Already Gone (A Laura Frost FBI Suspense Thriller—Book 1) by Blake Pierce (notion reading list .txt) 📗

course—if he moves, we have toupdate his details on the system, so everything should be completely up todate.”

“And just to confirm, that’s whataddress?”

The woman read it out from her systemafter a moment of typing, and Laura compared it with the address Nate hadentered into the GPS. It was a match.

“All right, thank you for your help.”Laura ended the call, cutting off the parole officer’s request for her to waitand tell her more about why she needed the information.

“We’re on the right track?” Nate asked,reaching up to pull down his sun visor. The first golden rays of light werebreaking across the road, shining right into their eyes.

“He’s here,” Laura confirmed grimly. Shestill couldn’t feel the pulse of pain that signaled an oncoming vision. Shereached her hand up to her holster, glancing over the grip of her gun, to seeif that would trigger something. There wasn’t a thing.

That she wasn’t having a vision was notnecessarily a bad sign. It could mean that there was no altercation coming,that the man would go without a fight. It was possible that Laura wouldn’t eversee another vision about this case, because it was about to be closed—and anyother possible futures were dwindling rapidly as she and Nate converged on theman’s house to arrest him.

She could only hope. And given that theGPS was still showing a time of at least thirty minutes before they arrived atthe address, Laura had a lot of time to carry on worrying about it before shewould get her answers.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

Laura jumped out of the car before itcame fully to a stop, checking her gun was in its place one last time beforeshe rushed toward the house. It was a tiny terraced building, shabby and dirty,the windows caked with grime—though the other homes in the terrace looked cleanand well-kept. She heard the car door slam and knew that Nate was right on herheels, backing her up. She didn’t want to give this guy any warning that the FBIwas at his door.

She reached the door and banged on itwith her whole forearm, rattling it in its frame and making a loud enough noisethat she had no doubt would be audible anywhere in the house. The sun had risencompletely now, the day just beginning to warm. The rest of the street wasalmost silent. He’d managed to find himself in a nice enough neighborhood, fora scumbag.

There was no answer within the first fewseconds of her knock, so Laura banged on the door again. One more time, shethought, and she would add the standard yell that it was the FBI waiting forhim. That usually made them hurry up—though sometimes to the back door of theproperty, not the front. She was just about to turn and look at Nate, hintingwith her eyes for him to go around back, when the door opened.

“What?” the man who opened the doorasked, his voice groggy. He was wiping his sleeve over his eyes and squintingat the light as if he had just woken up. Of course he would be tired—if he hadbeen out all night killing women. When he dropped the sleeve, though, Laurarecognized him easily. It was him—Brent Dockhand, the creep she had arrestedonce already. His greasy black hair was longer now, and he had a new tattoo ofa roaring tiger on his neck, but it was him. The same sallow skin, the samesunken dark eyes.

“Mr. Dockhand,” she said, giving him farmore respect than he deserved. “Do you remember who I am?”

He looked at her and blinked, and then adawning realization came over his face. Laura felt some gratification to see thatit also included a kind of horror. He knew exactly who she was. “You’re thatFBI agent,” he said, then looked up several inches to Nate’s face and blinked. “Whatdo you want with me?”

“I’m here to arrest you on suspicion ofmurder,” Laura said grimly, bracing herself; she expected him to run now as shereached out toward him. “Put your hands in front of you, slowly.”

“What?” he said, but he put his handsout all the same, obediently and quietly.

Laura was watching closely for thetrick, for the moment when he would snap his hands back or go for a weapon. Buthe didn’t. Not as she pulled the handcuffs from her belt. Not as she snappedthem onto his wrists. Not as she read him his rights.

He just stood there, looking bemused. Hedidn’t say another word. Didn’t confess. Didn’t resist.

What the hell was he playing at?

“Let’s get him into the car,” she toldNate, leading Dockhand out by his cuffed wrists. He stumbled a little as hecrossed the step out of his house, and then looked back.

“Hey, uh, would you lock up for me?” heasked, looking at Nate instead of Laura. “My keys are on the side, just by thedoor. I don’t want anyone taking my stuff while I’m gone.”

“Sure,” Nate said. By his narrowed eyesand the set of his jaw, Laura knew that he was also puzzled by the lack ofreaction. Instead of moving right away to find the keys, he walked with Lauraback to the car until she had Dockhand seated inside and buckled in. She waitedby the car while he turned back, ensuring that there was no opportunity forDockhand to dive for the door and try to run.

But he didn’t even try. He just satthere in the back of the car, calm and quiet. Even though he didn’t look happyabout the arrest, he also didn’t look particularly concerned. Laura couldn’thelp a feeling of prickling unease swarming over her skin as she got into thefront seat, timing her moment with Nate’s return.

They drove back to the precinct insilence, only the sound of cars passing them by on the busy roads to keep themcompany. Laura kept watching Dockhand in the rearview mirror, in the mirrorinside her sun visor, the side mirror on the outside of the car, any angle shecould get on him. For the whole thirty-minute ride, he didn’t so much as raisean eyebrow. Something wasn’t right. Why was he so calm and cool? She rememberedthe last time she had arrested him, the