He pointed to the two uniformed deputies. “Go around back and stay out of sight. Check for anything unlocked or any clear sight lines through the windows, but don’t go in without my say-so.”
The deputies nodded and moved at once, slipping up the neighboring driveway before disappearing behind the houses.
Beside him, Rafe glanced toward Wallace’s front porch. “Want to play dumb and ring the doorbell or go in like gangbusters?”
He opened his mouth to answer when a soft voice piped up behind him.
“Excuse me.”
Turning, he found himself looking down at a tiny elderly woman peering up at him through oversized glasses.
“Yes, ma’am?”
She pointed across the street. “I live over there. Is everything all right?”
Sean flashed his badge. “Ma’am, I’m Special Agent Sean Malone with the FBI. Do you know your neighbor across the street, Mr. George Wallace?”
Her lined face brightened at once. “Of course. Such a nice man. He was just visiting with me. He always comes over to help with the chores this old body can’t manage anymore.”
Sean had to clamp down on the disgust that rose in him. The man had Grace tied up somewhere, and this woman thought he hung the moon.
“Why do you ask?”
Sean ignored the question. He needed details. “You said he was just at your house. When did he get there, and how long ago did he leave?”
“Oh, he helped me for about half an hour and left just a few minutes ago. He took my trash to the curb, then went into his garage. I think he has a workshop upstairs because whenever he’s home, he’s either fixing things in the house or up there tinkering.”
Adrenaline surged through Sean.
“Not sure why he’s renovating, though,” she continued. “Susan—his aunt, God rest her soul—kept the place updated and spotless. She had it decorated so beautifully and?—”
Rafe stepped in. “You’re sure he’s still in the garage, ma’am?”
“Oh yes. He went in just before you all arrived.” Her smile broadened. “As a matter of fact, I’m baking him a cake right now to thank him for all he does for me.”
Sean bit back what he wanted to say. If all went according to plan, George Wallace wouldn’t enjoy cake anytime soon.
“Thank you, ma’am. Why don’t you head back inside? You don’t want that cake to burn.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, goodness, you’re right. There’s nothing worse than burnt food. Now don’t tell George I’m making it for him. I don’t want to spoil the surprise.”
“Our lips are sealed.”
Sean almost believed they’d succeeded in sending her on her way. Then she frowned. “Why did you say you were looking for George again? He’s such a nice man. If you’d like, I could introduce you?—”
Another patrol car rolled up behind them. Sean caught sight of the deputy climbing out and waved him over before the woman could continue. “Ma’am, this deputy needs your contact information and has a few more questions. He can do that inside your house while you check on that cake, all right?”
She looked from Sean to the approaching deputy. “Oh. Well, of course. Are you sure you don’t need me to introduce?—”
“No, ma’am, we’ve got it covered. Thank you.” Sean tipped his head toward her house. “Deputy, if you could take care of that, I’d appreciate it.”
The deputy coughed into his fist, and Sean could’ve sworn it sounded suspiciously like a muttered protest, but the man slapped on a polite smile and gestured toward her porch.
As the woman shuffled off toward her house with the deputy beside her, Sean turned his focus back to Wallace’s property. The others moved with him in tense silence, converging at the top of the driveway just as the two deputies returned from circling the house.
Before either could report, Sean cut them off with a sharp hand signal and pointed toward the detached garage. He motioned for them to continue around the back of the building and to cover any rear exits or windows. The deputies peeled off at once.
Sean’s heart hammered against his ribs as he stared at the garage. From the outside, it looked harmless enough—a tidy suburban outbuilding tucked behind a respectable inherited home. Nothing about it suggested the nightmare he was certain waited inside.
