The door featured an ornately carved gold leaf–embossed glass window. But Vail avoided it, keeping her head below eye level as she approached. An American flag flapped noisily in the breeze fifteen feet to the left, fighting for her attention as she tried to make an accurate assessment of the premises.
She descended a few feet and moved right toward the windows, fighting through the branch-dense bushes. The curtains were drawn but unlined, so Vail should have been able to at least see forms if anyone was inside. Although the lights were on, the living and dining rooms appeared to be empty.
She was unsure where Curtis was, but until she heard from him, there was nothing for her to do but wait, listen, and observe.
Until a noise to her right snagged her attention.
CURTIS TOOK A CIRCUITOUS ROUTE to the back door—along the perimeter, looking for a point where he could either climb over the white cedar lock board fence or locate some kind of easement that would give him access.
He found a well-camouflaged gate, but it was securely latched. He tried to reach over the top and feel for a release lever, but it was too high off the ground. He shoved his right shoulder against it to test its integrity and found that it gave a bit more than he would have thought, considering the healthy condition of the wood.
Curtis stepped back and brought up his foot, slammed it against the planks, and knocked it open. He immediately regretted the noise; if Jasmine was in fact a kidnapper—or a killer—and if Underwood was inside with her, the last thing he wanted to do was tip her off to their presence.
Ten steps in, he curved around the rear of the house and along the path that led to the back door. He approached cautiously, not knowing who, besides Jasmine, was inside.
He surveyed the yard, which was longer than wide with planters on either side of the inlaid masonry path. A large wood double gate was built into the fence, fronting the side street. He walked over and took a closer look; tire marks in the grass and dirt were barely discernible. Whoever lived here drove their car into the yard. To park it? Because there’s no garage?
He moved back toward the residence and saw something in the corner, a few inches taller than he was, covered with a black tarpaulin. He could feel a metal frame and a base with wheels, but had no idea what it was without removing the cover. First, however, he had to stick to the task.
He leaned up against the brick siding, then peered into the nearest window. The kitchen was empty, and as far as he could see, the other rooms were likewise vacant, although a lamp burned across the way in an area that was not visible to his line of sight.
He pulled back and retraced his steps, headed toward a rendezvous with Vail.
VAIL STOOD STILL, Glock raised, peering into the darkness. Her breathing had quickened and she puffed vapor into the frigid night air.
Before she had time to investigate, Curtis appeared, coming around the side of the house. She started down the stairs toward the street and met him at the curb one house over.
“Anything?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Lights are on inside, didn’t see anyone.”
“Same here. Heard something right before I saw you. Not sure what it was.”
“Might’ve been me. I snapped some twigs on the way around. And that was after I kicked the gate in. Not my stealthiest moment.”
He told her about the yard, the wide gate and covered metal contraption he had found, as well as the tire tracks. As Vail started to comment, a text hit her phone at the same moment a call came through. She glanced at the message first:
swat 9 min out
She brought the handset up to her face. “Vail.”
“This is Lawrence Vickers. I’m working with your task force, reading the books written by Agent Underwood.”
“Right. Find anything?”
“Not sure. In his latest book, uh, The Masked Mind, there are two cases that could be relevant. First involved a male killer whose daughter accidentally witnessed his first kill. Then he used her to help him get the vics in a vulnerable position so he could snatch them up. Second one’s from Brazil. Killer grabbed up a child, held him for ransom, and even though the family paid, he killed the kid. He did this four times until he took a detective’s son, the cop who was working the case. Oh, and there’s a third one. Two male killers go—”
“Karen! Hey, heads up.” Curtis nudged her arm hard and indicated the passing car. “Woman driving, kinda looks like Jasmine. Came from around back, the side street.”
“Gotta go,” Vail said to Vickers. To Curtis: “You sure?”
“Yeah,” he said, running toward his Ford. “Didn’t see Underwood. Check the house. I’m goin’ after that car.”
Vail ran up the steps but pulled out her phone to locate the Find/Me tracking beacon before breaking down the door—just in case Curtis was wrong. The Samsung started vibrating and the alarm was flashing, indicating that the connection had been reestablished. The coordinates populated the screen and the map showed Jasmine in motion. She was nearby—but not in the townhome.