I spot Katie’s car, and as Caleb slows until he parks behind her, my seatbelt is undone, and I’m out of the car before he’s even come to a full stop.
“Jonesy, just wait a second.”
I’m striding up the driveway, the crunch of gravel beneath my boots as Alfie and Caleb trail behind. Lifting the plastic crime scene tape, I pull the handle down and push the door open. It’s not locked, which means Katie definitely made it inside.
“Katie? Are you in here?” I call out. The one blessing about this fucked-up house is that there’s a lack of places to hide. By the time Caleb and Alfie are in the living room, I’ve checked the two bedrooms out, and she’s not there.
“I looked in the rooms: nothing. Not under the bed or in the closet. Let’s try the basement,” I say. My lungs scorch, my breathing labored. I feel like I’ve run a marathon, and I’m half hoping the she-devil is going to pop out from behind a door and give me the fright of my life for all the times I’ve amped up the fear for her. But with each passing second, there’s nothing. Not a single red hair to be found.
We make our way into the kitchen, wherethe door to the basement is located, and find it slightly ajar. It’s only an inch or so, the darkness beckoning us. I stomp down the steps, not waiting to think or check if there could be any danger. I don’t care at this point, not until I get my hands on Katie.
The room is small, smaller than I imagined the basement would be in a house this size. It looks like they’ve only built it half into the foundations. The small amount of light streaming in through the tiny window illuminates a dank basement with very little in it. It’s similar to upstairs in its sparsity. The smell tickles my nostrils. This place has a serious mold problem, or a family of raccoons has moved in and taken refuge in this concrete pit.
I hold my finger to my mouth as I turn to the guys.
It’s small in here,I mouth as they both nod.
Fake wall?Alfie mouths back, and my eyebrows hike up. The bricks are different along one wall from the rest of the room. Surely the police wouldn’t have missed a fake wall? I assumed other victims would be beneath the concrete floor, but maybe the bricked wall has been used to hide a secret room.
And what the hell is that smell? It's a cross between bleach and a garbage truck.
I hold my finger to my mouth again, indicating to the boys to keep quiet.
“She’s not down here. Check the closet in thebedroom, under the bed. Try the yard too.” Hopefully, if there is anyone here, they’ll assume we’re leaving. Raising my voice enough that someone could clearly hear me, but not enough that it’s obvious I’m yelling.
Caleb starts to walk up the wooden steps to the kitchen, purposely thudding his foot as hard as possible. I close my eyes for a moment as I lean my back against the wall, mediating my breathing as we wait for something—anything to happen. A quiet snick has my eyes snapping open and the wall splits, parting an inch, the bricks purposely placed so the crease of the door frame is hidden by the running brickwork pattern.
Caleb yanks the door back, grabbing whoever was pushing it, and drags them out by their collar. His hand flies to his mouth, and I watch Caleb grimace as he pinches his nose. The smell is overwhelming, flies billowing out like a cloud, as if it were even too much for them.
“Where is Katie?” I bellow at the man.
Caleb cracks the guy in the face, and blood pours from his nose. He’s on his knees already, looking up at the three of us with a sick, twisted grin stained with his own blood.
His sandy blond hair flops over his forehead, and I shove past him to go into the hidden room. With my face tucked into my inner elbow, I shine the torch on my phone into the darkness, fighting every instinct to get the hell out of there. The light is weak, but my first image is a torso hangingfrom meat hooks, the metal sliding through a ribcage. Internal organs have dropped to the floor beneath; it’s there I see another hand. I swallow down any apprehension I have and run my torch along the body on the floor, praying,pleadingthat it’s not my Katie.
I reach the torso and watch the chest rise and fall. I drop to my knees. Red hair, pale skin that’s ashen, a flutter of lashes, and a grimace as her brows scrunch together. She’s alive. Fucking hell, she’s alive. Thank God. She’s trembling, shaking like a leaf in the wind. My arm drops from my face so I can slide it under her body, lifting her so I can carry her out of this nightmare.
“No, no, no...” she mutters, her nails digging into my arms.
I can’t speak, my tongue thick and my throat clogged. This infuriating woman just barrels through, after everything she knows about serial killers, after all the apprehension we had about Connor being the suspect. She still went ahead and came here alone, and I almost lost her after I had just gotten her. God as my witness, I’m going to punish her when she’s up for it.
I have to blink a few times, despite the tiny window, as my eyes adjust to the light again.
“It’s Jonesy,” I reply hoarsely. “You’re safe. Caleb and Alfie are here. The police are on their way, medics too. I’m here with you. You’re safe. You’re safe. We’re moving through the basement.” I narrate everything, her hands curledinto her chest. The stench is potent, and I fight the urge to hurl.
I walk her straight past thepresumablyreal killer as Caleb holds him down on his belly.
“We’re heading straight up the stairs. Keep those eyes closed, princess. Moving now.” Of all the training exercises I’ve been on, being overseas with the army, none of it, not a single second, prepared me for this. She’s shaking, trembling, and I’m holding her as tight as I can, but my knees threaten to give way as we move past the man who put her in that room.
“You don’t want to know who he is?” Caleb yells out.
“No!” I snap, pushing through the door to the kitchen, taking long, purposeful strides as the low afternoon light pulls me to it. If I can just get her out of here, then she’ll be fine. She’s curling into me now. Christ, she smells bad. She could only have been down there for a few minutes. Maybe ten. How does she smell like she’s taken a bath with roadkill and then sprayed it on herself like a perfume? We reach the front door, and I look at her hands with clear eyes. Sludge, meat, red...so much red.
I kneel, setting her down on the grass, pushing her hair back from her face. And it’s then I hear the sirens.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Katie
