Left to Kill (Adele Sharp #4) - Blake Pierce Page 0,69

she said, pointing.

John shook his head. “Come again?”

She felt a prickle on her palms spread to the backs of her hands.

“John, they had faucets in the house, a sink, a toilet. That hose is attached to the house. They have water pressure.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Why would they need a well?” she said, her voice rising, the prickles now crossing her arms and trickling down her back. John was responding to her, his own eyes slowly widening.

“Maybe,” he stammered, “maybe they just like having a second source—”

“These minimalists? Out in the woods, in their single-story cabin? That well isn’t even near the garden, John,” Adele said. “Look! Why would they need a well? They have a hose, a faucet, a sink, a toilet, a shower…”

John blanched, and a shiver crossed his expression. “Christ, Adele, you don’t think—”

Adele was already moving rapidly, turning back toward the house, her gun in hand.

“Adele, hang on,” John said.

He had his phone out, jutting up toward the sky. “There’s no signal,” he said quickly. “Adele, I can’t call backup, there’s no signal!”

“Forget it, quick.”

John fell into step, and they marched back through the line of saplings, now both of them crouched, both of them with their guns drawn.

“They might just have a second well,” John said, quickly. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

But Adele was shaking her head rapidly. “Too far from the house, John. It’s too far. They have a sink in the back of the cabin. A toilet in the back of the cabin. They’re getting water from somewhere else. Why would these minimalists need a well? It doesn’t make sense.”

“What do you think that even means?”

“I think they have something else buried back there,” Adele said, quickly.

“I’m still not getting a signal.”

Adele ignored this. Now, her weapon gripped tight in her hand, she strode through the garden. Almost out of spite, she kicked some dust and dirt over one of the plants. She marched up the porch steps. The door was still ajar.

As she reached the door, though, it clicked shut. She heard a bolt slide.

Adele gritted her teeth. She raised her hand and began pounding on the door. “Open up,” she shouted. “Open up now!”

John was out of frame, away from the door, his own gun drawn. His phone was now back in his pocket, as he had given up on trying to call backup.

Adele’s whole body shivered, but her eyes were wide and vibrant. The bloodhound scent had returned. It was directing her straight into that cabin.

“Federal agents,” she said. “Open the door, now!”

John took a couple of steps, wound up, then kicked with a mighty shove of his foot. The door made a splintering sound. John grunted, his full form stretched to capacity. He wound up, took a running start, then kicked again, a powerful blow.

The door splintered and flew off its top hinge, falling askew and twisting at a tilted angle into the cabin.

“Watch out!” Adele shouted.

Mr. Klose no longer had the same smiling, warm expression. Like a ghoul shedding its skin, he now had a snarl across his face. Lines in deep wrinkles gouged around his eyes. He had a knife raised and was already charging toward John, moving just around the side of the doorframe, as John reeled back from his kick.

John’s gun raised, but the man darted to the side, placing himself between Adele and John.

Adele fired.

Missed. The man lurched past her and threw himself at John, the knife flashing. John rolled to the side, catching the man’s wrist and knocking him to the ground.

But the older man was spry, and far quicker than his age suggested. He lashed out with a foot and John toppled to the deck.

“Gretel!” the man shouted into the house. “My love—run!”

“Adele, get her,” John grunted, from where he was grappling with the man with the knife.

Adele shot one look at her partner, tried to get a shot, but it was too difficult, both of them rolling one way or the other.

The man was smaller than John, not nearly as muscular, but he was fighting with the wild strength of an animal in a corner. Rabid grunting noises emitted from his mouth, like a wounded beast.

Adele hesitated a moment longer, and John screamed, “Don’t let that bitch get away!”

Adele propelled herself back into the cabin, darting past the broken door. The cabin was empty. Adele stomped to a halt, standing in the middle of the bare floorboards, her eyes wide, rapidly scanning the cabin.

Over her shoulder she shouted, “John, she’s gone!”

More grunting, no