Page 93 of Last Seen Alive

She fired off a quick reply that she was armed, and Trent was on the way over. They really should get the entire cavalry, but the risk the guy would run off was too great. He could be the killer they were after.

After Becky and Zoe disappeared from view, Amanda returned to the front door and peeked out. The car was still there, the figure too.

He’s still here, she texted Trent.Going to turn the lights out and pretend we’re asleep.

Zoe?

With Becky. Safe.

She went around and turned out the lights. Next, she positioned a dining chair against the living room wall, so she had a line of sight to the front and the back. She brought out her Glock, resting her gun hand on her lap. Her phone rested on her other leg.

She waited, sweat dripping off her brow. She hadn’t had one minute to call someone about the air conditioner.

A text came through from Trent, confirming he was down the street, and the figure wasn’t in the car. She muted her phone.

She stiffened, readying herself. Her father always told her to trust her instincts, that they’d never steer her wrong. And she had listened. It was why she’d gotten Zoe out and called in Trent.

A scraping noise came from the back of the house. He was at the patio door. She stayed still. She wanted him to come inside, so she could trap him.

She waited some more. The door slid open.

She saw his figure silhouetted in the moonlight coming through the windows. She held her breath, trying to be as quiet as possible.

He reached the peninsula. He didn’t appear to be holding out a gun, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t armed. She had to surprise him, spring on him when he would least expect it.

He entered the hall that branched off the living room. If she could go after him when he was down the hall, she would have him cornered. There were only two doors that led outside, and neither was accessible from where he was headed.

She had to move to keep an eye on him. She avoided the creaky floorboards, living in this house for long enough she knew it like her own body.

He still didn’t appear to have a gun out. He ducked his head into Zoe’s darkened room.

Seeing this man about to enter Zoe’s private space, an unmitigated rage steamrolled through her.

She crept up on him and readied her gun. “Stop right there.”

The man’s arm started toward his waist.

“I have a gun trained on the back of your head.”

He froze, then barreled into the room. He grabbed Zoe’s chair from her crafts table and threw it through the window before leapfrogging out behind it. The base of the window was about six feet off the ground. He moaned, and she heard the wood trellis for her roses snap.

“Crap.” She holstered her gun and went to the front door. She wasn’t following his lead.

She came outside to see him running toward the Camry. The headlights came on, and Trent was standing halfway between her house and the car. She bridged the distance.

“Trent!” She waved her arm wildly. “He’s getting away.”

Trent brought up his gun. “I’ll shoot the guy before I run.”

“No.” She put her hand on his arm, lowering it. “We need him to talk.” She ran toward the car, and the Camry’s engine growled as the man floored the gas.

“Come on. Let’s go.” She changed course, headed to Trent’s Jeep and jumped into the passenger seat. Let Trent drive, let her be in charge of when to shoot.

He was slower getting there, but he hopped in and gunned the engine, peeling down her street. Everyone in the neighborhood was likely awake now.

“Go! He’s right there.” She pointed to where the Camry had taken a sharp right turn.

“I see him.”