Page 73 of The Murder Between Us
“FBI!” Cole bellowed at the empty night desk. He pounded on the little silver bell. Where the fuck was the attendant? “FBI! Get out here,now!”
A petrified teenager, a pimple-covered, gangly boy, all arms and legs concealed in baggy clothes, emerged from the back room, his hands over his head. “I swear, it was only a little pot! I swear!”
“Do you have a car?” He held up his badge and FBI credentials.
The teenager frowned. “Y-yeah…”
“Give me the keys. I need it. Now!”
“Dude, my parents will kill me—”
“Give me the Goddamn keys!” Cole roared. “I need your fucking car, right now!”
“Okay, okay!” The teen fumbled for his keys, dropping them when he pulled them out of his pants. “Can you, like, call my parents about this? They’re going to be really pissed.”
“Have them call the local FBI office,” he shouted over his shoulder as he ran out the front door. He mashed the beeper on the kid’s remote, swinging in every direction of the parking lot until a beat-up Isuzu Trooper, more rust than hunter green, flashed its lights.
He drove by memory, his arms, his hands, his legs shaking. His teeth chattered as he tried to call Noah again. No answer.
Overhead, a helicopter circled the air space above the West Des Moines FBI office, making passes over the neighborhoods, the highway, the side streets. Sirens wailed in the distance. Andy Garrett at large. Andy Garrett hunting again.
Hunting daughters and their fathers.
He pounded the steering wheel when Noah didn’t pick up for the tenth time. Was he ignoring his phone? Was he ignoring Cole because of their argument? “Damn it, Noah, pick up!” he roared into Noah’s voicemail. “Answer your Goddamn phone! Please!”
The houses in Noah’s neighborhood were dark, everyone asleep now that it was past midnight. How had it gotten so late? Weren’t they just at dinner? Hadn’t he just kissed Noah’s fingers?
He took the turn onto Noah’s street on two wheels, skidding across the pavement and burning rubber as he floored it down the block. His headlights illuminated the front of Noah’s house, the porch, the manicured flower beds, the dark windows. No lights, no signs of life.
Cole drove right up onto the lawn, flung the door open, and crouched in the flower beds as he pulled his gun. Rose thorns tore at his jeans. He squashed daisies beneath his boots. He froze, listening. Sirens in the distance. Helicopter rotors far away. His own breathing, hard and fast, matching his pounding pulse. He forced himself to take a slower breath. Swallowed his heart. Closed his eyes.
Sobbing. Muffled, high-pitched sobbing coming from inside.
Katie.
If Katie was crying, where thefuckwas Noah?
Fear seized him, harder, faster, deeper than he’d ever felt before. Its claws tore into his quick, shredded his soul, dug into the marrow of his bones.
Noah would never let anything happen to Katie. He’d die first.
John, staked to his basement floor, his hand reaching for painted toenails—
Cole ran. He vaulted the porch, stacking alongside the front door.Listen.
Sobbing: the same high-pitched, frightened cry, muffled. Something covering her mouth?
No sign or sound from Noah.Noah—Jesus, Noah, hang on. Katie, hang on. I’m coming.
He tried the knob. The door pushed open soundlessly. Unlocked.
Why would Noah leave his front door unlocked? He didn’t. He hadn’t, not when Cole had been there. Katie came in with a key. Noah had deadbolted the door behind him. And he wouldn’t have opened the door for Garrett—
He pushed inside, crouching in the darkness as he flattened himself against the wall in the front hallway. The sobbing was clearer now. Katie, definitely Katie. Terror bled through her, washed her sobs in pure, unadulterated horror. A man’s voice was speaking. Not Noah. Not anyone Cole recognized.
Not Andy Garrett.
Someone else.
