Whatever. That was tomorrow Mal’s problem.
Mal tuned back in when they reached a bland suburban neighborhood where every house looked exactly the same. People who moved there clearly didn’t do it for the aesthetic. They likely did it because it was one of the few developments where each house sat on an acre of property. Most in their area had zero lot lines. An acre wasn’t much, but it did give someone the illusion of privacy, especially when it sat at the very end of a dead-end road.
Like this one.
There were no cars in the long drive, but there was a fence—a decorative one—not designed to keep anything in or out. Despite the lack of vehicles, the lights in the house were on and it appeared someone was moving around inside, the dark shadow of their silhouette obvious against the brightly lit room.
“Who is that?” Nico asked.
Mal assumed it was a rhetorical question.
Jericho made a u-turn, then parked on a side street, popping the trunk on their car and typing in a code that caused the floor to pop up, revealing all kinds of equipment, including a set of night-vision binoculars.
“Okay, 007,” Mal mumbled.
A hot body. A custom car. What else was Freckles hiding?
Jericho grabbed the binoculars and a brown Sig Sauer pistol with what looked like a custom grip.
When Mal raised a brow at the gun, Jericho grinned. “Anniversary gift.”
He nodded, stepping back to let Jericho close the trunk.
They didn’t try to hide their appearance. Even with the streetlight overhead, it was far too dark to really see anything. Three men in hoods or masks would stand out far more than just three men walking down the sidewalk. Besides, there were only two other houses on the street and both were dark at this late hour.
The lot across from the house hadn’t been cleared, which gave them a place to take cover while they did a quick look around to see if everything was as it seemed. The person was no longer in the window. Jericho passed the binoculars to Mal, who took a look. The window at the front appeared to be a dining room. Nothing stood out about the place…at all.
Mal handed the binoculars to Nico, who scanned the same space, gasping when the woman came back into view.
“Is that…Amy?” Nico asked, handing them back to Mal. “What is she doing?”
It was Amy. She didn’t look distraught or like she was being held against her will. She looked like any other person in the house about to feed their guest. Except, she was in a dress and a full face of makeup. And it was almost midnight. What the fuck?
“It looks like she’s…setting the table?” Mal said, an icy feeling of unease running along his spine.
They watched in silence as she walked a path between the kitchen and the dining room again and again, face devoid of expression. It was so off-putting, like watching a ghost retrace their footsteps from when they were alive. A residual haunting.
When she disappeared from view and didn’t return, Jericho said, “Let’s get a closer look.”
They crossed the street onto the property. Despite the fence, there was no gate. Mal noted the lockbox on the front door, the kind that realtors used to hide keys. He also noticed there were two additional locks—heavy-duty ones—and a camera trained on them. Mal nudged Nico, who pointed the camera out to Jericho.
“It doesn’t matter if he knows we’re here now,” Jericho murmured. “We just need to get in and get out.”
They went around the back of the house where they noted a second camera and more locks on the door. They crouched down beside a window, watching as Amy moved about in the kitchen,plating food for two. When she was close enough, they saw it. The bruising, the swelling.
Even with makeup, there was no missing the black eye and swollen cheek. She also had fingerprint-shaped marks on her arms and three large bruises down the side of one leg. If that was what they could see, what was she hiding under the dress? Rage shot through him. This piece of shit really had turned Amy into his mother. A slave to cook and clean and torture at his leisure. Prick.
She’d lost a significant amount of weight since the last time Mal had met her, though that had been long before her disappearance. Her cheeks were drawn and sunken, her eyes dull. Her clothes hung on her like they might a clothes hanger. There was something so disconcerting about seeing her attempt to make herself look put together—at his request, no doubt—when she was clearly so ill.
“Jesus, he’s been beating the shit out of her,” Nico whispered. “We should have killed him when we had the chance.”
“She’s setting the table for him,” Mal said. “For them. She’s expecting him any moment. Do we try to go in and get her now? Should we wait for August and Adam?”
“What if Jason gets here before they do?” Nico asked.
“We need him here,” Jericho interrupted.
Nico’s gaze snapped to the older man. “What? Why?”
