by Dee Davis
“On the way in,” Drake said with a frown as Harrison turned back toward the door, clearly agitated. “There was nothing. I swear.”
“Well, maybe a trap door in the floor. Or something hidden behind furniture. I don’t know. But I’m telling you it’s here somewhere.” Harrison dropped down to look under the bed. Then pushed back to his feet to move a chair and then the bedside table.
“Harrison—” Avery started only to be cut off as Harrison waved him off.
“Trust me. If it’s not in this room, then it’s got to be out there somewhere.” He gestured toward the hallway, his tone brooking no argument.
“Drake,” Avery said, “you and Simon take the back of the house. Check again, this time concentrating on looking for egress either through the floor or through the walls. Hannah, you take the two front rooms, and I’ll help Harrison here.”
Hannah nodded, fighting the urge to reach out for Harrison. She could almost see the tension radiating from him, the situation hitting too close to home. But there was nothing she could say to make it better. And besides, it wasn’t really her place.
With a last look, she headed back down the hall and into the living room. It was small, and sparsely furnished. She checked beneath the old sofa. And then behind a dilapidated bookshelf, carefully tapping the wall, listening for anything that might indicate a hollow space hidden behind the boards. But there was nothing.
She continued to search, until she was certain she’d exhausted all possibility, and then moved into the small adjoining room. It wasn’t more than about twelve feet square and except for a three-legged table propped beneath a window, there was no furniture. Just a rotting quilt in a corner across the room. At some point it had probably covered the wall, but gravity, with the help of the wind, had managed to relocate it.
As if echoing the thought, the far edge of the quilt moved in the breeze from the window, and just for a moment, Hannah thought she saw the glint of metal beneath. Adrenaline surging, she drew her gun and moved toward the swaying cloth. Then, holding her breath, she yanked back the quilt to expose a door.
Heart pounding now, she reached out to pull it open, half expecting it to be locked, but the door obediently swung inward and again Hannah turned on the light attached to her gun. The beam cut into the dark, abolishing the shadows, and Hannah’s spirits sank. It was only a closet.
She moved the beam of light across the space, but except for a cardboard box in the corner the closet was empty. She blew out a breath and turned to go, but just as she started to step back into the room her mind presented an image of the box.
Something about it didn’t quite fit.
She turned back, shining the light on the cardboard container, the incongruity immediately clear. The box, like the bedroom door, was new. Frowning, she knelt beside it, and pulled it open. There was a coil of rope inside. The same kind that had been fastened to the headboard. And a roll of duct tape, the beam of her tac-light catching the silver of the tape.
Although the find was insignificant in light of the missing girl, it was still possible that there might be prints on the contents. She pushed back to her feet, intent on telling the team what she’d found, but as she started to move, she tripped on the corner of the box and went flying, arms pinwheeling as she fell, her gun spinning across the floor.
For a moment the world swam crazily, and then her head cleared. Chagrined, she sat up, rubbing one knee, grateful that no one had been there to see her make a fool of herself. The box had slid across the floor, and her gun, its light still shining, was resting a foot or so away. With a resigned sigh, she reached for it, but froze as her gaze landed on the illuminated spot where the box had been.
The flooring here was different from the rest, the planks cut perpendicularly by what looked to be a frame. Or an edge—marking a trap door.
Although it was tempting to go in herself, Hannah resisted the urge. She knew from experience that grandstanding usually ended badly. Besides, if someone was down there, he’d have heard her fall, and if said person was a hostile, then he’d be ready.
Better to get help.
She rose to her feet and reached to push aside the quilt, but before she could step free, she heard something moving and froze, her fingers tightening on her gun.
“Hannah, are you okay?” Harrison’s voice filtered through the rotting cotton, and she almost dropped the gun in her relief.
“I’m here,” she said, pushing past the quilt. “In the closet.”
“Well, there’s an opening if ever I heard one,” he said, relief playing across his face.
“Except that you know better,” she shot back without thinking, the words immediately sending blood coursing to her cheeks. “I’m sorry that didn’t come out right.”
“Seemed pretty on point to me.” He smiled, but then sobered as he studied the opening behind her. “You found something.”
“Yes,” she nodded, grateful to be back on safer ground. “I think there’s a trap door. But I didn’t want to go in by myself.”
“Smart girl,” he said, pulling his gun as he moved past her into the closet. “Where is it?”
“In the corner,” she aimed her gun so that the light shone on the area of floor where the trap door was. “It was under a box. I saw it after I fell.”
Harrison shot her a concerned look.
“It was nothing. I’m fine,” she said, resisting the urge to rub her throbbing knee.
He nodded, his attention already back on the trap door, as he traced the edges to try to find a handle or latch or something. “You need to get Avery.”
“You can’t go down there by yourself,” she protested. “I’ll just radio him. Not much point in going dark. After my fall, if anyone’s down there, they’d have to be deaf not to have heard me.”
“Or dead,” Harrison mumbled under his breath, and Hannah shivered.
Pushing aside all thoughts of Sara, she adjusted her comlink. “Avery, are you there?”
“Yeah,” came the crackling reply. “You guys in trouble?”
“Negative,” she said. “But I’ve found a trap door. It’s in a closet in the room next to the living area. Harrison’s here and we’re going to try to open it.”
“Copy that,” Avery answered. “We’re on our way. Be careful.”
Silence loomed for a moment, and then with a sharp intake of breath, Harrison pulled upward, the trap door opening with a mechanical groan.
They shined their lights on the opening, a series of steep steps leading downward. They held position for a moment, listening, but nothing moved. There was no sound at all except the slow dripping of water somewhere.
“You ready?” Harrison whispered.
Hannah nodded, not completely sure she meant it. If there was something down there, she had the feeling it wasn’t going to be anything good.
Harrison moved first, shining the tac-light attached to his gun ahead of them. Moisture filled the air, the dampness cold and cloying. Shadows stretched across the floor, moving like living things in the flickering beams of their lights.
They reached the bottom, and Harrison swept his light across the room. Dust-coated boxes were stacked in a corner, and an empty shelving unit stood against the far wall. Like the boxes, it was coated in grime, the filth making it clear that no one had touched it in decades.
“There’s nothing here,” Hannah said, turning in a slow circle moving the beam from her tac-light across the walls and floors. “It doesn’t look like anyone’s been down here in years.”
“Yeah, but look,” Harrison pointed down at the floor just by the stairs, “there’s no dust here. It’s been swept clean.”
Hannah shifted, lowering her light so that she could see. “So what are we missing?”
“I don’t know.” Harrison shook his head. “But if I had to call it, I’d say it’s under the stairs.”
He pushed aside a stack of boxes and ducked into the space beneath the steps. “See anything?” she asked, his back blocking
her view.
“There’s a door in the back wall,” he said. “A new one. Looks the same as the one upstairs.”
Above them they could hear footsteps on the stairs. “Avery?” Hannah whispered, clutching her gun. “That you?”
“Roger that,” he replied. “What have you got?”
“Harrison’s found another door.”
“All right,” Avery said. “Hold position until we get there.”
Harrison nodded, indicating that he’d heard Avery’s order.
“Is it locked?” Hannah asked.
“I don’t think so,” he said, training his light just above the knob as he moved to the side so that she could see. “There’s a deadbolt on the outside. Whatever this was used for, it was for keeping people in, not out.”
Again Hannah shivered. Avery, Drake, and Simon hit the bottom of the stairs, the big men filling the small cellar.
“Am I clear to go?” Harrison asked, his expression grim.
“Yes,” Avery acknowledged. “Just be careful.”
Harrison nodded and then reached for the knob. Hannah held her breath as the door squeaked open, the smell emanating from the opening drawing bile into her throat.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered, fighting her rising nausea. “Is that…” she trailed off, not able to form the words.
Harrison nodded, his mouth drawn into a thin, tight line as he stepped through the doorway into the room. Sucking in a breath, Hannah followed, mentally steeling herself for what she already knew they’d find.
Sara was strung by her arms from the wall. Naked. Blood pooling at her feet. Precision cuts and slashes snaked across her body like some kind of macabre tattoo.
Hannah fought against another wave of nausea. “Is she—”
“Dead?” Harrison finished for her, as the rest of the team made their way into the room. “Yes. From the looks of the blood on the floor, I’d say she’s been that way for quite a while.”
“So we couldn’t have—” Again Hannah had trouble finding the words, tears filling her eyes as the horror enveloped her.
“Saved her?” Drake finished, his voice echoing in the eerily lit room. “No way. We never had a chance.”
“Neither did she,” Harrison said, his voice hushed, his face tight with emotion.
“How did you know?” Hannah asked, the words coming of their own volition. “To look for a cellar, I mean?” She lifted her gaze to his, and the pain she saw reflected there almost took her breath away.
He shook his head, his eyes moving back to Sara, hanging on the wall. “Because that’s where they found my sister.”
CHAPTER 7
Harrison sat on the front porch steps of the house by the lake, his thoughts rioting. Despite the fact that nine years had passed since his sister’s death, it might as well have been yesterday. Especially in light of the body they’d found inside. The forensics people were at work in the basement and bedroom. And the rest of the team was either inside helping or back at Sunderland trying to run interference.
There was no avoiding publicity now. And that meant that Avery would have his hands full dealing with the fallout. Parents, students, even professors—all with legitimate concerns—who’d be bombarding the college with questions and fears. Harrison was glad he wasn’t the one who had to cope.
“You okay?” Hannah asked, sitting down beside him on the steps, her voice laced with concern.
“Hey, this isn’t about me,” he said, lifting his hands. “Sara’s family members are the ones who are going to have to deal with all of this.”
“I know that. But you were already thinking about your sister, and now this. It can’t be easy.”
“It is what it is, Hannah. And talking about it isn’t going to help.”
“Okay,” she said, her face shuttering. “I guess I just thought that…” She trailed off, staring down at her hands, and he hated himself for being so short with her, but right now, more than anything, he needed to maintain control.
“I know you mean well,” he said, “but we need to focus on Sara’s murder, not my sister’s.”
She nodded and stood up, but not before he saw a flicker of hurt in her eyes.
This was why he didn’t do relationships. But with Hannah somehow it was different. He just couldn’t stand the idea that he’d caused her pain.
“I’m sorry. I’m not exactly at my best.” He stood up, reaching out to take her hand, the action surprising him almost as much as it surprised her. “But I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
“I understand. But you need to know that I… that we all care about you. And whatever you need—even if it’s just space—we’re here to give it to you.”
“That means a lot to me.”
He was standing on the bottom step and Hannah was on the top, so for once they were almost eye level. “I value our friendship, Hannah.” More than he was ready to tell her actually. Hell, more than he wanted to admit. “But right now, the best thing we can do for my sister is figure out who did this to Sara and stop him before he strikes again.”
“So you do think we’ve got a serial killer?” Avery asked, striding out onto the porch, snapping his phone shut. Drake and Simon right behind him.
“I think it’s a definite possibility,” Harrison said as Hannah pulled her hand free, the color rising in her cheeks. Hannah always had trouble concealing her emotions. It was one of the things he liked best about her. She was always honest.
“That’s what the ME thinks, too.” Avery nodded. “But he doesn’t have the same degree of experience with serial killers that you do.”
“Hey, it’s been a long time since I worked for the FBI,” Harrison said. “I’m hardly an expert anymore.”
“Well, you’re the closest thing we’ve got right now. And I value your opinion.”
“So what does the brass say?” Hannah asked.
Avery had been talking to Langley trying to figure out who was going to take the lead in the investigation. Normally it would fall to the FBI, but with A-Tac undercover at Sunderland there were extenuating circumstances.
“They’re deferring to us—for now,” Avery responded, perching on the windowsill. Drake settled in next to Simon on the porch railing, Hannah dropping down onto a weathered bench next to the door. Harrison sighed and leaned back against a support column, itching for his computer.
“Meaning what?” Drake asked.
“Well, we’re clearly not set up for this kind of thing, but under the circumstances Langley feels like it needs to stay in-house. So we’re taking lead on the investigation. But there’s no way we’ll be able to keep this out of the press, so we’ve got to at least make it look like we’re routing things through proper channels. As far as the world is concerned, we’re just a bunch of professors. And the brass wants to be sure it stays that way.”
“So how do we do that?” Drake frowned.
“Langley’s sending some operatives. They’ll pose as FBI agents. As far as the public is concerned everything will be coming from Quantico. But in reality we’ll be running the show.”
“There’s no way we’re going to contain this,” Simon said. “A serial killer is big news. The public is going to want to know what’s happening.”
“And they will. Everything except the fact that the professors of the college are actually CIA agents working the case. Look, it’s a difficult situation. But we’re still in the game, and that’s what matters.”
“Except that you were right the first time,” Hannah said, leaning forward, pushing her glasses up on her nose, the light catching the blue streaks in her hair. “We’re not fully equipped to handle this. I mean, Harrison has experience. But we need more than that.” She shot him an apologetic look and then continued. “We need a profiler.”
“Already ahead of you on that,” Harrison said. “If you think we can get it approved, I’ve got a couple of friends that can fill those roles. People I worked with when I was with the Bureau and Last Chance. Madison Roarke is a profiler
. One of the best in the country. And Tracy Braxton runs Braxton Labs.”
Drake whistled. “You run in some pretty elite circles. I’ve worked with Braxton Labs before. On an archeological find. The outfit is tops when it comes to forensic pathology.”
“Can we trust them with our unusual situation?” Avery asked.
“Absolutely. They’re good people, both of them. Madison and I started at the FBI together. We were partners.” And friends. She’d been the one who’d forced him back to life after his sister’s death. Brought him back into the fold, so to speak.
“All right then, you contact them, and I’ll clear it through Langley.”
“What about Sara’s parents?” Hannah asked, leaning forward and propping her chin in her hands. “Who’s going to tell them?”
“I will. It’s my job as dean,” Avery replied. “And until we have a better handle on what’s happening, I’ll feel better if we keep our personnel limited to just the five of us. We’re going to have enough to deal with when you factor in the people Langley’s sending, and if approved, Harrison’s friends.”
“So besides calling in reinforcements,” Simon said, “what’s our next move?”
“I’m going to close the campus. No one in or out without clearance. For obvious reasons, we’re overly cautious about who we hire, so I’m thinking our man isn’t on staff at Sunderland. I’m also canceling classes for the rest of the week. Again it’s not a failsafe, but it gives students the option of going home without missing anything.”
“What about the ones who stay?” Hannah asked.
“I’ve issued an alert advising that everyone stay inside after dark, and if they can’t do that, then they’re to travel in groups. We know that there’s safety in numbers. These guys don’t like crowds.”
“Actually, some of them get off on that,” Harrison said. “But I’m not seeing anything here to make me think the unsub is playing that kind of game.”
“Unsub?” Simon frowned.
“Sorry.” Harrison shrugged. “Old habits. In the FBI we called the object of our investigations unknown subjects.”