Page 11 of Beyond Her Reach (Bree Taggert #10)

Greta loved nothing more than going to work.

Bree circled up with the team. “I’ve requested a warrant to search Troy Ryder’s residence.

Hoping to have that in hand shortly.” A deputy had been sent to babysit the house while they waited for a judge to sign off on the electronic form.

Bree assigned another deputy to record the Porsche and its accident scene with both photographs and video.

“The vehicle will be flat-bedded to the county garage, where forensics will take charge of it. We found a box cutter that we believe was used to kill Kelly Gibson in the vehicle. This accident is a secondary crime scene. Treat it as such. Let’s get an image of Troy Ryder out.

I want every LEO in the state looking for him. ”

Matt sincerely hoped the rich dude couldn’t buy his way out of the country.

Bree issued a few more instructions while Collins outfitted Greta in her working harness.

Once harnessed, the dog’s posture changed instantly, becoming hyperaware, excited even.

Collins let the dog sniff the inside of the vehicle.

Greta picked up the scent immediately, shooting off into the woods.

Collins ran behind her, trying to keep up.

Matt and Bree jogged after them, giving the dog enough space to work unimpeded.

Greta passed right through the spot where the footprints disappeared.

She veered right, away from the road, deeper into the woods.

The air turned colder. A thin coating of snow remained in areas the sun’s warmth never reached.

Matt checked the GPS on his phone. They’d already covered at least a mile.

Nearly thirty minutes had passed since the Porsche had crashed.

Matt could cover a couple of miles of wooded, flat terrain in that time.

He expanded a blue splotch shaped like a potato on the map. “Blackbird Lake is ahead.”

“Maybe he’ll get boxed in,” Bree said in a hopeful voice.

The dog kept up a steady pace. The trees opened up onto the weedy banks of a lake. Matt emerged from the darkness. Shielding his eyes, he scanned the water. The wind rippled the surface and stirred up tiny whitecaps. Sunlight glittered on the chop like diamonds.

Bree stepped up next to him. Hunching against the blustery wind, she said, “There’s not much development or activity on this lake.”

“It’s one of the smaller ones,” Matt agreed. “Full of stumps too. It’s fishable from a canoe or kayak. Not good for power boating.”

Trees grew within a few feet of the lake. Matt turned to survey the shoreline. The ground was spongy at the water’s edge. The half-frozen mud sucked at his boots. A thin sheet of ice cracked as he moved onto drier ground.

Greta paused to sniff in a circle, then followed the scent along the edge of the trees.

The suspect was clearly trying to stay out of sight and not leave footprints.

The shoreline turned back toward the woods.

A short, rickety dock jutted fifteen feet onto the water like an arthritic pinkie finger.

Greta sniffed her way onto the wood and stopped.

She lifted her nose into the air and inhaled deeply.

Then she moved to the edge of the dock, sat, and turned to give Collins an eerily intelligent stare followed by a thin whine.

“The trail ends here.” Collins pulled a stuffed hedgehog from the cargo pocket of her pants. “Good girl.” She tossed the toy into the air.

Greta caught it half-heartedly. She’d done her job, but the dog preferred to find the person she was trailing.

“Maybe he stole a boat or canoe or something,” Collins suggested. Greta bit down on the hedgehog, making it emit a long, disappointed squeak that seemed to express how they all felt.

“That’s the most likely explanation. We’ll talk to the owner of this dock,” Bree said.

Matt glanced over his shoulder. The woods were winter-bare, and he could see the outline of a dark-brown cabin through the trees. Smoke curled into the sky from the chimney. Someone was home.

Bree propped both fists on her duty belt and stared out over the lake. “I don’t see anyone.”

Matt scanned the visible shoreline but saw nothing. “Me either, but he has a thirty-minute lead on us.”

“How far can a person paddle in thirty minutes?” Bree asked.

“Depends on the person.” Matt squinted, looking south.

The shoreline curved, forming little coves.

In places, the trees grew right up to the bank.

“Plenty of places to drag a canoe or kayak ashore and hide it. We’re not far from the state forest. Also, the interstate is ahead. He could call someone for a ride.”

“He could be anywhere.” Bree drew out her phone and studied the map app. “The lake is too big to walk around the entire thing. Time to let technology do some work for us.”

“The drone?” Matt asked.

“Yep.” She put the phone to her ear. “I’ll put Juarez on it. He loves the toys.”

So did Matt, but he admitted that the young deputy had mad drone-flying skills. Matt studied the lake’s wind-whipped surface. “Have him start downwind.”

Bree nodded. “That’s the way I’d go if I wanted to get as far away as possible.”

Two hours later, Matt, Bree, Todd, and Deputy Zucco gathered in front of Troy Ryder’s house with a signed search warrant.

Matt held the battering ram. Juarez was still searching the lakeshore with the drone, but so far, he’d found no sign of Ryder or a small vessel.

The cabin owner, a man in his early seventies, had confirmed his kayak had been on the dock earlier that morning and now it was gone.

The K-9 unit had remained at the lake in case they were needed to follow a trail.

“With the discovery of the box cutter in his vehicle, Troy Ryder became our prime suspect.” Bree pointed to the house. “And this is an additional crime scene.”

The house was newish, with a partial stone front and tons of windows. The sun’s reflection on the glass blocked any view inside.

“I don’t see any people moving inside,” Bree said. “Do we know if anyone else lives here with Troy?”

“No one else is on the mortgage or deed,” Todd said.

“We couldn’t see the driver, so we aren’t a hundred percent positive it was Troy behind the wheel.” Bree circled a finger in the air. “Todd, you and Zucco go around back just in case someone tries to exit. Check all doors and windows for signs of forced entry.”

“Are you thinking it wasn’t him in the Porsche?” Todd asked.

“All indicators point toward Ryder, but we need to be thorough and not assume anything,” Bree said.

Todd and Zucco headed for the corner of the house. After giving them a few minutes to get into place, Bree and Matt walked to the front door and flanked the doorway. Bree pressed the doorbell. Inside, a loud chime sounded. Matt spotted a security camera discreetly mounted under the eave.

When no one answered, Bree knocked loudly. Facing the camera, she called out, “Sheriff’s department. Please answer the door.”

Nothing.

“We have a warrant to search the premises,” Bree shouted.

The house remained silent.

“We’re going in.” Bree reached for her lapel mic and updated dispatch and the deputies watching the back of the house.

Matt swung the battering ram, hitting the door next to the dead bolt. The door popped open. No one shot at them.

Bree signaled for Collins to move in with the dog. Matt set down the battering ram and swung his AR-15 into position. His heart did a slow roll in his chest. Then he and Bree moved into the house as a team, exactly the way they’d drilled dozens of times.

Not that he was expecting to find the killer in the house.

Ryder was probably deep in the state forest on the other side of Blackbird Lake.

Matt slung the rifle strap across his chest anyway.

He’d been shot before, and he had no desire to repeat the experience.

Better to be prepared for the unlikely worst-case scenario than be caught unprepared.

A library and sitting room flanked the foyer.

No clutter and minimal furniture made the rooms easy to clear.

Neither looked like anyone ever used them.

A hallway led to a huge great room. A white leather sectional faced a linear gas fireplace.

No one was hiding under the couch or behind the matching chair.

From the great room, they moved into a modern kitchen.

Matt skirted the stainless-steel island.

Opening a door, he aimed his rifle into a walk-in pantry.

Expensive small appliances and clear containers of cooking staples were lined up in neat rows on the shelves like British soldiers during the Revolutionary War.

They made quick work of the home office and a book-lined study. The attached garage held a black Audi. “No workbench, no tools. I’ve never seen a garage this clean.” He tested the rubbery floor with his boot.

A row of cabinetry spanned the far wall. None of the cabinets were large enough to hold a human being.

“It’s freaky, isn’t it? Our kitchen isn’t this neat.” Bree leaned over to peer inside the Audi sedan.

Matt itched to search every nook and cranny, and they’d get to that stage of the search after the property was cleared.

They returned to the house and went up a fancy, open staircase. The primary bedroom was pristine, as were the three guest bedrooms on the second floor. Matt checked the walk-in closet, which had a freaking granite island in the middle. “Troy Ryder isn’t home.”

Bree holstered her weapon. “But I would kill for this closet.” She sighed. “Not kill, but there are things that I would do.”

Matt snorted. “It’s bigger than our bedroom.”

Bree said, “I don’t have enough clothes to warrant this gorgeous space. My uniforms would just look sad in here.”

“Efficient, not sad.” Matt pictured his wardrobe of jeans and T-shirts, plus a row of identical tactical cargo pants and sheriff logo polos. He owned a couple of suits and a tux. What else did he need?

They left the bedroom and headed downstairs.