Page 56 of The Perfect Accomplice

“The lights are on.”

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

They sprinted across the lawn from the car to the house.

When they arrived at the front door, Jessie immediately noticed something that filled her with dread: The door was ajar.

Ryan pulled out his gun and indicated that Jessie should do the same. He’d already called in the address before they’d left the vehicle, but dispatch had indicated that the closest squad car was five minutes out. That might be too late for Margot Howell. They couldn’t wait.

“Don’t take any chances,” he whispered to her. “You’re still recovering from that concussion. If he gets close to you, just shoot. Don’t physically engage.”

Jessie nodded. She didn’t have any intention of letting Charlie Warner get anywhere near her. But her assurances wouldn’t have offered Ryan much comfort, so she didn’t even try.

Ryan quietly pushed the door open with his foot and darted inside. Jessie followed him, pressing her back against the wall. She immediately noticed a giant spiral staircase that looked like it led all the way to the top of the house. Next to it was an empty glass tube for what clearly housed a capsule-style elevator. On the floor beside that was a broken vase with flowers strewn about.

"Looks like there was a struggle," she said quietly.

Just then, they heard a dinging sound from somewhere high above them. They both looked at the indicator light above to the clear elevator tube door and saw that the “5” was lit up.

“You think he took her up there?” Ryan asked, voicing her question aloud.

She was about to reply when she heard a loud grunt. That was followed by what she thought was panting. It sounded distinctly male.

“No,” she replied in a hushed tone. “You hear that? I think she somehow got in the elevator and took it to the top floor, leaving Warner to take the stairs to get to her. I’m guessing he’s at least halfway up.”

“We can catch up to him,” Ryan said confidently.

“You can do that,” she replied, walking over to the elevator and pushing the “up” button. “Like you said, I’m still recovering. I’ll just slow you down. But I’ll meet you at the top.”

Ryan looked like he wanted to argue. Jessie understood why. He didn’t want them separated. But after a second he seemed to calculate that what she was saying made sense.

“Be careful,” he pleaded, then without waiting for a reply, started bounding up the stairs three at a time.

Jessie watched him go. Once he disappeared from sight, she turned her attention to the elevator. The indicator light showed that it was coming down, just passing the third floor. She felt a tingling sensation in her fingers as adrenaline poured through her system. She reminded herself that this was normal. She just had to control it.

She checked the weapon again as she forced slow breaths out of her mouth and back in through her nose. Once the glassed-in elevator arrived and she stepped inside, she continued the routine. The process was calming, and she felt the buzz in her fingers fade just as the elevator reached the top floor. She didn't see anyone through the glass, but just to be safe, she crouched down. There was a loud ding, after which the door slid open. Jesie waited a beat, and rolled out.

The stairwell was to her left. A long hallway extended to her right. There was still no one in sight. She held her breath for a moment so that she could hear any noise, however slight. But there was only silence. It didn’t last long. As she exhaled, she heard a scream from the end of the hall. She got to her feet and sprinted in that direction.

As she approached, she could see that the door to the last room on the left was open. She slowed down even as the screams continued, well aware that barreling in would only put her at risk. She took a moment to gather herself just outside the door, then spun in, her weapon raised.

Her eyes scanned the scene, processing everything at once. She was in a large bedroom. At the far end, on the other side of the bed, Margot Howell stood by an open window, one leg on the ledge, as if she might leap out at any moment. Charlie Warner, leather leash in his hands, was approaching her with his back to Jessie.

He clearly didn't want Howell to jump, so he moved slowly. Even so, he was almost close enough to grab her. Howell, her arms quivering as she gripped the edge of the window pane, glanced over and saw Jessie.

She was a slight woman in her late twenties, with sculpted brown hair and an angular face. She was wearing a business jacket and a long tight skirt that made it hard for her to keep her foot on the ledge. Her eyes were filled with terror, and it was clear that she hadn’t calculated that as bad as the threat from Warner was, jumping out a five-story window could be worse.

“Freeze,” Jessie shouted, just as Warner reached out to Howell. His arm stopped in mid-air. “Turn around slowly with your hands in the air!”

He did as ordered. For the first time, she got a good look at him. He was wearing a logo-less black baseball cap from which grayish black hair peeked out, as well as what appeared to be a thin line of blood trickling down his forehead. His salt and pepper beard was scraggly. His brown eyes were wild, but he had deep bags underneath them, as if he hadn’t slept in days. He wore a black windbreaker and faded jeans, along with once-white sneakers that were now a muddy gray. The leash dangled in his left hand.

“I’m so sorry,” he insisted. “I give up. Here’s the leash.”

He extended his hand as if he intended to toss it at Jessie’s feet, but at the last moment, he flung it upward so that it flew toward her face. As Jessie swatted it away with her left hand, Warner darted to his right, yanked Howell in front of him, and wrapped his right arm around her neck. Jessie pressed down slightly on the trigger of her gun before stopping and easing back. He was too close to Howell. She didn’t have a shot.

“Jessie!” Ryan shouted from the hallway.

“We’re in the last room on the left!” she yelled back, her eyes never leaving Warner.

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