Page 123 of The Last Close Call

“I’m on... Apple Tree Lane. Sending you a screenshot.” He captured the image and hit send. “I’ll update you when I get eyes on him again.”

“You don’t have eyes on him?”

“No.”

Jack hung up and broke into a jog, keeping to the shadows along the street as he neared the dark gap between the houses. It was partly cloudy tonight, but in the light of the half-moon, he could make out the tall silhouettes of power lines.

Jack jogged into the brushy area beneath the towers, quickly finding a trail through the grass, probably used by dog walkers and runners. Some of the trees looked spindly and skeletal with their bare branches. But there were enough bushy junipers to provide adequate cover.

He ducked under the shadow of a huge oak tree and stopped to get his bearings.

Jack’s heart thundered.

He was here. Somewhere nearby—Jack could feel it.

Jack slid his phone into his pocket and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and slowly let it out, relaxing his shoulders. He tried to tune into the sounds all around him. First it seemed quiet. But then he registered the distant whir of traffic on the interstate. And the rush of wind through the trees. And a dog barking, probably several blocks away.

The dog was as good a clue as any, and Jack set off toward it. He kept to the shadows, wishing his eyes would adjust faster so he could see in the darkness.

The dog started up again, closer now. Or maybe it was a different dog. Something was setting them off.

A faint creaking noise caught his attention. Jack pivoted toward it. Where the hell had it come from? He went totally still, straining to hear more.

Should he move toward the barking dogs or the creaking sound?

Jack changed course, easing through the brush toward the direction of the creaking. Maybe it was a gate or a garage door.

A wind gusted up, rustling the branches all around him, and Jack took advantage of the noise to quicken his pace. When the wind died down again, he stopped.

He was in a densely wooded area behind a row of houses. The walking trail through here was behind him, maybe thirty feet, and he was now positioned much closer to the back fences. Above the fence line, he could see roof after roof and the tops of windows.

Where the hell was he?

As soundlessly as possible, Jack eased branches out of his way and moved toward the nearest fence. In the dimness, he could see the fence was totally smooth—no gate back here. Another gust of wind, and he used the noise cover to plow through the brush to the next house over. This fence was a different story. Jack found a back gate.

Silently, he tried the latch. But it was locked from the other side.

He moved on to the next house. A cloud passed in front of the moon, and everything went pitch-black. Jack stopped, waiting for more light so he didn’t run smack into a tree.

His phone vibrated, and he read the message from Bryan.

I’m on Apple Tree. No movement here. Where r u?

Jack texted back, Woods behind houses.

A dog barked nearby, and Jack froze. The sound was muffled, like it came from indoors, but something—or someone—had caught the dog’s attention. Was it someone outside?

Jack waited, straining to hear. Then he moved through the brush, trying to be as quiet as possible as he swiped through branches. He reached a gap in the woods and spotted a gate.

It stood open.

Only a few inches, but the gate was definitely ajar. Had this been the creaking noise he’d heard earlier?

Jack eased his gun from the holster. He crept toward the gate and slowly pressed his fingertips against the weathered wood.

Creeeeak...

He cursed inwardly and stopped.

---