk of wood struck Bree’s cheek, but the pain of the sting faded almost instantly as adrenaline roared through her bloodstream. She jumped off the steps, ducking for cover behind the wooden staircase. Glancing up, she saw Matt rushing down the steps.

  Across the basement, Christian was seated, his wrists bound together behind the back of the chair. His ankles were tied to the chair legs. His hair had been shorn so closely that the shears had left bloody tracks on his scalp. Dressed only in boxer shorts, he shivered so hard Bree could see the movement from more than twenty feet away.

  Alyssa was bound to a support beam on the other side of the room. Her face was streaked with soot and tears. She cringed behind the metal pole, and she looked unsteady. Joe stood behind Christian, aiming a handgun at Matt. But Matt was at least twenty feet away and moving fast. Joe’s second shot also missed. Joe crouched, peering over Christian’s shoulder and using him as a shield. He was dressed in a thick gray sweatshirt and jeans. A coat was tossed on the concrete nearby.

  Bree had no clear shot at Joe.

  Matt jumped off the steps, landing next to Bree in a crouch. Dropping to one knee, he rested the rifle across the third step and took aim, his left index finger on the trigger.

  “This is the sheriff, Joe,” Bree called. “Put down the gun. You don’t have to die here tonight.”

  Joe pressed the gun to Christian’s head. “I’m not the one who’s going to die tonight. If you don’t let me go, I’m going to kill him.”

  “He’s the only thing keeping you alive,” Bree called.

  “No shit.” Joe shifted his gun to his left hand. He pulled a knife from his pocket and cut the binds around Christian’s ankles. Pocketing his knife, he yanked Christian to his feet. He kicked the chair to its side, clearing Christian’s arms, which were still bound behind his back. “Move back, Sheriff, or I’m going to kill him.”

  “Why should I let you out of here?” Bree asked. “You’re going to kill him anyway.”

  “That’s the chance you’ll just have to take.” Joe advanced. He chicken-winged Christian’s arm behind his back and forced him to walk forward. “Drop the gun, or he’s dead.”

  Tears streamed down Christian’s face, and his eyes pleaded.

  Joe dug the muzzle of the gun into the back of Christian’s head until he cried out in pain.

  Next to Bree, Matt’s body was rigid with frustrated tension. Bree knew he didn’t have a shot either. Joe was keeping Christian’s body in front of his. Bree couldn’t risk the young man’s life. She hoped Joe saw Christian as his ticket out of that basement and kept him alive.

  Bree lowered her gun and set it on the floor. “OK, Joe. You win. Don’t hurt him.”

  Triumph glowed in Joe’s eyes. “Tell your man to put his gun down too. And both of you back up.”

  Matt set the rifle on the floor and took two steps back. “He’s the only reason you’re not dead.”

  “Keep backing up, all the way to the wall,” Joe said. “I’m not going to let you jump me.”

  Bree and Matt continued to move until their backs were pressed against the cinder blocks. Shuffling awkwardly, Joe pulled his victim up the staircase. He kept the muzzle of his gun pressed to Christian’s head. Christian’s movements were stiff, and he was trembling. He was barefoot, and his feet were probably numb from the cold. He tripped on the fourth step. Joe held his arm at a ruthless angle, and all Christian’s weight fell onto his twisted arm. Bree heard a pop as Christian’s shoulder dislocated. His face contorted in agony. He looked as if he’d pass out.

  Joe transferred his grip to the other arm. “Keep going or I’ll do the other one.”

  Christian stumbled backward up the stairs.

  Bree crossed her fingers that Rogers had recovered from what had appeared to be a panic attack, but she doubted it. The one she’d suffered earlier hadn’t ended until the threat was gone. Joe and Christian hit the top of the stairwell and stepped through the open doorway onto the first floor. A body launched at Joe, hitting him midbody. A scuffle sounded.

  Rogers!

  Matt grabbed the AR-15 off the floor and ran up the stairs. Bree scooped up her Glock and raced after him. They reached the top of the steps. On the plywood subfloor, Rogers and Joe struggled for possession of the gun. Christian had fallen to his knees, frozen in shock. A gunshot boomed. Joe stepped away from Rogers, immediately yanking Christian in front of him again. Rogers dropped to the floor and clutched at his leg. Bree aimed for Joe, but the little bastard excelled at keeping his human shield in place. He dragged Christian to his feet, across the floor, and toward the hallway that led to the laundry room. He backed out of the room. A door slammed.

  Blood had already pooled on the floor under Rogers. Bree pulled the combat tourniquet off her belt and tossed it at Matt. “Stop the bleeding and call an ambulance.”

  Without waiting for him to agree, she raced after the killer and his victim.

  At the laundry room door, she skidded to a stop and looked for Joe. Through the open door, she could see him running through the backyard. No doubt he was headed for his car parked in the trees out front. But sirens approached from that direction. Joe stopped and looked around. Then he pulled Chri
stian toward the frozen lake. Bree went through the door and sprinted after them. Her thighs burned as she dug her feet into the ground and reached for more speed.

  On the ice, Joe and Christian slid the first few steps, then adjusted to the slippery footing. But their progress was slow. Christian was barefoot and injured. No matter how hard he tried to keep up, he couldn’t. Thirty feet from the edge of the lake, he stumbled. Joe was half dragging him now.

  Bree leaped from the bank. Her boots hit the ice with a cracking sound. Sliding, she kept her balance and forward momentum as she sorted out her stride on the frozen lake. She was gaining on them. She prayed that Joe would realize he had to let go of Christian or she would overtake him.

  Then she would run his ass down.

  Ahead, Christian stumbled again and fell to his knees. The ice cracked, the sound traveling across the lake and echoing. No! Bree’s lungs locked up as the ice opened up beneath them and both men fell through into the freezing water.

  Bree slid to a stop, her feet and arms spread for balance, holding her breath as she waited. Would the ice underneath her break? Nothing happened. She breathed, then took three steps forward, toward the men in the water.

  A loud crack stopped her cold. She lowered her body to her belly, lying facedown and sprawling to distribute her weight across as much of the ice’s surface as possible.

  The ice held, and she began belly crawling to the edge of the hole in the ice. Neither man was visible. They’d both gone under.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Cursing, Matt applied the tourniquet to Rogers’s leg. The bullet must have hit something vital. Rogers was bleeding like a slaughtered deer. He groaned as Matt tightened the strap of the tourniquet. Then he pulled out his phone. Sirens sounded in the distance as he requested an ambulance, then he called Todd.

  Todd responded in a breathless voice. “We heard the shots. We’re on our way.”

  “Rogers is in the back of the house,” Matt said. “He’s bleeding badly. I’m going after Bree.”