Raines muttered something under his breath and turned toward the steps, ready to head back to his cruiser for the battering ram. Before he could move, Alena slipped a slim leather case from her pocket and crouched at the lock.
Cal’s pulse kicked up as he watched her. She had always been quick with her hands, a talent sharpened on missions where silent entry meant survival. Within seconds the lock gave. Alena pushed the door open with a quiet nudge, then slid back into position, weapon raised.
Cal moved in first, Raines close behind him, Alena covering the rear. The foyer stretched wide, polished tile underfoot, a sweeping staircase curving to the second floor. To the left, a formal dining room sat in disarray. Chairs overturned, the table runner hanging half off, crystal shattered across the floor. To the right, the living room was worse. Cushions slashed, drawers yanked from end tables, picture frames smashed against the fireplace.
The air held a faint tang of dust and something sour, as if the place had been torn apart in a hurry. Cal’s gut tightened. Someone had searched this house, and they hadn’t cared how much noise they made.
He swept his gaze across the wreckage, his finger firm on the trigger. Every overturned chair and shadowed corner felt like the mouth of a trap.
They moved deeper into the house, clearing each room with slow precision. The silence pressed in heavy, broken only by the creak of their boots on the polished tile. No blood. No obvious signs of violence beyond the chaos of the ransacked rooms.
Cal’s mind worked through the possibilities. Had Dexter come here and torn the place apart? Had there been some kind of struggle? Or worse, had he dragged Melissa here and she managed to fight back before being overpowered again?
A muffled sound carried faintly from the back of the house. Cal’s shoulders tightened. He raised his hand in warning, then gestured for them to move. Guns up, they followed the noise, each step careful, every shadow a potential threat.
The kitchen opened wide, sleek and modern with granite counters and stainless steel appliances. The smell of spilled wine and something acrid hung in the air. A broken glass glittered on the floor near the sink, jagged edges catching the light from the window.
His gaze locked on the island. A man sat bound to a chair on the far side, a canvas bag pulled tight over his head. His arms were tied behind him, his chest heaving against the restraints.
Cal raised his handgun and leveled it, keeping the sights steady. His pulse hammered in his ears. This could be Dexter. Or it could be someone else Dexter had left as bait.
Alena aimed beside him, her weapon unwavering. Raines moved forward, steady but cautious, then grabbed the canvas bag and pulled it free.
The man beneath blinked hard against the light. His face was battered, his lip split and bleeding, but recognition hit instantly.
It was Arneson Westbrook.
Chapter Three
Alena kept her handgun trained on the shadows of the kitchen while Raines moved in on the bound figure. Her pulse pounded hard in her ears.
If this was a setup, Dexter could be crouched somewhere close, waiting for them to drop their guard. Beside her, Cal mirrored her stance, his gaze sweeping the corners and doorways, but they didn’t see anyone.
“My brother came here looking for money,” Arneson said, his voice rough from the canvas and rope.
Alena’s brows shot up. “I thought you and Dexter were tight. That he could do no wrong in your eyes.”
Arneson’s mouth went tight, a flash of irritation breaking through the bruises on his face. “He’s obviously desperate. He’s being hunted. He didn’t know what he was doing.”
Cal let out a short huff, the sound edged with disbelief. Alena rolled her eyes, lowering her weapon only a fraction but keeping it ready. The excuses were thin, and they both knew it.
“What time did Dexter take thesedesperatemeasures and tie you up?” Raines asked, his tone sharp.
There was another flare of irritation, this time all over Arneson’s face. “Three, maybe four hours ago.” He winced as his shoulders shifted against the restraints.
“Did he have Melissa with him?” Cal snapped.
Arneson seemed to do a sort of mental double-take. “No. Why would you think that?” His tone rose, almost indignant. “My brother’s over Melissa. He learned his lesson.”
Raines’s jaw tightened. “She’s missing. So maybe Dexter’s not as over her as you think.”
Arneson’s mouth pulled tight, frustration leaking into his voice. “If he really did take Melissa, then he’s lost his damn mind. I tried to talk him into turning himself in. Told him it was the only way out. He wouldn’t listen. We struggled, and he overpowered me. Took some cash I had stashed, tied me up, and fled.”
Alena studied the ropes at his wrists and the way the knots sat. It was possible Dexter had indeed bound him. Just as possible Arneson had done it himself to look like a victim.
Her gaze shifted to Cal. He hadn’t said a word, but the flicker in his eyes told her he was thinking the same thing.
The air between them grew heavier. Trusting anything Arneson said or did felt like stepping onto cracked ice.
