Page 69 of Craft Brew

Fingers nudged his left hand, Nic’s tangling with his. Cam was done asking him to stay in the van. He needed him here. Visor up, Cam looked him in the eyes, the icy blue calming, solid, pushing back the humidity and giving Cam the fresh air he needed to breathe.

To act.

“Visors down and move on my count,” he said.

The agents and officers lined along the gully snapped their gear into place. “Whiskey,” Cam said. “Ready to kill the cameras?”

“On your count. If he’s watching, you won’t have long.”

“Roger that.” He moved into a crouch and the others followed suit, ready to cross the road and converge on his mark.

“Three, two, one.”

“Cameras are down,” Jamie confirmed.

“Go, go, go!” Cam ordered, and the line of LEOs in tactical gear moved in a dark line across the street.

Still no movement in the house.

The same sinking feeling Cam had had when they’d pulled Reid over settled deep in his gut again. Was this going to be another dead end?

They fanned out around the house, checking the exterior for explosives. Whispered calls of “Clear” echoed over comms, one position after another. Hearing the last “Clear,” Cam reached out and tested the front doorknob.

Locked.

And there were five additional deadbolts on the door.

Harper might not be here but something worth protecting was.

He could take the ten or so minutes he’d need to pick them all. Or he could signal for the battering ram, which would take care of the wooden door in seconds. It would make a racket, sure, but at that point, if Harper was even here, he’d know they were too.

Signaling for the ram, Cam grabbed one set of handles as it was passed up, Nic across from him took hold of the other. They reared back, he counted it off—“Three, two, one”—and they heaved. The door shattered in concert with all the first-floor windows, shouts of “FBI!” and “BPD!” ringing out as they stormed inside.

Cam entered ahead of Nic, gun drawn, prepared for battle, only to be greeted with calls of “Clear” from each room.

Visors flipped up, the team heads met in the middle of the kitchen. “First floor empty,” Matt confirmed.

“You go up,” Cam told Matt. “Di, take your team out back. We’ll take the basement.” The teams broke, Cam and Nic leading a group of agents toward the basement stairs that led off from the kitchen.

More locks. The battering ram came back out and they were through it in seconds.

To shouts of “Help! I’m down here!”

Cam made to run, but Nic grabbed him by his jacket, holding him back. “She might not be alone. Don’t run to your death.”

“Shannon Murphy?” he shouted.

“Yes, please, help!”

“Are you alone?”

“Yes, please, get me out of here before he comes back.”

“Slow, Boston,” Nic cautioned.

Cam took his advice, and they crept down the stairs, weapons at the ready. At the bottom, the other agents fanned out around them. “Shannon, where are you?”

“Back here!”