Stolen Daughters by Carolyn Arnold (top novels TXT) 📗

driveway. She held out her arm for him to stop. She strained to listen but didn’t hear anything. And she didn’t see any lights inside. If Daniel was in there, he was in the dark.

Creep—

Her cell phone trilled out into the night air.

She jumped!

Then she rushed to silence the thing and stepped into the grass and tucked down, motioning for Trent to follow her lead. She rejected the call, cursing. It had been Malone. She turned her phone to silent instead of turning it off completely. That way Malone could track her whereabouts if he got antsy.

“Mute your ringer too,” she whispered to Trent, and he did as she told him.

They stayed in their hidey-hole a bit longer. Amanda’s heart was racing and thumping in her ears.

She got up and went back onto the driveway. They walked for a little and came to a small farmhouse. It would have been glorious in its day. Now, the roofline bowed, and the place begged for maintenance and fresh paint.

The front porch groaned loudly when Amanda stepped onto it.

Why am I always slinking around at night?

She studied her surroundings and kept her hand not far from her holster, ready to draw her gun, if needed. She tiptoed across the deck and peeked into a window. There was a faint light on in a room at the back. It spilled across the floor.

She turned to Trent. “Someone’s in there. We’re going to knock, act like everything’s normal.” That sounded like a sane option. She knocked on the door, and it swung open. She took that as an invitation and stepped inside while calling out, “Prince William County PD.”

It was a much different approach than the “armed to the teeth” move used by SWAT, and Amanda couldn’t help but feel vulnerable and exposed.

She repeated the callout. Still not a sound.

The front door entered into a small mud room, and to the right was a modest kitchen. Outdated décor, but it appeared functional.

Trent touched a countertop and lifted his hand, held it under his flashlight. “Coated in dust, but that looks almost brand new.” He pointed out a K-Cup machine, gloved up, and opened the unit. He pulled out a used pod. “Not warm, but I’d say recent.”

“He’s been here. Still may be.”

“But there’s no van.”

“He’s playing us now. We’re on his chessboard.” She moved through the house, going cautiously toward the light—trying to dismiss the connotation. She certainly wasn’t ready to die.

The light ended up being from a small lamp on a table next to a rocking chair. Most of the place was dusty like the kitchen counter, but the chair seemed to glisten. On the floor beside it was a satchel overflowing with balls of yarn.

“It’s like Lori Ross just got up to use the washroom,” Trent said and shivered. “Also feels like her ghost’s here.”

Goosebumps rose on the back of her neck and slithered down her arms. “Nothing creepy about that…” But it was starting to feel like the walls had eyes.

They went through the rest of the house together and methodically. None of the rooms looked like the background in the photo of Logan. They did find prescription bottles of ketamine in the bathroom medicine cabinet issued to Lori Ross.

“Looks like you were right,” Trent said.

“Don’t sound so surprised. But where are Logan and Daniel?”

They returned outside. From the porch, the moon could be seen peeking out from behind the clouds. Its light reflected off something metal to the side of the driveway…

She hurried toward it and realized it was a wooden carport that had been overtaken by nature like the rest of the yard. She angled her flashlight into the void—

Could it be?

She motioned for Trent to come closer. “Help me clear this.” She started pulling away small branches and twigs as spits of cold rain hit her exposed skin and had her shivering.

It took them little time to reveal their find.

“Hart’s Nissan?” Trent said. “Does that mean Daniel’s got another girl? And I don’t see the white van. I think it’s time to call for backup, Amanda.”

She heard him but didn’t respond and walked to the back of the car. She stopped next to the trunk. It was ajar. She gloved up and opened it the rest of the way. Trent’s flashlight hit the interior at the same time as hers.

Randy Hart’s body—one bullet hole between his black, devilish eyes, and another in his chest.

Trent stumbled back, and Amanda reached out and helped him catch his balance. He was pecking away on his phone, but she stopped him.

“He’s dead. He’s not going anywhere. But we can still save Logan. If everyone starts storming up here with their sirens, who knows how things will turn out? Please, just wait a few min—” She sniffed the air. “Smoke—” She stepped out from under the carport and saw a flicker of orange flame in an upper window of the barn. “Fire.”

Fifty-Eight

Amanda could wait for the fire department, or she could take the power into her own hands. And Logan needed her. She’d never forgive herself if he was in there, and she never even tried to save him.

The smell of burning wood was only getting stronger and more smoke was rising into the air.

She turned to Trent. “You make the call for backup. I’m going in.”

“What? No you can’t—”

“I am, and I mean it. Stay out here. If the shit hits the fan, you don’t want to get buried in it any more than you already are.” She started into a run toward the barn, unable to get her legs to move as fast as she wanted. Her entire focus was on getting to Logan. Surely he had to be inside.

The flames were starting to dance wildly in the upper-story window. But the rain had fully arrived, and Amanda was thankful as she felt fat raindrops pelt her skin. The heat from the fire was intense the closer she got to the barn.

She entered, moving past stalls, and started hacking on the