Hide & Seek - Nicole Edwards Page 0,85

contact Special Agent Hillary Jones with the FBI. Tell her our suspicions and let her know we’re headin’ to the house.”

“You think he’s there?” she asked, concerned.

“He will be. And I think I might’ve pissed off our suspect.” Brantley hit the steering wheel. “Son of a bitch.”

“Call her, JJ,” Reese commanded. “Now.”

Reese disconnected the call as they sped down the busy highway, the SUV weaving between slower-moving vehicles. They had to pass the police station, then the lake before they made it to the detective’s neighborhood. Thankfully, Brantley slowed some on the residential streets, but not much. A few minutes later, Brantley hit the brakes, bringing the SUV to a skidding stop in front of the house, blocking the driveway.

“His car’s here. You think that means he is?”

“More than likely.”

“How the fuck did he get here so quickly?” Reese asked, opening the glove box and retrieving his backup weapon that he’d stashed there earlier.

“He knows what we’re doin’,” Brantley ground out, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel.

Clearly. And it looked like he was one step ahead, too.

“What’s the plan here?” Reese asked, nodding toward the house.

“We need to locate the women first. Secure them.”

Provided they were inside. Reese prayed like hell they were. “And then?”

Brantley turned toward him, eyes hard and cold. “We’re gonna take this motherfucker down.”

It was times like this when Reese wished he had a weapon with a little more power and range. But his Sig Sauer would have to do for now.

Because he never knew what he was walking into, he checked the weapon, then holstered it. He did the same with his side piece, securing it with an ankle holster before getting out of the SUV. He met Brantley around the front.

“Those comms would come in handy right about now,” Brantley said absently.

Yeah. Yeah, they definitely would. Reese would have to follow up with his brother on that. Since they seemed to continuously get themselves in these situations, it would be good to have a way to communicate with each other and with home base. Sooner rather than later.

“We need to find those hidden rooms,” Brantley said as they approached the house. “If those women are here, that’s where they’ll be.”

“And if they’re not?”

“Then we find them.” Brantley glanced over at him again. “One way or another, we put an end to this, Reese. Today.”

Reese nodded, letting Brantley know he understood.

Stepping up on the porch, Reese sidestepped to peek into the living room while Brantley knocked on the door. It wasn’t surprising no one answered.

“We’re goin’ in,” Brantley told Reese, his words spoken softly.

Pulling his pick set out of his pocket, he passed it over. Brantley went to work on the lock, springing it in probably half the time it had taken Reese, which was saying something. Reese had perfected the art of picking locks. Evidently, Brantley’d mastered it.

Once inside, neither of them spoke. Reese kept his ears alert for any noises. The refrigerator hummed in the kitchen, but that was the only noise aside from the heater blowing softly from the air vents in the floor.

Like before, they cleared the house, checking all the rooms to ensure no one was hiding. And like earlier, they found it was clear despite the fact the detective’s car was in the drive this time.

Brantley’s hand signal directed Reese into the kitchen while he went the opposite direction, into the hallway. Between them, there should be two bedrooms and a bath if Trey’s information was accurate. The question was, how did they get in and what was waiting for them behind those walls?

Reese felt along the wall, looking for a secret panel or something that blended. He found nothing, moving in the direction Brantley went. Down the hallway, he continued to scope the walls, the floors. Aside from the ill-constructed wall Brantley had mentioned, he found nothing, so he continued. Through the master bedroom, into the adjoining bath. No sooner did he step into the bathroom than he saw Brantley holding up a hand, motioning him closer.

Brantley was focused on the interior of what looked to be a towel closet.

“These shelves were in place before,” Brantley said softly, pointing to a stack of wooden boards leaning against the cabinet.

Peering into the closet, he saw that it was empty. The perfect place for a hidden doorway.

Sure enough, the wall had been crudely cut so that the Sheetrock could be set aside. On the floor, the chalky substance had been ground into the white linoleum. Had