“Yes. Hawk and Dempsey were in front of me, and McCullough was at my right on the lieutenant’s six. There was a lot of smoke. I remember being able to taste it from right here.”
Walker dropped his gaze to the midway point of the crumbling concrete path, but his steps didn’t slow. His long, jeans-clad legs ate up the distance, and even at five-foot-nine, Isabella had to work to match his strides. Although she kept her head on a swivel to take in their immediate surroundings as they moved toward the house, the neighborhood remained eerily quiet, and damn it, canvassing was going to yield a gigantic goose egg.
This search with Walker had to give her something to help find the women in those photos. It had to.
They reached the porch, Kellan’s eyes calculating with every step. “Lieutenant Hawkins gave me and McCullough the command to check the basement when we got right about here.” He ducked beneath the caution tape, reaching back to hold it up so Isabella could follow. “He also told Dempsey to breach the door, but that took some doing.”
Her boots thudded softly on the worn, soot-stained porch boards as she followed him to the entryway in question. Other than wearing a blazing red notice warning KEEP OUT BY ORDER OF THE REMINGTON FIRE MARSHAL, the door didn’t look like anything special, and certainly not anything a trained firefighter should have trouble kicking in. “Was the problem with your guy or the situation?”
Walker laughed, the low rumble rippling up Isabella’s spine. “Dempsey could break into a bank vault with a hairpin and a smile. You want to know why he had trouble with the breach, see for yourself.”
Reaching down, he turned the knob and guided the door in on its hinges. Surprise popped through her that the door was unlocked, quickly chased by the realization that the damage caused by the breach had rendered the hardware useless.
And sweet Jesus, there was a bucketload of hardware. The reinforcement plate triple-screwed into the doorjamb gleamed up at Isabella from its grossly tilted mooring in the splintered wood, and holy shit.
“Is that…”
“Steel reinforced,” Kellan confirmed. “The deadbolt isn’t exactly standard issue, either.”
She eyed the two-inch deadbolt hole in the ruined doorframe, her pulse knocking harder in her veins. She was all for personal safety, but locks like this were damn near professional grade. “Pretty unusual for a residence.”
Walker shrugged, but didn’t disagree. “The neighborhood’s not great. Didn’t you say the previous renter was a little old lady? Maybe she wanted the protection.”
“Maybe,” Isabella allowed, although even she could hear the doubt bleeding through her tone. “But there’s a fence all the way around this house, even the front yard, and this hardware is new. Whoever installed it didn’t want anyone coming in here unless they knew about it, that’s for sure.”
Or anyone getting out, whispered a voice from deep in her chest.
Time to move. Right now. “So you and McCullough headed to the basement to do search and rescue while Hawkins and Dempsey checked upstairs?” Isabella asked, forcing her eyes from the lock to the space in front of her as she crossed the threshold into the house.
“Yeah.” Walker slid the door shut behind them, his eyes following Isabella’s gaze toward the stairs leading upward. “I can’t take you up there, though. With the damage, it’s way too dangerous.”
The hard set of his stubble-covered jaw suggested he was braced for an argument, and part of her was actually disappointed not to offer one up. But it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that any evidence that might’ve been up there was long gone now, and anyway… “I’m determined, Walker, not stupid. Just give me a second to look through the main level here and then we can head downstairs.”
His silence held as much surprise as irritation. “Suit yourself. But I’m coming with you.”
Great. Isabella moved from the foyer to the living room, taking in what little was left in the fire-damaged space. The flames had eaten away at what looked to have once been a couch, although the jury was still out on what color the thing might’ve been in its former life, and the patches of wallpaper that had managed to survive curled away from the water-stained drywall in floral-patterned chunks. Every ounce of her gut told her she had a snowball’s chance of finding anything salvageable up here, much less anything salvageable that might also be a lead. But Isabella had never let a little thing like shitty odds stop her before. She wasn’t about to start today. The silence pressed against her ears, making her hyper-aware of Kellan’s eyes on her as she checked out the room, watching in that quiet, cautious way that told her he saw nine times as much as he said.