Dark Harvest (A Holt Foundation Story Book 2)

by Chris Patchell

  Seth tucked the phone back into his pocket.

  “Me too.”

  Chapter 42

  “Are those sirens?” Seth asked, his voice sounding tinny through the Bluetooth speakers.

  Henry checked his rearview mirror. Squad cars with their lights flashing descended upon the squat, concrete building he’d just fled.

  “Yeah. Hang on.” Jamming down on the accelerator, he turned a corner, then hung a right after the Taco Bell. The police were racing to the scene, not following him. He had not shown up on their radar yet, and with any luck, he wouldn’t. “That’s better. Where are you?”

  “Just leaving the conference,” Seth said. “I got Victoria Kaplan’s address from Jenna. Kaplan is the redhead we’ve been trying to track down. Her place isn’t far from here, so I’m heading over to see what I can find. I’m going to send you a list of addresses—places associated with Wilcox. Check them out. See if any of them are the kinds of places he might be holed up.”

  “Got it.”

  Henry looked for a place where he could pull over and piggyback on a Wi-Fi signal to do his research.

  “You on your way back to the foundation?” Seth asked.

  “I’m heading that way, yeah.” Technically he was heading south, which in vague terms was the way he would need to go to get back to the foundation. He was in no hurry to return. Fieldwork was far more exciting than sitting behind a desk. He could see why Seth liked being a cop—the way one clue led you to the next until you solved the puzzle.

  “Call me if you find anything,” Seth said.

  “Yeah.”

  “And Henry, don’t do anything stupid.”

  Henry snorted. “As if.”

  Henry pulled into a coffee shop tucked in behind a strip mall. He grabbed his laptop out of the messenger bag and cracked it open. The Wi-Fi signal was strong enough that he could connect from the car.

  He ran through the list of addresses Crawford sent him. Most he already knew about, but there was one that struck his interest—a farm outside the small town of Orting. According to a public records search, the bank had foreclosed on the property years ago. Due to the number of foreclosed properties in the area, it had not gone to auction.

  As near as he could tell, it sat abandoned. He loaded the address into Google Earth. Set on ten acres of land, the nearest neighbors were miles away. Google Earth showed vast stretches of empty fields that were broken up by dense pockets of trees. This place was perfect, in a Breaking Bad sort of way.

  Henry did another search on the property. He clicked on the results, checking the utilities. Abandoned my ass. This place was pulling down more megawatts than a Taylor Swift concert.

  He thought about the centrifuge, the liquid nitrogen freezer, and the other special equipment purchased using funds from the mysterious bank account.

  Why not extend his field trip a little longer? He wouldn’t be missed at the foundation. He’d drive down to check out the place, and if he found anything, he’d call his nanny. Crawford.

  #

  The valley lay deep in the shadow of Mount Rainier’s towering peak. The foothills surrounded Rainier like broad shoulders sloping down the horizon into the valley. Henry sped along a winding country road that carved its way into the valley floor. Gusts of wind blew rain across the windshield. The car’s wipers slashed the glass clean, struggling to keep up.

  He had to be close. Civilization felt a million miles away. A dyed-in-the-wool city dweller, Henry was allergic to horses, hay, and Garth Brooks—well, country music in general. His father had dragged him to a rodeo once. What a disaster that had been. Not only had the livestock triggered a full-on asthma attack, but he’d gotten gum all over his pants from the grandstand and had tracked cow shit into his father’s van. That was the last time he’d gone on anything remotely resembling a family outing with his father.

  Henry checked his GPS. Only a few miles to go. He should call Seth and let him know where he was, but hell—he had nothing concrete to report. There would be plenty of time to call if he found something.

  God, it really was the middle of nowhere. This time of the year, the days were short. Daylight faded to black. There were no street lights. No moon. Henry’s headlights cut through the inky darkness and bounced off a rusty gate. It was tethered shut by a thick chain and a sturdy-looking lock. Henry examined the lock. Shouldn’t be a problem. He had his toolkit with him.

  He pulled the lock pick lever from the kit and wedged it into the keyhole. Rain dripped into his eyes and he shook it away. The slender pick tumbled from his grasp. It bounced off his boot and landed in a flooded culvert with a plunk.

  Well, shit.

  Henry dropped to all fours and plunged his hand into the swampy water. Ice cold. Nothing but slimy vegetation and thick mud. He tried again, but still came up empty. Cold and shivering he pulled back. Trying to find it was a waste of time.

  He needed another way in. If he had a hammer or a crowbar, he could open the lock with no problem, but he didn’t have either of those.

  He did have something close.

  Henry strode back to the car. He had an old Club steering wheel lock, which just might do the trick. Having circumvented more security systems than he could count, he believed that sometimes low-tech solutions were the best. Swinging the Club by his side, he considered using it as a tourniquet, twisting the chain until it broke. But that would be a waste of time.

  There was a faster way. The chain was looped around a fencepost, and the top rung looked weathered and worn. Henry propped one end of the Club under the rung and levered it against the post. He tipped back, using his bodyweight to apply pressure until he heard a satisfying crack.

  The top rung of the fence splintered and the rail gave way. Henry looped the chain over the top of the post and swung the gate open. The hinges squealed out a protest like they knew he shouldn’t be there. Henry tossed the Club back in his car and drove through.

  The farmhouse was set back from the road, hidden behind a row of poplars and some scrubby brush. Henry killed the headlights as he drove closer, like a cop on a stakeout. If there was someone in there, he didn’t want to announce his arrival. The car crept quietly up the driveway.

  He parked behind a stand of trees and approached the house on foot.

  Looming here in the dark, the farmhouse looked as creepy as shit, like the house in that movie, Psycho. Two stories tall, its sagging front porch and peeling red paint literally screamed that it was abandoned.

  Henry swept the ground with the beam of his flashlight. Fresh tire tracks were carved deep into the muddy drive and disappeared behind the house. Pay dirt. He was totally onto something. He could feel it. Excitement quickened his steps as he rounded the side of the house toward the back. He shone the light toward the black windows to see if there was anything moving inside.

  A security light flicked on, and for one terrifying moment, he was bathed in a pool of light. Henry darted into the shadows and caught his breath before continuing around the side.

  If there was someone living here, it didn’t look like they were home. He peeked in each of the windows to be sure.

  The back door was locked. Without the right tool, he was forced to resort to a primitive thievery trick. He drove his elbow through a glass pane, sending shards crashing to the floor. Wasn’t pretty, but hey, it worked. Glass fangs scraped his wrist as he reached around to open the lock.

  There was no sneaking around inside. The floorboards creaked like an arthritic man’s joints. Someone had been in here, all right. Muddy footprints marked the floor. He examined them. They were smaller than his. Like a woman’s.

  He swept the beam of light around the room, searching for more signs of life. Nothing. Curiosity quenched, he moved on.

  The living room was sparsely furnished. A drab, olive-colored couch graced one wall, a striped recliner on the other.

  A flurry of movement on the edge of his beam caught his eye. Henry’s heart took off at a full gallop.

/>   He feinted to the side, skillfully dodging his shadow like the Green Arrow, but there was nobody there. The house was silent.

  Christ, he was jumpy, like all of Crawford’s paranoia had emptied out into his brain. This was an old farmhouse probably teeming with mice. Or rats. Or some other kind of vermin seeking refuge from the rain. What the hell did he expect? There were no monsters lingering in the shadows.

  With a snort, he kept going.

  The staircase was located at the far end of the living room, and Henry made his way to the second floor. If he thought the front porch was rickety, they were solid compared to the stairs. They groaned louder than a failing hard drive. He tested each one on his way up to make sure they would bear his weight.

  The hall was narrow. He hovered at the top of the staircase, studying the layout before proceeding. The first bedroom was empty, save an iron bedframe, a stained mattress, and a beat-up dresser against one wall. The baseball motif wallpaper was torn and peeling, revealing full dimension lumber with a straight, tight grain that looked like ribs.

  The door to the second bedroom was closed. Henry eased it open.

  The flashlight’s beam cut through the gloom, bounced off a slick surface. Glass? Plastic? Oh shit.

  Thick rust-colored stains that could only be blood congealed on the dirty carpet.

  All at once, Henry knew he was in the right place.

  Chapter 43

  Seth was just getting back into the car. Henry was practically gloating on the other end of the phone.

  “I found it,” he said.

  “Where are you?”

  “The farm. I’m sure this is where they were held.”

  “But they’re not there now?”

  “No one is.”

  Disappointment left a bitter taste at the back of Seth’s throat, and he wondered where Becky and Suzie might be.

  “There’s equipment like you’d find in a hospital room. And blood. A whole lot of blood.”

  Seth understood the implications of the find all too well. And there was Henry tromping around a crime scene. Contaminating evidence.

  “Get out of there. Wait for me.”

  “I can handle myself.”

  “Yeah, right. Did you watch the place before you went barreling in?”

  “Relax, I said—”

  “I heard what you said.” Seth cut him off, clenching his teeth in frustration.

  Henry was one of those guys who was better at talking than listening, which was always a dangerous thing.

  “Christ, Crawford. Chew me out later. Just get your ass out here.”

  The line went dead and Seth swore.

  This was everything that was wrong with the foundation. They were untrained. Undisciplined. Henry was going off half-cocked like this was some kind of television cop show. He hadn’t the slightest inclination of what he was walking into. Even the dumbest rookie cop knew it was crazy to venture into an unknown situation without backup.

  Seth punched the accelerator and raced through a red light, wishing he was in a squad car right now. Lights and sirens would clear the way. Instead he was stuck in traffic.

  His phone rang. Evan.

  Seth ignored the call, and kept his attention strictly focused on the road. It was littered with plodding drivers. Seth slalomed through the slower-moving cars like a downhill skier skidding through gates, steadily heading south.

  North of Auburn, Seth’s low-fuel indicator dinged. A bright sensor light flashed on the display. Seth’s jaw flexed.

  Goddammit. Henry was still twenty miles away, and he didn’t have time to stop. He checked the info panel and calculated the risks. It would be close. There shouldn’t be a whole lot of stop-and-go traffic between here and the farm.

  Steep hills smoothed out into a valley. He sped down the country roads like a local.

  The second time the fuel warning dinged, he knew he was in serious trouble. One mile shy of his destination, the engine sputtered and died.

  Seth swore and pulled to the side of the road, parking on the gravel shoulder. He called Henry. No answer. He was probably avoiding another lecture.

  Grabbing thick leather gloves and a flashlight from his trunk, he started off on foot. The frigid rain teemed down, soaking through his jacket. He felt naked, stumbling into a potential crime scene without backup or even a gun strapped to his hip. Alvarez would tell him he was being stupid, and Alvarez wouldn’t be wrong.

  But Henry was already there doing God knows what. Fucking up a crime scene, for all he knew. He could call the local cops, but what would he tell them? That they were trespassing? Gut feel wasn’t good enough. Until they had some evidence, they were on their own.

  And what about those girls? They were still somewhere waiting to be found.

  Fog hung low to the ground, shrouding the road. Seth heard an engine. Deep. Throaty. Like an old pickup truck. He stepped off the road onto the shoulder. Thick tangles of blackberry bushes snarled around his pant legs.

  Headlights glowed as a truck blew past. Wet spray splattered against him. Seth broke out into a jog.

  Gravel crunched beneath his pounding feet as he made his way along the winding road—up one rise, down the next. Progress was slow. He was woefully out of shape. As the minutes ticked by, it felt like he was getting nowhere.

  Chest heaving, sweat running down his back, Seth slowed. He had to be close. He pulled out his cell phone and checked the location. The farm was situated a quarter mile ahead. He rounded the curve and saw the driveway. The gate yawned open.

  A chill coursed through Seth that had nothing to do with the rain. If Henry had left the gate open, he was careless. If not, maybe Wilcox was back. Either prospect set Seth on edge as he continued down the road, wishing he had his gun.

  He passed a stand of bushes and caught sight of Henry’s car. Hidden behind a stand of trees, it couldn’t be seen from the farmhouse, but anyone approaching it from this angle would spot it in a heartbeat.

  A light blazed from a window, and Seth grit his teeth. He would chew Henry a new one for being careless later.

  “It’s about time you got here.”

  The voice came through the trees. Seth jumped sideways, hand planted on his chest.

  “Christ. You trying to give me a heart attack?”

  Henry snickered. “Relax. There’s no one here.”

  “You think you’re invincible? Do you know how many rookie cops are killed because they think the same thing? And you’re no cop. You don’t know the first thing about procedure. You could be destroying evidence . . .”

  “You done?”

  “Use your brain for once.”

  “I know what I’m doing.”

  Henry took off toward the house.

  Seth followed at a slower pace, taking in the details of the scene—the long grass brushing against the front porch looked undisturbed. The front door was boarded up. A no-trespassing sign was posted on the wall, its corners curled and graying.

  “Looks like no one has lived here in decades, probably not since the bank repossessed the property,” Seth said.

  Henry snorted and waved a dismissive hand.

  “That’s how it’s supposed to look. Come on. I’ll show you.”

  Before Seth could respond, Henry jogged around the back of the house.

  An explosion lit up the night sky. The deep rolling boom, like a cannon, was punctuated by the high-pitched tone of shrapnel slicing through the air. The bomb blast threw Seth to the ground. The earth jolted beneath him as a concussion blast thundered overhead.

  Smoke hung in the wet air, and Seth raised his head. Numbness faded, and he stared in horror.

  “Henry.”

  Lurching to his feet, he stumbled toward the house at a run. Henry lay sprawled on his back, four feet away from the back steps.

  Screaming.

  There was so much blood.

  Henry wasn’t moving. Blood splattered across the gravel drive and pooled beneath him. A bloody Converse sneaker lay ten fee
t away.

  Henry’s right leg was missing.

  Chapter 44

  Brooke wiped her eyes. Mascara smudges streaked across the white tissue. When her mother texted saying she wouldn’t make it home in time to bring her to the session, Brooke considered bailing. But Dr. Frank said it was important to do the hard things, and she was right.

  She took a deep breath and composed herself. She hoped she didn’t look like she’d been run over by a truck as she emerged from the therapist’s office into the waiting room.

  Jesse stood. Brooke smiled.

  “You ready?” Her voice sounded fake, like she was trying too hard.

  “Yeah.”

  Jesse held the door for her. She’d always liked that about him. Not all guys were considerate. Brooke led the way to the elevator.

  “How was it?” Jesse asked.

  “The session? Oh, fine.”

  It wasn’t fine. Therapy was hard. No lie. She wished she could just forget what had happened to her, pretend that she was okay. Talking to Dr. Frank was the only thing that helped her untangle the thoughts, feelings, and flashbacks that consumed her waking hours—a vortex of pain and depression that some days swallowed her whole.

  Jesse’s phone chirped. He checked the message. A frown line appeared between his brows, and he shoved the phone back in his pocket. She knew that look.

  “What’s up?” Brooke asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “It’s not nothing. Come on. Spill.”

  The elevator car arrived and Brooke stepped inside.

  “I forgot I was supposed to meet someone.”

  Jesse pushed the button. The doors closed and the elevator descended. Brooke’s stomach dropped.

  “Who?”

  Jesse hesitated. “My girlfriend.”

  God. She was the biggest idiot in the world. Of course he had a girlfriend. How could she have been so stupid? Suddenly the thought of spending the next hour in traffic with him felt unbearable—trying to pretend everything was okay with the pain in her heart so fresh she could barely breathe.

  “Could you drop me off at my mom’s office?”