Page 31 of Forged in Steele

“Aaron!” Bristol shouted. “It’s Bristol Steele. I need to talk to you.”

She listened carefully as a breeze whisked over the stoop.

Nothing.

She knocked harder and pressed her ear against the door, but the solid wood revealed nothing.

Jared moved to the sidelight and cupped his hands around his eyes to peer in. “If he’s here, he’s not letting on.”

“I know others tried calling him. I’ll do it too to see if we can hear his phone ring.” She pressed his number in the text from her father. Silence.

“It couldn’t be that easy, could it.” Jared shoved a hand into his hair, reminding her how soft it had been under her fingers when he’d done nothing other than shampoo it. With all the swimming that summer, she’d had to work forever to keep hers soft.

She snapped her mind back and pounded one more time. “We don’t really have any reason to bust down this door. No exigent circumstances.”

“Not legally, yeah.”

“Are you considering ignoring the law?” She watched him, surprised at his attitude.

“A baby’s missing.”

“We could be charged with breaking and entering.”

“Yeah, but we could also find the lead that would break this investigation wide open.”

A crash sounded from inside.

She spun toward the door. “Did you hear that?”

“You wanted exigent circumstances.” He connected gazes with her. “You got them.”

“It’s a stretch, but yeah, someone could be in danger.”

“Stand back.” He backed to the door and slammed a loafer into the wood.

The door groaned. Cracked.

He slammed his foot again. Another crack.

“Where are my tactical boots when I need them?” he asked and reared back to hit the door harder. The wood splintered, and the door went flying in.

Not waiting for him to recover from the force and turn, she drew her sidearm and brushed past him.

She entered a space holding a tiny kitchen with empty pizza box and fast-food bags on the counter and the tangy scent of pizza sauce filling the air. The kitchen adjoined a small living room with black leather furniture and a TV far too large for the space.

“Police,” she yelled. “Aaron, are you here?”

A thumping sound came from the direction where a hallway led from the room.

Gun outstretched, Jared rushed past her into the hallway, his footfalls silent on the worn beige carpet. She trailed him.

“Police,” he called out too, though neither of them was a police officer. The common term told people how to behave without having to think about it.

He cleared a bathroom that had recently been cleaned if the lingering bleach smell said anything. Or someone cleaned up a crime scene. She preferred to think it was her first thought.

At the end of the hall, Jared spun toward a room with a closed door. He shoved it open, took a quick look and jerked back.

“He’s here. Gagged and tied to a chair. On the floor.” Jared remained focused on the doorway. “Clear the other bedroom. Then we’ll go in together.”

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