Page 44 of Catching Fire

“Is there a key?” Maggie and Seline were looking around for plants, checking the top of the door frame, maybe looking for hide-a-key rocks. But anyone with cameras wouldn’t leave a spare key around.

Kalan's heart was racing. They didn’t have time to find a key. The camera dramatically improved the chances that Marina was here. Kalan considered the possibility that their friend was behind this door.

He wished he had some of their firefighting equipment, but at least he knew that kicking with his heel—just above the doorknob—was his best option for breaking through. He didn't even take the time to speak, just reached out and gently pushed the two women aside, as he gained his balance. With one solid kick, he struck at the door as hard as he could.

The door didn’t give.

Had it been reinforced?

It didn’t matter. Marina might be in there. Gathering his strength, Kalan kicked again.

It took three tries, but he offered up the kicks in rapid succession, until the frame splintered and the door swung inward.

The room was too dark to see, and he was pulling his gun, only to see that behind him, Seline’s was already aimed and Maggie had her blade in hand.Good.

The sun was behind them now, casting shadows all throughout the little house. His breathing shallowed out as he waited for Sanders to pop out and stab at him. Or maybe Kalan would just feel the white-hot sear of a bullet passing through his flesh. Still, there was no other option but to go in.

He tensed his shoulders. He’d brought the brute strength, and remembered drinks, but apparently forgotten flashlights. Then again, when he'd gotten in the car he hadn’t known he’d be raiding a rural farm for a killer's hiding place.

Without speaking, the three of them crowded into the space, and quickly found the front room empty. Not just without people, but entirely empty. No furniture, no lighting, nothing. Just an empty box with bare walls and wood floors.

The squat little boxy building was designed like a house inside. This was once the living area. To the right was a small kitchen, the olive green tile on the counter dated the work to an era gone by.

Seline put her arm out as if to hold Kalan and Maggie back. Her open palm landed against his stomach and every muscle in his torso clenched. He loved the feeling of her touching him but now was not the place for any of those softer emotions.

She whispered, “It's not dirty … I wouldn’t call it clean, but there's no dust.”

They all looked to each other.

Inside the main house, they’d left imprints of every footstep they’d taken. In the barn, they disturbed old hay and pollen. In the garage, rust and rodent droppings had taken over. But here, despite the emptiness, someone had taken the time to maintain it.

Slowly Seline crept forward. The place was quiet as a tomb and Kalan was becoming concerned that’s exactly what it was.

Pushing open the door to the bathroom, Seline again lead with her gun. There was nothing inside but a plain while toilet and pedestal sink that had seen better days. The tub had no shower curtain and the faucet looked as if it would spew only brown water, if any. She turned away with a disgusted look on her face.

Whether that was from the state of the building, the fact that they were being watched, or because she hadn’t found her friend, Kalan couldn’t tell. He was learning how to tell, though. And he could read the determination on her face clear as day as she stepped gingerly past him and turned the knob to open the second door. This was a small room, likely once a bedroom. The little house was apparently an old two-bedrooms/one-bath model. This too looked unoccupied. But not quite empty.

“Wait.” He whispered it harshly, stopping the others where they stood. A small table was pressed to one wall. On the opposite side, under the lone window, stood an old-fashioned dresser on high legs. The tops of both were pristine, and clear of all clutter.

Kalan stepped across the space and yanked open the first drawer before he gave himself time to think about it. Items, heavy and metal, jostled. They slid to a stop as he identified them: knives, a wrench, a small saw. They were clean, but disturbing enough that his stomach rolled.

Who kept things like that in a dresser? Spotless and lined up like surgical instruments?He almost vomited in the corner of the room because he was certain he knew the answer to those questions.

Shoving the drawer angrily back into place, he next jerked open the other five drawers. Each, in turn, revealed something similarly distressing.

When he closed the last drawer, still horrified by the clean needle drills, pliers, and glass syringes, he turned to ask what the women thought. But they weren’t in the room with him anymore. They’d left him to the dresser and headed back to the hallway and cautiously opened the third door.

No one had screamed.

But as he stepped into the small space, he could see the horrified expressions on their faces.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“I'm pulling off,” Seline announced as she abruptly turned her blinker on and changed direction. As she exited the freeway, she could feel her hand shaking even though she was death-gripping the steering wheel. She could hear the demand in her voice.

Maggie calmly answered, “We're supposed to be following the FBI vehicle.”

“They'll figure it out!” Seline snapped. Her blood sugar was dropping precariously low.

---