Jack pounded again. They waited in silence. Time ticked by. Second after precious second when they could be rescuing Megan.
“Are you going to break it down or what?” Reid asked.
Jack rolled his eyes. “What about staying in the background?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll stay behind you as you kick it in.”
Jack turned the knob first, and the door swung open.
“So much for brute force.” He cocked a brow at Reid and lifted his gun to enter the apartment.
“FBI!” Jack yelled.
No response.
He motioned that he would go to the right and directed Reid to the left. Reid checked a closet, the kitchen, and behind a sofa for Smith, while Jack went to a bedroom.
“Clear,” Reid shouted and glanced around at the sparse furnishings.
A sofa and small television on a warped TV stand filled the cramped living room. The place had the look and feel of a cheap furnished apartment where ex-cons like Smith often ended up.
“Clear,” Jack called out from the other room.
So Smith wasn’t here. Not surprising. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t some piece of evidence here that could lead them to Megan. At least he prayed they would find something.
He went toward a rickety card table where mail sat unopened and a large bulletin board was propped against the dingy wall. Pictures of Megan and Ella filled the board. He moved closer, disgust twisting his stomach as he walked.
Photos of Megan at the grocery store, at Ella’s school, drugstore, in the park, and at the hospital overlapped each other. Smith or Fowler had been there watching in the shadows while Megan went about her life unaware and unprotected.
Reid wanted to rip the pictures off the board and tear them into shreds. Instead, he sat on a chair to take them down one at a time and flip them over to search for any clues.
“Bedroom’s a bust.” Jack came up behind Reid and gave a low whistle. “Smith’s definitely our guy. I’ll check the kitchen while you finish going through those.”
Picture after picture, Reid studied them. Rage built. Higher and higher. Reid tried to swallow down the anger. Failed.
“Nothing in the kitchen either.” Jack clapped Reid on the back. “We won’t let him get away with this.” Jack moved to the stack of mail and started sifting through it.
Reid wanted to believe Jack, but unless they found something here, they had no other lead to go on.
“Nothing,” Reid said, tossing down the last picture. “We must be missing something.”
“Sorry,” Jack said. “There’s nothing here. I’ll call the office to see if they’ve retrieved Megan’s banking info yet.”
Reid had hoped they would find something here that would take them directly to Megan, but it wasn’t going to be that easy. Their next step was to find out if Megan had withdrawn money, and if so, where. Then maybe surveillance footage would provide another lead.
Unfortunately, if she’d already withdrawn the money, Smith had most likely killed her by now.
A desperate fear climbed from deep inside and tried to swamp him with despair. What should he do? Megan had depended on him, and he’d let her down in the worst way by turning his back on her—again. Now she could die, all because of him and his crazy fear of losing her.
The irony hit him hard, and he didn’t know where to turn. He lifted his head in prayer.
Please help us here. Don’t let Smith hurt Megan. Give me another chance with her to tell her how much she means to me.
“You’re not going to believe this,” Jack said and clicked his phone off. “Megan’s accountant just called the office. Yesterday, she’d instructed him to get the demand money together, and he delivered it to her about thirty minutes ago.”
“Where?”
“At a nearby Starbucks. The accountant said she was alone, but he could tell she was under duress.”
