Prologue
Rochester, New York, July 2012
“Lake-3, this is dispatch. Proceed to the two-hundred block of Burley Road and investigate reports of a noise disturbance in the area. Possible fireworks. Do you copy?”
At the sound of his patrol cruiser’s call sign, Officer Alex Trevino snatched the radio mic off the hook on the dash, trying to visualize the area dispatch had described. Rochester wasn’t exactly New York City, but it was still damn big, and since he’d only been patrolling there for a few months, he needed to look at the map on his screen every once in a while to figure out where the hell he was supposed to go.
“Roger that, dispatch,” he said, finally figuring out that the road was near the river. “Proceeding to the two-hundred block of Burley. ETA ten minutes.”
He spun his car in a U-turn and headed north, flipping on the flashing lights. It was probably just a couple of kids popping off some leftover fireworks from the Fourth of July. That end of Burley was close to the woods and the Genesee River Trail, and teens frequently went there at night to drink and make out. He wouldn’t be surprised to find a few of them fooling around with cherry bombs and bottle rockets.
It was nearly one a.m., so it took him even less time to get to the address dispatch had given him than he estimated. It was one of the reasons he liked working the night shift. During the day, it could take a cop fifteen or twenty minutes to get across the Lake Area patrol district, with lights flashing and sirens blaring. He’d made it in five.
Alex slowed as he drove toward the end of Burley Road. He rolled down his window but didn’t hear anything. He was just passing a two-story colonial on the right when an older man wearing pajamas, a robe, and slippers hurried out and waved him down. Alex pulled up to the curb and got out of his cruiser.
“You got here fast.” The man gave him an appraising look, taking in Alex’s crisp blue uniform and shiny badge. “I was sleeping when I heard the noise, so I’m not even sure exactly which direction it came from, but it sounded like gunshots. Could have been firecrackers, I guess. Figured I should call the cops just to be on the safe side.”
“You did the right thing,” Alex said. He thumbed the mic on the radio clipped on his shoulder, letting dispatch know he was on the scene, then slowly walked along the road, eyeing each house as he went. Nothing seemed off. Maybe he should check out the trail, see if there was anything suspicious in the woods.
He turned to head that way when he heard a noise coming from a house on the other side of the street. It almost sounded like a bottle rocket but not quite. He walked back over to the older man.
“Do you know who lives in that house?” Alex asked.
“Archie and Carole Barrett and their fourteen-year-old daughter, Jessica. My grandson took her to the middle-school dance back in the spring.” He frowned, his eyes filling with concern. “I hope they’re okay.”
The man started across the road, but Alex quickly held out his arm, barring his way. “Please go back inside your house, sir, while I check it out.”
He crossed the street and strode over the freshly mowed lawn, praying the neighbor didn’t do anything stupid—like try to follow. Climbing the two steps to the front porch, he knocked on the door.
“Rochester Police. Anyone home?”
No answer. He gave it a few seconds and rapped on the wood again, harder this time. Still nothing.
He peeked in the long rectangular window to one side of the door, but the house was too dark to see anything. Hoping the picture window on the other side might offer a better view since there was a streetlamp nearby, he stepped into the flower bed and took a look but didn’t see anything to alarm him.
Alex scowled. While his eyes and ears told him the sound he’d heard had simply been some kids goofing off in the woods behind the house, he knew that sometimes you couldn’t believe everything you saw or heard. Sometimes you had to go with what your gut was telling you instead.
Not counting his time in the police academy, Alex had been on the street as a patrol officer for barely more than a year, but his time in the Marine Corps made him trust his instincts more than most new cops. He’d spent the past four years in the 1st Recon Battalion, deploying three times to Iraq and once to Afghanistan. He’d learned that when your gut talked, you listened. And right now, it was shouting that something was wrong inside that home.
He circled around to the back of the house, past the colorful swing set that looked like it hadn’t been used in a while and the covered pool, until he came to the sliding glass door. The house blocked any light coming from the street, so he couldn’t see a damn thing inside it from here, either.
Cursing under his breath, he turned to go around to the front so he could bang on the door again, when he caught sight of a metal dog bowl half filled with water on the concrete patio. He glanced around, frowning at the chewed-up rawhide bone and a few other dog toys. If the Barretts had a dog, why hadn’t the animal barked when Alex knocked on the door? There wasn’t a dog on the planet who’d accept a stranger stomping around his territory.
Alex reached for the handle of the sliding glass door before his head even figured out what he was doing. His stomach plummeted when it slid open. Most people didn’t leave their doors unlocked, regardless of how nice the neighborhood was.
He rested his hand on his weapon as he entered the house, wanting to be ready if he needed to use it. “Mr. and Mrs. Barrett, this is Officer Trevino of the Rochester Police Department. I heard a noise coming from in here. Are you all right?”
Silence.
Alex opened his mouth to call out again when he heard a soft, high-pitched sound that made the hair stand up on the back of his neck.
What the hell?
He drew his Glock and ran across the dark living room in the direction of the noise, reaching up to thumb the mic on his radio as he circled around a coffee table.
“Dispatch, this is Lake-3,” he said softly. “Possible home invasion in progress. Requesting backup.”
Alex finished rattling off the address on the way up the steps, almost tripping over the man lying on the floor at the top. Dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, he stared at Alex unseeingly. Despite the single bullet to the chest, Alex dropped to one knee and pressed his fingers to the side of the man’s neck to confirm what he already suspected. The man was dead, but hadn’t been that way for long.
