“Stop right there!” Her tone went cold and threatening. “If you ever lay a hand on me again, I’ll saw off your dick while you sleep.” Clearly, she was not going to take any shit from Dylan. Todd would have approved, but a little voice in the back of his aching head told him the woman was the more dangerous of the two.
Dylan said nothing. Probably a wise move on his part.
“Every cop in the state will be looking for him,” she said. “We need to get rid of him.”
“I guess he is a loose end,” Dylan agreed in a reluctant voice. “I just wanted him to stop asking questions about the Footmen.”
“Why? Why does that matter?” The woman clearly did not give two fucks about the Hudson Footmen.
“You don’t get it. The Footmen are doing important things. They don’t need the cops sniffing around their business.”
“Kidnapping one only increases scrutiny from law enforcement,” she pointed out. “Did you think about what you would do with him afterward?”
A few heartbeats of silence confirmed that Dylan had not.
But she obviously had ideas. As horrible as Dylan was, he hadn’t killed Todd.
Yet.
But this woman, she knew the score. “You can’t be impulsive. You need to plan.”
“So what now?” Dylan asked, his tone suggesting he now realized he’d been stupid.
“We dump him.”
“Then what?”
“Then we go back to our original plan. My original plan,” she clarified. “And it doesn’t involve any extracurricular activities like kidnapping or harassment. We lay low. We don’t do anything to attract any more attention to ourselves. We let the sheriff take the heat for the murders, and we quietly move on.”
We dump him.
Todd heard water lapping. His blood chilled as he realized where he was and identified the thumping noise and the reason the cart was bouncing. It was rolling down a dock, the wheels hitting uneven boards.
They were taking him to a boat.
They were going to dump him overboard.
The cart stopped moving. Fabric flapped. Something metal rattled.
The boat?
Fear pooled cold in Todd’s belly. He stiffened, then forced his body to relax. If Dylan knew he was awake, he’d probably knock him out again—or worse. Tied, Todd was helpless, but the thought of being unconscious as well—with them free to do whatever they wanted without him even being aware—brought sickness roiling back.
Todd fought it. He concentrated on controlling his respirations and heart rate. Even and slow. His muscles needed to be limp.
Rough hands hooked under his shoulders, and Dylan tried to drag Todd out of the cart. Todd fought the urge to kick or respond in any way. His face scraped on the metal mesh bottom. Though not as strong, Dylan was about the same size as Todd, but deadweight was a bitch to maneuver.
Dylan breathed hard. “Get his feet.”
The woman grabbed Todd’s ankles, and they heaved him through the air. He landed on a flat surface. It felt like fiberglass under his face. Pain sang through every inch of Todd’s body as he slid into something hard. He’d have bruises on top of bruises.
If he was lucky.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Matt opened the rear door of the sheriff’s SUV and prepared to lift Brody down to the ground in front of Stephanie Crighton’s house. The dog had other ideas and leaped out of the vehicle. Brody’s nose was in the air, and the fur on his back stood on end. He sensed something. The hairs on the back of Matt’s neck lifted in response.
Bree and her deputies assembled on the side of the road and turned toward the house.
Built of cedar and glass, the lakefront home looked like it belonged to a successful attorney. Landscaping lights shone on trees and brightened ornamental shrubs. Matt pointed to a bush with pink flowers. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Butterfly bush,” Bree said.
Inside, the house was dark.
“We don’t have a search warrant.”
“No, we don’t, but I’m not waiting another second.” Bree drew her sidearm. “Extremely exigent circumstances.”
Life-or-death matters could negate the need for a warrant, and no one could argue that an abduction wasn’t an emergency; however, it wasn’t a risk-free decision. The sheriff’s department could be sued. Evidence discovered could be challenged by a defense attorney. A warrantless search could affect the outcome of a criminal trial.
In this case, they wanted to find Todd. They’d worry about the details later.
Juarez and Collins hefted AR-15s. They all adjusted their earpieces.
Matt touched his microphone. “Do we have a plan?”
Bree’s voice sounded in his ear. “Follow the dog?”
“Sounds good.” Matt squatted and presented Todd’s T-shirt to Brody. The dog ignored it. An intuitive canine, he knew what to do. He was leaning into his harness before Matt could give him a command.
If Todd was nearby, then Brody would find him.
Matt walked behind the dog. Brody didn’t give the house any attention. Putting his nose to the ground, he followed a path around the side of the building. Periodically, he lifted his head and sniffed the air. A two-car, detached garage sat in the shade of a huge oak tree. There were no windows on the overhead doors. Brody sat at the base of one and pawed the concrete.
Bree knew the dog’s cues by now. Matt didn’t have to say a word. She led the way around the garage to a side door. Collins stepped forward and approached the entrance. Covering her eyes, she peered through a glass pane in the upper half of the door. “Don’t see anyone.”
Brody maintained his focus on the building. Though the evening was cool, sweat dripped down Matt’s back and soaked his shirt at the base of his spine. Bree pulled her baton from her belt and used the butt to break a pane of glass. She reached through and unlocked the door. Leading with their weapons, they went through the doorway. A compact SUV and a large pickup truck shared the space. Collins peered in the truck cab. Juarez circled the SUV.
At the same time, Bree dropped to one knee and checked under the vehicles.
Matt glanced over the side of the truck bed. A tarp was thrown into the corner. It was too flat to conceal a person. There was nowhere else to hide.
The dog tugged on the leash, and Matt followed him. Limping slightly, Brody trotted to the back of the pickup and whined softly.
Matt read the license plate. “Dylan’s truck.”
Bree gestured to the SUV. “And this is Stephanie Crighton’s vehicle.”
Standing on his hind legs, Brody sniffed at the tailgate. Matt held him back and waved Juarez toward the truck bed. “Let’s see what’s under the tarp.”
Juarez pulled up the tarp and shone a flashlight into the bed. Then he uttered one word. “Blood.”
Matt scanned the grooved metal. There was much more blood than the spots they’d found in Shane Bartholomew’s pickup. Dark streaks ran from the middle of the bed to the tailgate, as if a bleeding Todd had been dragged out. Outrage and dismay churned in Matt’s gut.
Not enough blood to assume Todd had died.
But there was no proof he was still alive either.
“Are we assuming it’s Todd’s blood?” Collins asked, her face grim.
Matt glanced down at Brody. The dog was focused and agitated. “Yes. Trust the dog. He has senses you can’t even comprehend.”
Todd was one of the good guys. He didn’t deserve to be beaten and hauled around like a slab of meat.
Or worse.
Brody walked the perimeter of the garage, then he pulled toward the back door. Todd wasn’t here any longer. The dog wanted to get back to work. Matt let him lead the way. Bree and her deputies followed as they left the garage.
A gentle breeze stirred branches overhead. The dog paused and sniffed a circle.
“Is he following the scent in the air or on the ground?” Collins asked.
“Either. Both.” Matt and Brody enlarged the circle, spiraling outward. “K-9s track scent cones in the air. Scent concentrates at the tip of the cone. The dogs also follow the microscopic skin cells everyone sheds constantly. There isn’t much wind, and it just shifted. Give him a minute. He’ll reorient himself.”