Midnight Abduction (Tactical Crime Division Book 3)

by Nichole Severn

  Agent Evan Duran climbed the four stairs to the small back deck and tested the doorknob. With a single shake of his head, he adjusted his rifle, then slammed the heel of his foot near the knob. The crack of wood seemed overly loud as the wind died in an instant, and a shiver chased across Ana’s shoulders. The door slammed into the wall behind it. Silence. No alarm. No explosion of gunfire. Nothing but the darkness waiting inside. Maybe Claire Winston really was serving with her unit overseas, but they had to be sure. Someone had stuffed Samantha Perry’s killer’s skull behind all that drywall, and the only motive that explained why was to hide something the killer hadn’t wanted them to see.

  Ana nodded to breach, taking up the rear behind her team, and swept into the house. It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the low light, but it was clear nobody had been here in a while. Stale air dove deep into her lungs, a hint of moisture clinging to her face and neck. Dust floated in front of her face. She ran her finger through a thin layer coating the kitchen table to her left.

  “Ana? You okay?” Benning’s voice from her earpiece pierced through the steady pounding of her heart beating behind her ears. She could still smell him on her, that light hint of pine and man. They’d spent the night memorizing each other’s bodies all over again, releasing the stress, fear and frustration of the past few days to the point neither of them could move. There’d been unspoken promises as she’d stared into his eyes and the world exploded around her, and she knew. Knew she’d failed in keeping emotional detachment from this case. Knew she wouldn’t be able to walk away this time. Knew she couldn’t spend the rest of her life living as a ghost. Knew she’d fallen in love with him and his fearless six-year-old in a matter of days. But then he’d asked her to sacrifice the one thing that’d given her purpose over the years, the one thing that’d kept her going and the guilt at bay. The only thing that could help her redeem herself. “Ana?”

  Her throat tightened. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t risk more victims for her own shot at happiness. She removed the device, dropped it on the floor and severed the connection between them with the heel of her boot.

  JC and Evan took position on either side of the door leading into the basement, each of them waiting for her signal.

  Ana raised her rifle. All her life this darkness—a physical hole in her chest—had followed her around after her sister had gone missing. She’d watched what that single event had done to her family, how her brothers vowed to uncover the truth, how her parents hadn’t been able to live in the town they loved anymore. All that hurt, that pain, had been reignited the night her former partner had called to tell her he’d found Samantha Perry’s body in that alley, and she’d only let that hole become bigger since. Now it didn’t seem so deep, so...empty. And the credit had to go to Benning. To the way he cared for everyone else first, how he encouraged his kids to be the best versions of themselves without tearing them down, and how he was so determined to make her understand she deserved better. Deserved to be happy for once in her life. Shaking her head, Ana rested her cheek against the stock of her weapon. “Let’s do this, guys. We’ve got a missing boy that needs to get home to his dad.”

  “On your signal.” JC locked his hand on the doorknob.

  She took another deep breath to settle her racing heart rate. “Go.”

  The door swung outward, and they all closed in. Their boots thudded on the unfinished stairs leading down into the house’s basement as they cleared the corner and descended onto cement. Old two-by-fours had been stacked to the wall at their right, giving way to an underground cold storage stocked with cans, bags of flour and shelves of supplies.

  Raising her weapon toward the ceiling, she flipped on her rifle’s flashlight and skimmed the open cords and piping above. Cobwebs and dust glared back as they maneuvered down what she imagined would be a hallway if the basement had been finished, and into an open space. A single window allowed light to spill across the settling concrete, narrow cracks disappearing under a large piece of carpeting to one side. Only the carpet didn’t look as level as it should be against a flat surface. It dipped toward the center. Ana trained her flashlight on the spot and kicked at one edge. “I’ve got something over here.”

  Two other flashlight beams centered on the carpet at her feet as JC and Evan closed in. Crouching, she tugged the corner of the rough makeshift rug, then tossed it aside—and froze. Chunks of cement fell into the hollowed-out floor from the edges underneath the carpet. A hole, approximately six feet long, had been dug into the foundation. There, at the bottom, a plastic bag stained red remained. Flies buzzed past her ear, the slight hint of decomposition chasing back the scent of pine in her lungs. The plastic wasn’t clear enough to see through, but she had a good idea of what was inside. Ana covered her mouth with the back of her hand, but nausea still churned.

  “Lo que en infierno...?” Evan said. “What the hell is that?”

  “My guess is the rest of Harold Wood.” Ana’s gut tightened. But why separate the skull from the body, and why dig it up after all this time? “We need to get forensics in here to confirm, but we have to clear the rest of the property first. Move.”

  “You don’t have to tell me twice.” JC slowly headed back the way they’d come.

  Something wasn’t right. Even if Claire Winston wasn’t involved in Owen’s kidnapping and serving with her unit overseas as she’d claimed, there was a strong connection between this case and the last case that’d brought Ana to Sevierville. Harold Wood. Pressure built behind her sternum as she caught sight of a small red light in one corner of the room, one she hadn’t noticed before. The LED flashed once, then faster until she couldn’t tell the difference between fluctuations. Warning launched her into JC’s side. “Get down!”

  Heat and debris seared across her vest as she took most of the blast to protect her teammate. She hit the ground hard face-first, her weapon pinned between her and concrete. Her ears rang as static crackled from the radio on Evan’s chest, her vision darker around the edges. Stabbing pain kept her conscious. She tried to push up but couldn’t get her balance. Where was JC? Evan? Were they injured? Alive? Her eyes watered as layers of dust filtered sunlight coming through the window. Someone had rigged an explosive to keep them from leaving with the remains. She coughed, sending more debris into the air. “Guys.” No answer from her team. “Evan? JC?”

  More static. Pressing one palm into the floor beside the hole, she was able to flip onto her back. Skeletal dust clung to the rafters and cords above. The explosive had to have been set underneath the rug. She must’ve triggered it when she’d uncovered the remains, and now Harold Wood had become more decoration than evidence.

  Heavy footfalls vibrated through the floor as she gave in to the heaviness pulling her eyes closed. SWAT would’ve heard the explosion. She, JC and Evan would be okay. They’d be... She closed her eyes as water pounded onto her vest from above. Two steps. Three. Then silence as her ears stopped ringing. She struggled to open her eyes, the blurred outline of a man above her, and she gripped her weapon, only to have it taken from her. “You should’ve walked away when you had the chance, Agent Ramirez.”

  * * *

  BENNING PUSHED OUT of the SUV as what felt like a punch of vibration shook the ground. “What the hell was that?”

  “Sir, I need you to stay in the vehicle.” The officer assigned to protect him raised his hands. Voices and static battled for dominance from the radio strapped to his chest. “SWAT’s reporting an explosion from inside the house, possibly the basement.”

  An explosion? Blood drained from his face and neck. “Ana.”

  He shoved past the officer and bolted for the west side of the house toward the back, where Ana and her team had breached. Following the gravel driveway, he ignored the shouts telling him to stop and pumped his legs as hard as he could. The bullet wound in his shoulder screamed for him to slow down, but he pushed the pain to the back of his mind. If An
a had been down there when the explosion happened... His lungs burned with icy dread. He pounded up the four stairs of the back deck and raced inside the house. His heart threatened to beat out of his chest as he pushed deeper into the sparsely furnished home and caught sight of the open door leading down into the basement. White dust particles coated his neck and face as he neared. Cement? “Ana!”

  No answer. He wasn’t a federal agent, he wasn’t SWAT and he didn’t have a weapon or backup, but nothing was going to stop him from getting to her. He took each step one at a time. If he’d learned anything working in construction for the past two decades, it was that explosions affected more of a building than the blast radius. One wrong step and he could be added among any casualties. A crack of wood shot his heart into his throat a split second before footsteps reverberated above him on the main floor. SWAT had breached the house from the front. He had to move. The first chance they got, they’d secure him away from the scene, possibly in cuffs. Ana might not have that much time. His boots hit cement, dust clinging to his clothing and face. The cold storage straight ahead didn’t look like it’d suffered any damage, and he followed the curve of the hallway around until he found the epicenter of the explosion.

  A beam fell from the ceiling, wood on concrete loud in his ears, and he raised his hands to block the blast of dust coming straight at him. The unfinished door frame held strong against the explosion, but what he imagined used to be an open living space had been closed off by twisted ducting, broken plumbing and exposed wiring. Damn it. He had to get in there. Had to get to Ana. Water splattered against the floor, but he couldn’t tell from where. It carved rivers around his boots to the drain where a bathroom would sit if the construction had been finished. At least the place wouldn’t flood. Dust worked down into his lungs, and he coughed into the crease of his elbow. “Can anyone hear me?”

  A groan broke through the rush of water, just on the other side of the ducting blocking his way into the room, and Benning shoved the metal shaft off to one side. The hole in his shoulder screamed, but after everything the Tactical Crime Division had done for him and his family, getting Ana and her team the help they needed was the only thing that mattered right then. The drain behind him was backing up, making it hard for his boots to get any leverage to move the piece of ducting. The groan he’d heard had been distantly male, which meant Ana hadn’t heard him or she was unconscious, and this damn section of ducting was keeping him from getting to her. “Somebody shut that water off!”

  Multiple sets of boots echoed off the unfinished stairs as SWAT descended into the basement. “You heard him! You, find the main water valve and shut it down. You two, get over there and help him get that debris out of the way. We’ve got agents in there.”

  Two armed SWAT members made quick work of clearing a path into the main room where the explosion had originated, and Benning hefted the last of the debris out of his way. “Holy hell.”

  Blood. A lot of it. His stomach wrenched as he homed in on the massive hole in the middle of the foundation. A bag had been torn to shreds by the blast, but he didn’t have time to figure out what—or who—had been inside. Movement registered off to his left, and he caught sight of a boot pinned beneath more debris. His heart rocketed into his throat. Ana? Hauling more ducting and beams out of his way, he struggled to keep the panic clawing through him at bay. She’d already taken two bullets and a window pane through her femoral artery. If she’d been injured in the blast, how long before her body decided it’d had enough? “Ana. Talk to me. Tell me where you are.”

  Another groan cut through the patter of water on cement. Lifting a panel of drywall off the agent, Benning froze. Agent Duran. Dropping beside the hostage negotiator, he tried to plug the blood trickling from below Duran’s vest with both hands and applied pressure. Pieces of concrete bit into his knees as he searched the rest of the scene. The sound of metal hitting cement caused his ears to ring as the other two members of SWAT cleared a path to another agent a few feet away. Agent Cantrell. No. No, no, no, no. She was here. She had to be. He turned back to Duran. “Where is she? Where’s Ana?”

  “The body...” Small muscles flexed in the agent’s jaw as he tried lifting his head off the floor. “Rigged to blow.”

  “Body?” His pressure on Duran’s wound faltered. The bag in the hole, the one covered in chunks of cement. The pounding at the base of his skull increased. “Who’s body? Who was in the bag?”

  “Harold... Wood.” Sweat built along the hostage negotiator’s hairline. “Someone unburied it from under the cement and... Ana shouted for us to get down.” Wet coughing arced Agent Duran off the floor. The blast must’ve punctured a lung. “The bomb was a...distraction.”

  “What do you mean, a distraction?” Benning fought to catch his breath as a pair of EMTs stepped in to take control of the agent’s injuries. He straightened, circling the area, searching every square inch of the space, under every piece of debris. EMTs pulled both Agents Cantrell and Duran from the scene on stretchers, but they still hadn’t found Ana. The bomb was a distraction. A distraction from what? Running his hands through his hair, he ignored the thin layer of blood on his hands as the single window at one end of the room came into focus. “She’s not here.”

  Ana wouldn’t have left her team to bleed out. Wouldn’t have left the scene of a crime without telling anyone. Especially if she’d been injured as badly—if not worse—than Cantrell and Duran. Distraction. He understood how explosives worked. Depending on the setup, whoever had set that charge would’ve had to have been within proximity to trigger the explosion. They would’ve needed to watch the house in case the Tactical Crime Division identified the skull he’d pulled from the construction site and needed to tie up loose ends. Ana would’ve known that, too. He didn’t see any evidence the basement was being surveilled. Then again, there wasn’t much of a basement left. Claire Winston—or whoever was responsible—could still be close if it had been triggered remotely. Had Ana realized the same and gone after that person? No. Cantrell and Duran barely survived that close-quarters blast. Ana wouldn’t have been able to get out on her own, which meant someone had to have dragged her out.

  Benning wound his way through the scene, back to the stairs leading to the main floor of the house, and out the way he’d come in. Crisp air picked up, and the hairs on the back of his neck rose on end. Thick trees lined the back of the property on the other side of the fence, leaving miles of open wilderness. Curling his fingers into his palms, he battled against the uncertainty threatening to break him. No new leads on Owen, and now Ana had gone missing. No. He wasn’t going to lose them. He couldn’t. Branches shifted with the wind and exposed a dark green structure set back about an acre behind the main property. Something he never would’ve seen if he hadn’t still been standing on the back deck. Slats in the wooden fence swung loose with another gust, and he stepped down—and froze. A swipe of blood on one of the slats. Fresh from the looks of it. “She left a trail.”

  Or whoever’d taken her had.

  SWAT and the rest of the Tactical Crime Division were focused on the scene, and Benning couldn’t waste time trying to convince someone to follow his hunch. He had to go now. Kicking the bottom of the fence, he wrenched a few more slats loose until he could fit, and slid to the other side. Flakes worked down into his boots, but it’d be easy to avoid if he retraced the large set of footprints interrupting the smooth surface of recent snowfall. Warning exploded behind his sternum as he closed in on the seemingly unused structure ahead. Tractor storage? A door on one side had been left partially open. He pressed his back against the opposite door and twisted around to see inside the other. No movement. Nothing to make him think someone was inside, but the footprints—Ana’s or the attacker’s—had led straight to the garage.

  Old hinges protested as he pried the door wider, and he stepped inside. Darkness bled around the edges of his vision before his senses adjusted. His exhales crystallized in front o
f his mouth, but something other than low temperatures chased a shiver down his spine. He slid one hand along the cold metal wall until he found a light switch, but flipping it on did nothing. Someone had fled from Claire Winston’s house and come here. Why? As far as he could tell, the shed was empty, and there were no fresh tire tracks to suggest a vehicle had been waiting here.

  Except...

  Except the small LED light casting a red glow across the metal sheeting on either side of it hadn’t been there when he’d come in. Benning hit the light switch again, and the light disappeared. His footsteps echoed off cold cement and thin metal walls as he stretched one hand above his head and ran it over where he’d noticed the light. There. Ripping the device from its position, he turned to face the light coming in through the doors. Severed wiring brushed against the palm of his hand, a small lens reflecting the sunlight. “A camera? Why would you need a camera in—”

  The video from the shooter’s phone. Owen had been crouched in a dark room like this. Alone, crying, scared. Benning spun around, fixating on the exact position his son would’ve been sitting for the camera to catch that angle of his face, and something inside him broke. He smoothed one hand over the cold flooring as he nearly crushed the camera with his other. The cement was still warm compared to the area around it. This was where they’d held his son. In a cold, barren tractor shed where no one would find him. Where they’d let him cry for hours with no one to tell him it’d be okay. Rage replaced the gut-wrenching desolation. He pocketed the camera and stood. “I’m coming for you, buddy. Both of you.”