Page 39 of In Her Sights

A glance Jake’s way found him gazing out the window, his expression unreadable. His profile was set in a contemplative stillness, leaving Jenna to wonder if he was piecing together the fragments of her dream or simply absorbing the reality of her gift. Did he believe now in the messages from beyond that guided her actions, or did skepticism still cloud his judgment?

She felt the familiar itch to ask questions, to fill the void with words and seek reassurance, but she held back. Although he seemed to have respected the story she’d told them, she couldn’t help but wonder how the truth of her psychic abilities would weigh on their partnership. Would Jake see her gift as a tool for investigation, or as a wedge driving a gap between them? Her doubt left her feeling isolated within the confines of the patrol car, even with Jake mere inches away.

As the trees lining the road blurred past, Jenna turned her focus back to the road, the solid reality of asphalt under tires grounding her racing thoughts. It was up to her to prove the worth of her abilities. Today her first job was to face Lucas Brennan, no matter what kind of threat he might pose.

CHAPTER TWENTY

As Jenna guided the cruiser along a narrow dirt road, the setting seemed all too familiar. They passed by rows of crops in neat lines—a tribute to someone’s dedication, but not different from many small farms in the area. But when a tiny house came into view, its porch wrapped around it like an afterthought, she had a strong feeling that this was the very place she had visited in her lucid dream.

“Looks like we found Lucas Brennan’s place,” Jake remarked, breaking the silence. Jenna nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line, acknowledging the obvious without diverting her focus. Then she saw it, the thing that was an exact match for what she’d seen, not just the vague sensation that she’d been here before.

A short distance from the house, an old windmill water pump stood against the sky, its blades motionless in the still air. Jenna gasped, for this was not just any windmill—it was the exact one from her dream, the very same structure she had seen amid warnings of danger and pleas of the dead. She felt a pull toward it, an ethereal tether that left no room for doubt. They were exactly where they needed to be.

“Jake, the windmill,” Jenna said softly. “It’s the same one.”

He followed her gaze, remembering her description. His nod was all the confirmation she needed—they were on the right track.

“Let’s hope we’re not too late,” Jake replied, expressing their fears as Jenna eased the cruiser to a stop, gravel crunching beneath the tires. The pickup truck in the driveway was impossible to miss. Its faded blue paint was chipped and peeling, and one of the headlights was cracked, like a spiderweb woven from neglect.

“Looks like he might be home,” Jake murmured, his gaze fixed on the house that seemed too small to hold any secrets.

Jenna scanned the perimeter, her trained eyes searching for signs of disturbance or recent activity. But there was nothing—only the oppressive silence that wrapped around the farm. They stepped out of the cruiser, and together they approached the front door, its paint weathered by time and the harsh Missouri elements. Jenna lifted her hand and rapped sharply on the wooden surface, sounding hollowly through the air. There was no response, no rustling from inside, no shadow moving behind the threadbare curtains.

“Lucas Brennan!” she called out firmly, her voice carrying authority and an undercurrent of urgency. “Sheriff’s Office, we need to speak with you.”

Still, no answer came. Jenna met Jake’s eyes, and they shared a look that spoke volumes without words. Her intuition that had guided her so often before hummed with alertness. She squared her shoulders, taking a breath of the still, humid air that hung thick over the farm. She raised her hand once more, rapping against the wood with deliberate force. “Lucas Brennan,” she called out again, this time with an added edge of command. “This is Sheriff Jenna Graves. I need to speak with you.”

The quiet that answered seemed to mock her attempt at authority. She glanced back at the pickup truck, its presence a silent assertion that Lucas was almost certainly around there somewhere, perhaps watching them with wary eyes. The morning sun cast a warm glow over the fields nearby, but no one moved anywhere in view.

The suspicion that had been simmering in her gut now bubbled to the surface; it was unlike anyone in Trentville not to answer, especially with law enforcement on their doorstep.

“Something’s not right,” Jenna murmured, turning to face Jake. With a nod toward the side of the house, they agreed wordlessly to begin their search for answers.

As they circled around the quaint structure, Jenna kept her senses sharp, her gaze sweeping across each visible inch of the property. Here, away from the front door’s false promise of hospitality, the scene felt different—more real, more raw. She noted the way the long grass was trampled in spots, how the windmill’s odd shadow seemed to point accusingly at the earth.

“Look here,” Jake said, indicating a set of footprints that led around to the back of the house. They were fresh, the edges sharp in the soft soil. This was no old trail; someone had passed by recently.

“Lucas?” Jenna’s voice was strong as she called out, but the only answer was the distant caw of a crow. She exchanged another glance with Jake. They had come looking for answers, and they would not be deterred by silence or evasion.

She paused, her attention drawn to a particular feature at the back of the house—an angled pair of metal doors set flush with the ground. They were weathered, with peeling paint that hinted at neglect, and a heavy padlock hung open, suggesting it was more for show than security.

“Looks like a basement entrance,” Jake observed, stepping beside her. Jenna nodded, taking in the details—the rust along the edges, the way one door sat slightly ajar as if inviting them to uncover its secrets. Her intuition flared, a feeling of deep recognition settling over her.

“Basements…” she murmured, an image flashing before her eyes—a woman, fearful and lost. “It could be that dark place I saw in my dream.”

Jake looked at her, skepticism playing on his face, but by now he knew better than to dismiss her insights. Jenna moved closer, her gaze fixed on the gap between the doors. If her dreamswere a bridge to another realm, then this basement might hold answers to questions they hadn’t yet thought to ask.

She reached out, her hand hovering over the cold metal, hesitant. Could the woman from her dream have been trapped here five years ago? Might the one who was missing right now be locked up somewhere below?

“The woman from my dream, she could have been here,” she said. “This is the kind of place where she could have been locked away five years ago. And maybe Sarah Thompson is down there right now.”

“We need to find out,” Jake said.

“Without a warrant?” Jenna questioned, though her gut screamed urgency.

“Jenna, we both know this could be a matter of life or death. The doors aren’t locked.” Jake’s tone was firm. He was ready to cross that line if it meant saving a life. A nod passed between them, a silent agreement in the face of potential peril.

“Let’s do this,” she hissed. His hand met the other door, and together they pulled the heavy slabs open, unveiling the gaping maw of the basement beyond.

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