Twisted (Burbank and Parker 1)

“Then we’ll have to move fast.” He and his team were halfway down the steps. “Are they all alive?” he yelled over his shoulder.

“Yes,” Sloane yelled back. “Somewhere on your right. Just follow their voices.”

“Come with me, Ms. Burbank.” One of the state troopers was easing her toward the open space where the front door had been. “We need to keep the area clear so SWAT can do their job.”

Reluctantly, she complied. She could hear the SWAT team moving from room to room, securing each of them as they progressed toward the women.

In the meantime, the SABTs had spotted the propane cylinders, proceeding with caution toward the garbage can. They assessed the bomb, then radioed for the disrupter to be brought down ASAP to the basement. If the numerical display on the detonator was correct, they were almost out of time.

When the disrupter arrived, they positioned it carefully at the crude incendiary device Luke had constructed, and fired it. With the detonator deactivated, one of the bomb techs carefully removed the liquid-filled ice-cream container, making sure not to spill its contents. With the bomb and its components secured, he and his partner then focused on closing the valves on the propane tanks and dispersing the explosive gas that had accumulated in the basement.

Having conducted a final search to ensure that no other incendiary devices had been placed, the SABTs resurfaced, and gave the thumbs-up to SSA McLeod.

“Great work, guys,” McLeod said.

A second later, Sloane heard Derek call out to the victims. “FBI. We’re going to get you out of there. Step away from the door.” Another loud crash as the door gave way from the impact of the ram.

One by one, the women were carried up the stairs and out to freedom.

Sloane moved to the side of the porch, counting and matching names with faces. She recognized Lydia Halas right away. Striking Mediterranean coloring, a serene expression on her face. She looked drawn and gaunt from her ordeal, but she was still the same kind-looking RN who’d cared for Sloane at the hospital. Even now, drugged and dazed,

Lydia spotted Sloane and managed a weak smile as the agent carried her outside.

Another of the state troopers hurried over. “I called the EMTs. They’ll be here in ten minutes to take these ladies to the hospital, and have them checked out.”

Next, came Cynthia Alexander, whom Sloane identified from her photos. She was trembling violently. “My parents…” she whispered, tears filling her eyes.

“Your mother’s been in New York ever since you disappeared,” Derek, who was carrying her, reassured her at once. “I’ll call her now and send a police car to pick her up. She’ll meet you at the hospital.”

“Thank you,” she managed.

Sloane didn’t recognize the next three victims. Two were older, more mature-looking. One was a college kid.

“Eve Calhoun,” Derek reported from behind her. “You worked in the D.A.’s office at the same time. Helen Daniels, and her daughter, Abby—a professor and a student at Penn State.”

“My first workplace…and my alma mater…” Sloane shook her head in disbelief.

“You have no idea how warped Luke Doyle is.”

“I think I do,” Sloane replied softly. “That’s Lauren Majors,” she murmured as a woman in her late twenties, who looked shell-shocked, was carried to freedom.

“There’s one more,” the agent who was transporting her reported. “She’s in bad shape emotionally. Even sedated, she’s cowering in the corner.”

Derek met Sloane’s gaze. “I’ll go.”

“I’ll go with you.”

He didn’t argue. The two of them reentered the house, descended the stairs, and went to the anointment room.

Penny was shuddering and cringing in the far corner, her gaze hollow, her arms wrapped around herself for security. After a year in captivity, she was severely traumatized.

Sloane went right to her, speaking softly, saying familiar and soothing things. “Penny? It’s Sloane. It’s so good to see you. It’s been forever.” She squatted down beside her friend. “We have so many years of catching up to do. Your mom and I had tea the other day. She served me ladyfingers, just like old times. She looks wonderful. But she’s very worried about you. So’s your dad. Can we take you home to them?”

Slowly, Penny tilted back her head, gazed at Sloane with a flicker of hope and recognition. “Sloane?”

“It’s over, Pen.” Gently, Sloane caressed her hair. “We got him. You’re free. The nightmare is over.”

Tears began sliding down Penny’s cheeks. “Really?”