The first officer posted at the hallway entrance, weapon trained down the corridor. The second stacked behind him, and they moved together toward the first doorway.
I followed with Jolly, maintaining distance, watching the dog’s body language for any change. A stiffening of the ears. A shift in focus. Anything that said someone was close.
The first bedroom door stood open. Two officers swept in, one cutting left, one right, flashlights raking across walls.Mattress on the floor, sheets tangled at the foot. A phone charger still plugged into the wall, cord dangling. Closet door standing ajar.
“Checking the closet.”
The officer yanked it wide, weapon up. Wire hangers. Nothing else.
“Bedroom one, clear!”
They posted at the door as I brought Jolly past, his nose already working the air from the hallway. We moved to the second bedroom. Same procedure—two officers in, splitting the room, checking corners. Another closet, another empty space.
“Bedroom two, clear!”
One room left at the end of the hall, door closed. The officers stacked on either side. Briggson, the point man, reached for the handle.
A sharp crack came from behind the door. Then another. Wood hitting wood, rhythmic and uneven.
Every weapon in the hallway swung toward the sound. Jolly’s body went rigid against my leg.
“Something’s moving in there,” Briggson said. He was stacked against the wall beside the closed door, weapon up, chest heaving. Reeves mirrored him on the other side.
“Stack up,” Briggson whispered. Reeves nodded and tested the handle. Locked. The point man stepped back. Raised his boot. Drove it into the door just below the handle. The frame splintered and the door flew inward, and both officers rushed the room, flashlights and weapons sweeping left and right?—
The bedroom was empty. A window on the far wall hung open, its frame swinging free in the mountain wind, catching the edge of the sill each time the breeze pushed it back.
Briggson and Reeves swept the corners, checked the closet. Nothing.
“Bedroom three, clear!”
I stepped into the doorway. Jolly’s body had loosened beside me—no alert, no focus. Just an empty room and a window nobody had bothered to shut.
“All rooms clear.” Donovan appeared at the end of the hallway from the rear of the cabin. “Bravo swept the back. Kitchen, utility space, rear entry. Structure is empty.”
“Structure is secure.” Vance’s voice came through the radio. “All teams, structure is secure.”
Shit.Nothing.
The energy drained out of the hallway. Officers straightened, safeties clicked, breathing slowed. The window banged once more before someone crossed the room and latched it shut.
You could almost inhale the disappointment.
I keyed my radio. “Vance, let me run Jolly through before anyone else moves around in here. He’ll tell us what was in this place.”
A pause. “Copy. All teams hold position. Garrison’s running the dog.”
I gave Jolly the command. “Such.” The German word for search sounded likezoo, but Jolly knew exactly what was expected.
He shifted instantly from heel to search mode, nose dropping to the floor, body flowing forward with purpose. I followed him back down the hallway, letting the leash play out, reading his body the way I’d read it through hundreds of searches across two continents.
Jolly worked the bedroom perimeters quickly, alerting three times across both rooms—clean sits, definitive, no hesitation. He’d found drug residue along baseboards, in closet corners, places where product had been stored or handled. The pattern was consistent with this being a drug distribution point, but the product itself was gone.
But between the alerts, I was looking at everything else. The tangled sheets on the mattress. That phone charger still plugged into the wall, cord dangling like whoever owned it had yanked the phone free and run. The energy drink still sweating on the counter. The television nobody had bothered to turn off.
These people hadn’t cleared out on a schedule. They’d gotten a warning and bolted.
“Ben.” Donovan appeared at the end of the hallway, flashlight angled down. “Cellar. It’s clear.”
