The light in the shed went out somewhere between my second and third time by the house. Between my fourth and fifth pass, I spotted someone with a lantern walking on the bridge toward the shed. All the cars but Wade’s had left between my fifth and sixth pass, but then two different ones appeared about two hours ago.
Maybe someone was going to check on someone in the shed?
Where are you now?
The gas station. I am waiting for Wade to drive by. When I drove by the house a few minutes ago, there were a few cars and some men outside.
I’m on my way.
Be prepared, Sawyer. I don’t know who the men are. I know the vehicle info, however, and will report to you if they drive by as well.
I hurried through the lobby to the parking garage and scarfed the muffin down. I tossed my bag in the back and typed out a text to Taylor after I got in the SUV.
I’m on my way to Solsidan. Daniel said there is a group of guys outside Wade’s house. A few hours ago someone was walking across the bridge to the shed. Jensen could be in there.
Sawyer, wait for me. We’re approaching Stockholm now. I’ll be on the ground in ten minutes.
I can’t wait. I have a small window of time to get to the shed while Wade is gone.
Wait for me.
No time to wait.
I put the phone in the cupholder and concentrated on the road. By looking at landmarks, I remembered the way to the bridge from the hotel that led to route 222. I glanced down each time I heard a text come in. I ignored all of Taylor’s but picked up the phone when I saw a text from Daniel.
Wade just drove by. There is a silver Mercedes following him. There is possibly still another car at the house unless it went in the opposite direction of Stockholm.
“Got it,” I murmured under my breath. I glance at the screen with Taylor’s incoming text.
Just landed. I’m renting a car and will be there soon. WAIT!
“Sorry, Taylor, no can do.”
I kept my eyes on the opposite side of the road, and once I saw the black Mercedes and the silver one a short distance behind it, I floored the SUV to get to the house. The house came into view, and there was another car parked outside. With adrenaline speeding through my system, I parked behind the car, blocking it in.
I jumped out of the SUV, drew my gun, leaped over the three steps to the porch, and kicked in the feeble door. A man with dark brown hair slowly stood from the table with his hands up. I pointed the gun at him.
“Who else is here?”
“No one,” the man replied. He had a heavy Russian accent.
I took a few steps toward him, and he didn’t move or back away from me.
“I’m looking for Jensen. He’s a thirteen-year-old kid. Where is he?”
The man shook his head and denied knowing anything about Jensen. He glanced toward the shed, and I knew he was lying.
“I’ll ask one more time before you regret not telling me. Where is Jensen?”
“I do not know!”
I grabbed the man by the shirt and pulled him closer and smashed the butt of the gun against his temple. Blood ran down his face instantly. He swung his fist toward my face and I blocked it with my forearm. I shoved him hard and knocked him to the ground. He scooted away from me, blood dripping onto his shirt. I put my gun in my holster.
I kicked him in the face and then stomped on his knee. He cried out in pain and reached for his leg. I kneed him in his face, causing blood to run from his nose. I crouched and grabbed his hair, repeatedly slamming his head on the floor. He was completely in shock and tried to defend himself as I crushed his eye socket beneath my knuckles. His hands came up to shield his face from my fists.
The more blood that splattered from his face, the more I was encouraged to hit. I visualized the man as Michael’s father. I pounded away at him until I could hear him say one word over and over. I stopped hitting him for a moment so I could hear him.
“Shed… Shed… Shed.”
