Stolen Daughters (Detective Amanda Steele)

“This it?” Amanda looked out the passenger window as Trent slowed the department car to a crawl, then a stop, in front of a driveway.

A gate sat open and crooked on its hinges, and a rusted trailer sat sentinel just inside the entrance, listing to its left side and disappearing into a thicket of grass. Down the driveway, through and around more overgrown grass, thick bushes, and mature trees, she could make out the peak of a barn. The wood was gray and weathered in the moonlight. The property must have suffered from neglect long before Lori Ross had died.

“Right address,” Trent said. “Should I pull in?”

She didn’t see a white van, and aside from the opened gate there was nothing to indicate that someone might be on the property. “Drive up there and park.” She flicked her finger toward a small curve in the road that was shielded by a row of mature trees.

Trent crept them ahead and cut the engine. “Now what?”

She already had her arm extended for her door handle. “We take a look around. If we spot anything suspicious, we’ll call it in. Promise.” She wasn’t going to tell Trent that her desire to nail Daniel Ross had slid down her list of priorities beneath saving Logan. She got out of the car, noticing that with the headlights off, it was pitch dark. She turned on her phone’s flashlight.

The air felt like rain, and thunder rumbled in the distance. She looked up at the sky. Heavy cloud cover.

“We approach slowly, and we stick together,” she cautioned.

“Don’t have to tell me twice. Last time I ran off ahead after a serial killer, I was shot.”

They kept their flashlights aimed right in front of them to keep their beams small and pointed. Less chance of it tipping Daniel off they were there, and less chance of them stumbling on the uneven ground.

They passed the trailer and stuck to the edge of the drive, close to the high grass. Maybe it had been a bad and impulsive idea to come here—but she shucked it aside. In life, seconds mattered, and she wouldn’t waste any more getting to Logan.

The barn was on the left of the driveway. A white fence banked the property on the other side of the barn.

“This used to be a horse farm,” she concluded.

“Think you’re right.”

They were passing the barn now, and a side door was open to the 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.”