Page 54 of Girl, Undone
CHAPTER THIRTY
In the pre-dawn light, Ella sat in her car on the outskirts of Richfield, a place she knew by name but no more.She'd driven through the night, stopping only once at a gas station for coffee and twenty minutes of sleep in the parking lot.Her eyes burned.Her head throbbed.But she was here.
Scarecrow House sat a hundred yards ahead.It was a single-story cottage tucked into the woods.Stone and timber construction, a weathered roof, and small windows.It looked like someone's grandmother lived there, not a tech developer.But that was the point, surely.Close enough to Cedarburg to access his victims but far enough away to stay hidden.
Despite still being fatigued with exhaustion, Ella was laser-focused on her destination.She stepped out of the car as the first hints of dawn etched the sky, preparing herself for what was sure to be a volatile confrontation.If Dylan Hartley was her unsub, someone of his profile wouldn’t go quietly.
Ella remained discreet as she edged up the driveway.The red SUV parked in the driveway caught her eye, and her mind flashed back to the crime scene of Julia Dawson.The tire tracks she remembered seemed to match.At the door, she eyed her surroundings for possible escape routes.The windows – still draped – seemed too small for a quick exit, but if the unsub managed to get out here into the open, he could dissolve into the sea of woodland without issue.In case of a fleeing suspect, she had to ensure he didn’t bypass her.
Ella gripped her pistol in one hand and tapped her knuckles on the front door with the other.She waited, counted the seconds.More than anything, she wanted to barge in and tear the house apart in search of evidence, but protocol and the law bound her hands.
A minute passed.
No answer.
Ella reasoned that it was early and most normal people were sleeping at this hour.She knocked again, a bit louder this time.She scanned the windows for any indication that Hartley was inside and aware of her presence.
A sound.Faint shuffling from inside.
Ella's hand moved to her gun.
The door cracked open, and a pair of eyes stared at her.
The door opened wider, revealing the stranger in his entirety.A satin robe, checkered sweatpants, and bright white trainers – a trainwreck of an ensemble, Ella thought.He leaned against the door frame and sized Ella up with an evident lack of respect.'Hello?'
‘Good morning, are you Dylan Hartley?’
‘Uh, why?Who are you?Why are you at my house this time of morning?’
‘Agent Dark with the FBI.I need to talk with you.’
Dylan scoffed.‘For God’s sake.Police again?I already told you people to leave me alone.’
Ella studied him.Average height, average build.He was not physically imposing; his frame was neither particularly muscular nor frail.He wasn't intimidating in the slightest, but Ella could sense that he had a confidence to him, or arrogance.He was the kind of person who thought he was smarter than everyone else.
‘This is serious.Is there somewhere we can talk?’Ella asked.
Dylan held her stare.He swayed on his heels, distributing his weight from leg to leg.Ella caught his movements, and all of her instincts told her that Dylan Hartley was searching for an escape.
‘Yes, but I just need to do something first.’
‘It doesn’t work like that, Mr.Hartley.Can I come in?’
Dylan clutched onto the door and then took one step back as if inviting Ella inside.Ella took the hint and stepped over the threshold, but then Dylan’s casual disposition took a solid one-eighty turn.His demeanor changed in the blink of an eye, and he suddenly jumped into motion.Dylan slammed his front door, but Ella intercepted it with her boot.It sent a jolt of pain up her leg, but she didn't flinch.Adrenaline surged, and she propelled herself into Dylan's sanctuary.
The suspect vanished in a blur, down the hallway, beyond another door.
Ella reminded herself once again that innocent people didn’t run.
And she was after him.
Her instincts screamed caution, but desperation pushed her forward.She sprinted down Dylan's hallway and idly took in the clutter and antique furnishings in her peripheral vision.Down the corridor, a kitchen with an ajar door loomed.Ella reached it and pushed through with her gun raised.
Morning light came through the windows above the sink.The back door stood at the end of the room – the first port of call for a fleeing suspect.Ella hurried across the tiled floor, grabbed the back door handle.
Locked.Deadbolt still in place.
Beyond the glass partition, Ella saw no moving blurs in the garden.If Dylan had escaped outside, she’d have heard a door slam.
