Page 104 of Justice Delayed

* * *

“Let’s go!”Brogan snapped his seatbelt into place. “Take I-66 to the Beltway.”

“Got it.” Seth threw the car into gear and squealed out of theHerald’sparking lot.

Brogan speed-dialed Livingston’s number. “Detective, it’s Brogan. I think we have a lead on Smith.”

“Go on.”

Brogan recapped Seth’s detective work in locating the McLean property, giving Livingston the address on Jarvis Court. “I know it’s a long shot, but since the other leads haven’t panned out, Seth and I think it’s worth taking a look. Google Earth shows the house and grounds are fairly isolated, one of those large estates with lots of privacy. We’re thinking Smith might believe no one would be able to connect him to that property, and it’s only fifteen minutes from the Thompson house.”

“You could be right. Hang on a second. I’ve got another call coming in.”

“Take I-495 toward Tyson’s Corner,” Brogan directed Seth while he waited for the detective to come back on the line.

“Brogan?” Livingston didn’t wait for a response. “Quentin’s no longer at the house.”

“I thought you’d assigned someone to keep an eye on him after the discovery in the backyard.” Brogan wasn’t sure what Quentin’s absence meant. He only cared about finding Melender before Smith hurt her.

“We did, but Quentin managed to slip away without anyone noticing. Where are you now?”

“With Seth.” Brogan hesitated about telling him they were en route to check out the property.

Livingston sighed. “What’s your ETA to Jarvis Court?”

So much for pulling a fast one on the detective. “Let me check GPS.” Brogan toggled between screens to view the navigation app. “About seven minutes.”

“I’ll meet you there. I’ll request backup. Wait until an officer arrives before exploring. From what we’ve gathered about Smith so far, he’s not a man who likes to leave loose ends.”

Brogan tamped down the fear that rose in his throat. “Melender’s a loose end.”

“Exactly. Don’t try to be a hero. Wait for backup.”

“We’ll be careful.” Brogan ended the call.Dear God, please keep her safe. If Melender was on that property being held captive by Smith, no way was he waiting for the police to arrive.

ChapterForty-Two

Melender crouched down behind the pile of fertilizer bags. She had managed to hang onto the shears in her dive to safety and now used the clippers to slice through the plastic ties binding her ankles. Free from her restraints, she duck-walked toward a covered riding lawnmower, its metal bulk appearing safer than the fertilizer bags.

She peeked around a corner. Quentin and Smith continued to wrestle for the gun. A second shot shattered a flowerpot on the opposite wall as the men grappled for the weapon. Quentin must have rushed Smith to prevent him from shooting her. Why he did so was a mystery, given her uncle’s role in setting her up. Questions popped into her mind. Had Jillian accidently smothered Jesse? Or had Jared given the toddler too much of the wrong kind of medicine and that killed him?

Shaking her head to clear the questions she couldn’t answer, Melender refocused her attention on the fight. She edged around the lawnmower, keeping the shears in her hand. A third shot, then a grunt. Her heart rate accelerated to warp speed. The sound of a body hitting the floor echoed in the sudden quiet.

Dropping to her belly, Melender peered under the tractor to see Quentin lying on the floor, blood spreading rapidly from his upper thigh. Her uncle’s face contorted in pain as he clutched the wound.

Smith stood over him, gun firmly in his hand. “You’ll bleed out soon enough. After I kill your niece, I’ll make the whole thing look like a shootout. An all-too familiar scene among family members these days.”

The shed door burst open, and Brogan raced inside. Melender sucked in a breath at the sight of him. She wanted to run into his arms but didn’t budge. Best if she stayed hidden for now.

Brogan took a step toward Quentin, whose moans had quieted.

“Stop right there.” Smith squeezed off a shot that whizzed past Brogan to the opposite wall, hitting a bag of potting soil sitting on a shelf.

Brogan froze. “Let me help him.”

“Stay where you are.”

Her uncle’s gray pallor revealed he didn’t have much more time. No matter his role in her conviction, she couldn’t let him die. But to save him, she needed a bigger weapon than gardening shears. Rising to her knees and carefully keeping her head below the top of the lawnmower, she slowly scanned her surroundings.

---