When the cabin finally came into view through the gaps in the pines, I blew out a slow breath.Completely dark.Two stories.No exterior lights.A wraparound porch.A small dock stretching into the lake, the water black and glassy.
Nothing about it screamed hotel magnate.Nothing screamed anything at all.It looked like a place a fisherman might rent for a long weekend.
Or somewhere to go so no one would find you.
But we found him.
Like I knew we would.
Blake crouched down behind a fallen tree, bringing his binoculars up to his eyes.I mirrored him, scanning the structure from roof to foundation, looking for anything that seemed out of place.But there was nothing.Just a regular fishing cabin.
Still, Blake let out a sigh.
“What is it?”I whispered.
“It just…feels wrong,” he replied.“I don’t know.Maybe itwastoo easy.”
“We’ve had eyes on the house all day.Victor’s in there.Alone.It’s him.He used his credit card at the gas station we passed a few miles back.His cell phone is pinging from this location.The only thing easier would have been if he walked out with a bow tied around his neck.”
Blake didn’t argue again, but the tension in his jaw told me everything.He didn’t like this.I wasn’t thrilled with it, either, but this needed to happen.If for no other reason than to prevent us from having to use Ariana as bait.
“I’ll go in by myself if you’d rather,” I offered.“You can stay on watch out here.”
“And let you have all the fun?”he replied with a smile.“No way in hell.”
“Then let’s go.”
We deftly moved through the night, the only sound the faint rustling of raw earth beneath our feet.When we neared the back door, I met Blake’s eyes.
“Ready?”I whispered.
He gave a single nod and got to work on picking the lock, one of his specialties.He had the door open in less than ten seconds, and we quietly slipped inside.
The air hit me like a wall — stale, unmoving, heavy with the damp wooden smell old cabins tended to have.
“I’ll take the upstairs.You take down here.”
“Copy,” Blake said, and we went our separate ways, sweeping each room.
The first bedroom was empty.As was the second.The last room showed some sign of life, the bathroom light still on and the bed unmade.
But even after looking in the closet and under the bed, there was no sign of him.I even checked the linen closet and laundry room.
Still nothing.
I headed back downstairs, meeting Blake in the living room.
“Anything?”I asked.
He pushed out a breath.“Nothing.Maybe he’s in the garage.”
“Let’s check it out.”
We moved toward a door off the kitchen that led to the attached garage, and Blake eased it open.A thin line of moonlight stretched across the cement floor.
At least, what could be seen of the cement floor.
The garage was filled with every manner of fishing gear — poles, tackle boxes, spools of fishing line.There was even a workbench with a disassembled motor on top.
