She opened the app and a moment later, a string of GPS coordinates appeared: Jasmine’s current location. That doesn’t mean she’s safe, just that the unit’s working and transmitting a signal.
She thought of updating Hurdle on Underwood, but the sounds of gunfire snatched her attention. Her head snapped up and she saw the windows of the cabin shatter, gas filling what she figured was the main room.
The officers entered and seconds later Hurdle’s phone rang.
“All clear,” he said. “Let’s go. We’ll follow the tire tracks of the Bearcat to avoid any trip wires or mines.”
Vail tapped the numbers and walked toward the cabin while the map loaded with a beeping dot. She zoomed in and the device’s location came into focus.
I know that address. Is she crazy?
“I need your car,” Vail yelled to Hurdle.
He turned and stopped, hesitating a second, then tossed her the keys. They landed at her feet and she retraced her steps to the SUV, revved the engine and made a tight circle, headed down the hill.
As Vail drove faster than she should have been going, bumping violently on the potholed road, one thought kept running through her mind:
What the hell is going on?
53
Vail waited until she reached the main road, which was smooth and flat. She took a second to get her bearings, then dialed Curtis. He did not pick up.
What is it these days? No one answers his phone?
“Meet me at Jasmine’s house,” she said to the voice mail. “We might have a problem. I mean, another problem.”
Vail arrived in Bethesda at 4:35 PM, the clouded sky resembling a deep bruise: charcoal with hues of blue-gray and swirls of black.
She pulled to the curb and walked up to the front door.
The tracker had said that Jasmine was at home—but there’s no way she would go there because of the risk involved. If there was one place her father would know to look for her, it was there. Jasmine knew that. Had she gone there to pick up some clothing? An ATM card? Risky, but maybe she thought she could tell if he was surveilling the place, waiting for her. That was something Jasmine would do—her enormous sense of self-confidence, however misguided, often led her to believe that she could adequately assess dangers as well as a trained law enforcement officer could.
Or perhaps she thought that Marcks had already determined she was not living there and would not take a chance on returning. There would be no need for him to watch her house—in which case it would be safe for her to go there. Still, it was a gamble, one that Jasmine had been careful to avoid.
Vail knocked. Waited. Nothing.
For that matter, Jasmine’s car was not out front. In the garage?
Vail tried the doorknob. Locked. She pulled out her phone and called the home line—heard it ring in the kitchen—but it went to voice mail. Opened the Find/Me app and waited for it to obtain the signal. But the spinning dial kept rotating. She waited fifteen seconds, then twenty.
What am I going to do, stand here like a fool? She went around to the back and tried the knob but had the same result. Kick it in? She checked the app one more time but that wheel, or whatever it was, was still spinning.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she lifted her leg and struck the jamb squarely with her boot. A second later she was standing inside the house.
“Jas! It’s Karen. Where are you?”
No response. In fact, there were no lights on, and with the setting sun, it was dark. She flicked on a lamp and glanced around, then walked to the foot of the staircase. “Jasmine!”
Vail ascended the steps, did a search of the second floor and found nothing: no Jasmine and nothing out of order. The downstairs looked much as she remembered the last time she was there.
She started for the garage when she saw the basement door. She pulled it open, turned on the light, and descended. “Hey, Jas, you down here?”
It was a finished room, fairly basic with a tile floor and a large area rug. An old sofa bed, washer and dryer. And no one down there. “C’mon, Jasmine,” she said under her breath. “I know you were here.”
As she turned to leave, a dog barked.
Jasmine doesn’t have a dog. After what her father did to her stuffed animal, she would never have a pet of any kind, especially a dog.
Where is it?
Vail whistled. It barked again, a deep baritone. It’s got some size to it.
“Hey guy. Where are you?”
More barking.
Vail moved closer to the far wall, put her ear to it, and listened. Called him again. “How’s my doggy doing?”
Crying. Friendly, excited growling.
Vail looked at the paneling and ran a finger over one of the seams. And then she saw it, a break, from floor to ceiling. She had some experience with these. After pulling out her handcuff key, she dug it into the ridge and pried it open. There was a concealed door—with a room beyond it.
And a dog.
54
Hey boy.” Vail gave his face and neck a rub as she turned on her phone’s flashlight. “What are you doing down here?” She checked—he was, in fact, a male. And he was not wearing a collar.
Her phone rang. She answered it immediately, without checking caller ID.