Home Fire: A Suspense Thriller (A Hawk Tate Novel Book 5)

by Dustin Stevens

  “Where is she now?” Russo asked.

  “Big Man.”

  Kuntzman didn’t bother filling him in that the girl was actually with the guys that had first nabbed her. Seemed like more effort than it was worth.

  And definitely would have required extending the conversation longer than he would have preferred.

  “He okay with that?”

  Kuntzman didn’t appreciate the questioning, or the way they were being pinged at him. One after another, it felt like an interrogation, the detective unable to leave his job at the office.

  After almost a year of interacting, Kuntzman had thought he might grow used to it. In reality, it had only managed to raise his ire for the man. It carried a certain air of condescension that wasn’t appreciated, likely wouldn’t be tolerated for much longer.

  It wasn’t like they both didn’t know enough about the other to put them each away for a long time.

  “For what he’s getting out of it?” Kuntzman said. “No questions asked.”

  The almighty dollar had a way of doing that for people.

  “How’d you manage to get ahold of it so fast?” Kuntzman asked.

  A small scoff was Russo’s first response. “I’m Missing Persons, remember? This one was easy. It’s some of the other ones that I have to work a little bit for.”

  Pulling his hand away from his jaw, Kuntzman clenched it tight, feeling the tendons in his hand flex. It was a good thing he had set the drink down, or he would likely have a shattered window to deal with after the call.

  And getting repairs done on the fifteenth floor was a bitch.

  “Anything there?”

  “Nothing to worry about,” Russo said. “You saw the jacket on her family. You know what they are, and what they aren’t.”

  Clenching his teeth tight, Kuntzman lifted his gaze. He shifted his focus from the window below to his own reflection, seeing the tension gripping his body.

  It wasn’t like Wranglers and a pearl-snap shirt could hide the vein bulging in the side of his forehead.

  “I meant, how much heat is there on you to solve it?” Kuntzman muttered.

  “Pssh,” Russo said. “You know how many missing person reports are filed in this city every day since the recent influx of national media exposure? Nobody even lifts an eyebrow anymore.”

  Slowly unfurling his fist, Kuntzman exhaled. Russo was a dick, but he served an important purpose.

  Now that it was done, it was time to get off the phone.

  Chapter Thirty

  Josh Denman was dozing in the corner of the loveseat in the same room he and Amber had met with the detective in earlier in the day. Beside him on the nightstand sat a small pile of cafeteria trash - a paper plate, cup, and a wad of napkins.

  Rubbing at his knees, he rose just far enough to push his backside deeper into the seat, sitting up straighter as he looked at his wife.

  “Hey,” he said. “You guys been talking all this time?”

  Closing the door softly behind her, Amber walked across the room and peered out through the window. From where they were positioned, she could see the parking spot she and Hawk had used earlier, knowing full well that Josh had likely sat and watched their entire interaction.

  But she appreciated the attempt at subterfuge just the same.

  “No,” she said. Turning back, she slid down into the middle of the loveseat. Letting her body go limp, she fell to the side, her head resting against his shoulder. “We only talked for about ten minutes.”

  Pausing long enough to see if she would continue, Josh eventually managed, “Oh.”

  A faint smile crossed Amber’s lips as she stared at the cheesy framed painting on the wall opposite her. No matter how crazy the situation was – her son being shot, her daughter missing – at least one thing could be relied on.

  Even if it was her husband’s unfailing passive aggression.

  “Afterwards, I took a walk,” she said. “Stopped in on Eric on my way back up.”

  “Hm,” Josh replied. “How is he?”

  Whether the he that was being referred to was Hawk or their son, Amber wasn’t sure. Knew the answer was likely both.

  “He’s sleeping. Nurse said everything was looking strong. Well, as much as could be expected anyway.”

  Again, Josh grunted softly. This time, he didn’t bother asking about Hawk, though Amber knew it was resting just beneath the surface.

  “As for Hawk...”

  She wasn’t sure what she had expected when she called him. Hell, if she were being honest, she wasn’t sure why she had. Or why his name had even occurred to her.

  One of those random tricks of the human subconscious, she had been up most of the previous night, staring at the walls, trying to wrap her mind around her daughter being kidnapped. From there, things had connected in a logical progression, her mind eventually landing on the one person she knew that had made a career out of tracking people down.

  Not quite in the same sorts of situations, but she had to believe it was a skillset that was at least somewhat transferable.

  “Looks different,” she said. “Definitely gone full-on Mountain Man.”

  “You mean, full beard-“

  “Beard, shaggy hair, the whole deal,” Amber said.

  At a glance, the enormous amount of growth was the first thing she noticed. It would be the first thing anybody noticed.

  Almost enough to keep them from looking past it to see that the last five years had clearly been as hard or harder on him than her. Faint lines had formed around his eyes. Instead of gaining weight, as most men did in their thirties, he had lost some. Gone was any non-essential mass, replaced by a leanness that could best be classified as rugged.

  To say nothing of the fact that the entire time they spoke, his eyes never stopped moving. He had seen every single thing that occurred around them. Could probably recite the license plates of the cars that rolled past.

  “What did he have to say?” Josh asked.

  “Mostly asked questions,” Amber said. “All business, the entire time.”

  Which was a blessing. Even after so many years, she wasn’t ready to have a heart-to-heart sit down with the man. For as much as she hated him, she logically knew that what happened to her sister wasn’t his fault. There was no way to see something that horrific coming. Probably no way he could have stopped it if he’d been there.

  That wasn’t the point.

  The point was, as long as that lingering animosity existed, so did her last connection – however tenuous – to Elizabeth.

  “What’s his plan?” Josh asked.

  “I don’t know,” Amber replied. “I didn’t ask, and he didn’t offer. Just said he’d be in touch.”

  In the wake of their conversation, Amber had waited until he pulled away. Once his taillights blinked out of sight, she hadn’t been ready to go back inside. Instead, she had turned toward the corner of the lot.

  Her hands thrust into her pockets, she had taken off and just kept walking.

  “Well, that’s something,” Josh offered.

  Nodding slightly, Amber had to agree. It was something.

  The problem was, she just didn’t yet know what.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The room had been sterilized. It had been done haphazardly, grabbing things at random and ripping them down, but it had been thorough. The only pieces of furniture left were the desk, a single rolling chair, and the bed Elyse Denman now sat on. The sole things on the walls were scraps of posters and papers that had been stripped away in a hurry.

  Leaving her with precious few options for anything resembling a weapon.

  No shelves of any kind, with metal support brackets she could confiscate and repurpose. No detachable legs on the bed or desk. The chair was too heavy for her to wield with any force.

  Awake long after the rest of the house had gone quiet, Elyse had bypassed precious rest to scour the room. She’d searched through the closet, hoping for a wire hanger or a loose clothing rod.
She’d crawled on her stomach to peer under the bed, praying for a stray butter knife or nail file.

  Absolutely nothing had presented itself.

  Sliding up onto the bed, she had sat with her back against the wall, reprising the position she’d been in when Joey first arrived with her food the day before. Hair matted by sweat to her forehead, she could feel tears threatening to well, her heart rate rising.

  She had heard the conversation as plainly as if she were on a second line. The men outside had snatched her with the intention of sending her on down the road. Where that was or who would be waiting, she didn’t know.

  Not that she needed to, already certain the answers to both questions were unspeakably bad.

  Enough so, she’d would probably end up wishing they had just shot her, too.

  For more than an hour, she had sat in a semi-trance. Her eyes glazed as her mind ran wild, considering every possible outcome.

  And there, in that trance, watching the various ways her body was defiled, a renewed sense of purpose was born. For the first time, the tears that came to her eyes weren’t from fear or self-pity. They were hot. Angry.

  Why this had happened to her was no longer the issue. All that mattered was dealing with it as best she could. Lashing out at her captors. Making life as difficult as she could for them.

  Pushing herself away from the bed, Elyse had taken her feet again. Once more, she examined her surroundings, taking in everything the room had to offer, before settling her gaze on the one thing she had thus far failed to consider.

  A pang of animosity rose through her as she stared at it, lambasting herself in silence for having not noticed it sooner. In her initial haste, in her fearful state, she had concentrated largely on what the room had in it. The pieces of furniture that filled the space.

  But she had failed to consider the dinner tray sitting right out in the open.

  Much like the previous morning, the plate was paper, the cup was plastic. The dinner offering had been chips and a turkey sandwich, meaning there was no silverware.

  All of that was fine, none of the items being what had caught her attention, to begin with.

  Shoving them to the side, Elyse lifted the plastic tray from the desk. A close copy to the ones she used at school every day, it was rectangular in shape, the color a mottled mess of green and gray. Holding it before her, she gripped opposing corners, giving them a small twist, feeling the tensile strength.

  It wasn’t metal, but it was a start.

  Using it as a club itself would never work. The material was too thin, the weight behind it much too slight.

  But it could be fashioned, formed into something much more useful.

  Gripping it in one hand, Elyse ran a finger along the edges and corners. Rounded and buffed, they were too smooth to cause any real damage.

  Casting her gaze around the room, she settled her focus on the foot of the bed. She saw the thin metal bottom resting atop the carpet, could see the weight of the frame it supported.

  Giving the tray one more twist, she flipped it over, placing the upturned edge on the floor. Pressing her fist into the center of it, she could feel the item bow beneath her knuckles.

  The second jolt of adrenaline passed through her as she slid the tray over, butting the side of it flush against the foot of the bed. Staring down at it, she felt her breathing increase, her heart thumping in her chest.

  She would only get a single chance at this, the tray her only viable option as a weapon. If ever she was going to make a move, to try and gain the upper hand, this had to be it.

  And it had to be quiet.

  Reaching for the head of the bed, Elyse grabbed the thin pillow bunched against the wall. She dropped it flat on the tray, making sure it was positioned correctly, before bending at the waist and sliding her fingers under the bottom of the bed frame.

  Her lower back tightened and her biceps strained as her fingertips dug into the rusting metal. Clamping her real molars tight, she lifted her face toward the ceiling, pulling with everything she had.

  Little by little, the foot of the bed wrenched itself from the carpet divot it had been resting in. Sweat streamed down either side of her face as her knees extended, her arms stretched to full length.

  Grunting, fighting to remain silent, she used her toe to nudge the tray under the foot of the bed. Once it was in place, she slowly lowered it, setting the bed down in the center of the impromptu stack.

  As she did, the faint sound of the plastic cracking found its way through the pillow.

  Never had she heard a more beautiful noise.

  Taking a step back, her body fighting for air, Elyse sank to her knees. She peeled up the front corner of the pillow, seeing the starfish fissures extended out from the bedpost in the center of the tray.

  For the first time since walking with her brother almost thirty hours before, she felt herself smile.

  This would work.

  It had to.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  I could see the sun peeking around the curtains of the second story Motel 6 room I scored for the night. Showing up at one o’clock in the morning, I had gotten a questioning look from the young kid behind the counter, but to his credit he didn’t say a word.

  I was willing to guess the general look of animosity I was still wearing after my encounter at the gun range had something to do with it, but I didn’t want to speculate.

  Armed with a small duffel bag and a sack of Jack in the Box, I had eaten quickly, tasting nothing, doing it only for the density of calories it provided. Once that task was checked off, I took a hot shower, one more thing that I wouldn’t need to do come morning, before crawling into bed.

  Even with everything that had happened in the previous twenty-four hours, the best I could manage was a couple of hours of semi-sleep before I was up again. Unable to turn my mind off, I checked the clock every fifteen minutes, plotting and replotting my moves for the day.

  Or, more aptly, the first part of it. From there, the hope was that something would have come unglued, giving me a clear path to head down.

  If not, I would figure it out on the fly. I’m willing to guess that’s a big part of the reason Amber had called me in the first place.

  Making it only as far as four-thirty, I rose and dressed. Using the internet search function on my phone, I found a twenty-four-hour sporting goods store a few exits down from where I was staying and made a quick run.

  Now more than an hour later, the sun was just starting to rise. I could see it in my periphery, burning bright and orange around the thin curtain, promising another gorgeous fall day, one much warmer than what I’d been experiencing in Montana.

  Barely paying it any mind, my focus was instead aimed down on the sack of items I’d just purchased. Spread out on the bedspread before me, they were fanned around the front corner where I was posted up, the guns I had nabbed the night before resting on my thighs.

  The weapons were Browning Hi Powers, one of the oldest and most common 9mm weapons on the planet. With a single action trigger, they featured a thirteen round magazine using a semi-automatic feed.

  Both well cared for, the slides were smooth, the metal polished.

  Not that it mattered. No way was I going out into the field with firearms I hadn’t personally stripped and cleaned myself.

  Using the small kit I had just purchased, I worked the wire bristle brush through every possible orifice, making sure everything gleamed with a fresh veneer of oil. As I worked, the smell penetrated my fingertips, working its way into my nostrils.

  Every few moments, I cast a sideways glance to the clock on the bedside table, watching the glowing red digits inch steadily forward. Wishing nothing more than that they would go faster, I gnawed on a pair of protein bars, washing them down with a bottle of Gatorade.

  I wasn’t hungry in the slightest, but I knew better than to turn down a chance at fuel.

  By the time I finished the task at hand, sweat dripped from the bridge of my nose. It caus
ed my bare torso to gleam. The taste of it rested on my lips, burning my eyes.

  Rising to my feet, I jacked the magazines into position on either of the Brownings, racking a round into the chamber and flipping on the safeties. Turning to the side, I checked the clock once more, seeing it was just minutes before seven.

  Not as late as I had hoped, but it would have to do.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Just two days had passed since my nephew was shot and my niece abducted, though one would never know it from sitting in the Antioch Galleria. Even at just half past seven in the morning, the place was already started the morning build. In less than an hour, it would be up and active, serving as a veritable hub for the eastern suburb.

  Sitting on a bench in the center of it, I sipped at the cup of Tennessee Morning Shine coffee I’d purchased from a kiosk on the opposite end of the vestibule. Presumably a playful spin on the term moonshine, the swill in the cup tasted like neither homemade alcohol nor anything resembling coffee.

  Instead, it was little more than a paper cup of brown water, barely even warm after just a few minutes of sitting outside.

  Drinking it for nothing more than the visual aspect, I reclined on the white metal bench. My right ankle on my left knee, I extended an arm along the back of it, just another guy enjoying a start to his day, taking in the sights.

  Like the bevy of shops lining both the top and bottom floors of the mall, their storefronts glass, colorful advertisements lining them.

  And the handful of individual kiosks like the one I’d gotten my drink from, independent contractors tasked with what was essentially harassing customers, trying to get them to stop on their way to somewhere else.

  And the food court sitting directly across from it, the cinema pressed tight beside it, a host of posters advertising the newest fare stretched one after another for as far as I could see.

  The story Amber had given me was that the kids had gone to see the new Tomb Raider movie. Why Angelina Jolie had decided to go back and make a third one more than a decade after the last, I had no clue, nor the desire to ask.