Page 30 of Once Vanished
Susan nodded in understanding.Carlos was the same way—completely helpless with anything mechanical.“Mind if I take a look?I know a thing or two about engines.”
“Would you?That would be amazing.”His relief appeared sincere, his smile grateful.
Susan moved toward the engine, professional instincts automatically noting details: no visible leaks, no obvious disconnections, battery terminals clean.The SUV was immaculate under the hood, almost too clean, as if rarely driven or obsessively maintained.
“When did it start giving you trouble?”she asked, leaning closer to examine the engine.
“Just a few minutes ago.I was on my way to—”
The change in his voice was subtle—a hardening, a drop in pitch—but Susan’s body recognized the danger before her conscious mind could process it.She began to straighten, to turn, her hand instinctively moving toward her weapon.
Too late.
A sharp, burning pain exploded between her shoulder blades.Her muscles seized, electricity coursing through her body in vicious waves.A taser.Her knees buckled, sending her crashing against the SUV’s front bumper before she collapsed to the pavement.
Through the haze of pain and shock, Susan fought to remain conscious.Her training screamed at her to resist, to fight, but her body refused to cooperate.She tried to reach for her gun, but her arms wouldn’t respond.
The man’s shoes appeared in her narrowing field of vision as he stepped around to stand over her.A cloth descended toward her face—white, clinically clean.The chemical smell hit her senses a moment before the fabric pressed against her mouth and nose.
Chloroform.The realization drifted through her mind, detached and clinical.
Susan tried to hold her breath, to turn her head away, but the taser had left her muscles weak and unresponsive.She felt herself being dragged, her heels scraping against asphalt.
Carlos, she thought desperately.Our morning ritual.Be careful out there.Always am.
A broken promise.
The chemical scent invaded her lungs, and darkness began to close in from the edges of her vision.Her last coherent thought was of Carlos still snuggled in bed, probably asleep.When would he become aware …?
Then consciousness slipped away entirely, and Officer Susan Martinez knew nothing more.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Riley stared at the three-story Victorian house looming before them—three stories of faded grandeur, set back from the street, partially obscured by overgrown shrubbery.Perfect for hiding someone.Perfect for hiding Jilly.
Eleven hours had passed since Jilly was taken.Eleven hours of dead ends, false leads, and mounting dread.Riley pressed her palms against her burning eyes, then blinked hard.She and Bill had been moving non-stop all night, fueled by coffee and fear, chasing Leo’s ghost from one location to another.She and Bill had crossed paths once or twice with Ann Marie, who was working separately with others.
This house, with its darkened windows and air of neglect, was one more address on their seemingly endless list of properties with connections to Leo Dillard.But this one stirred something in Riley’s gut.Not hope—she couldn’t afford that luxury—but a cold certainty that Leo had been here.
“Property records show he bought this place three weeks ago,” Bill said, coming up beside her.His voice was rough from lack of sleep.“Cash transaction through a shell company.Same pattern as the others.”
“Let’s go,” she said, already moving forward.
The front yard was more a tangle of weeds than grass, the walkway cracked and uneven.As they approached the porch, Riley noticed the curtain in one of the upstairs windows shift slightly.Or was it just a trick of the light deceiving tired eyes?
“Was that …?”she asked Bill.
“Someone watching, I think,” he replied.His hand moved to his holster as they climbed the creaking porch steps.He positioned himself to one side of the door while Riley took the other—a move they’d performed countless times.But never with stakes this personal.Never with her daughter’s life hanging in the balance.
Riley reached for the doorknob, expecting resistance.Instead, the door yielded easily, swinging inward with a low groan.It wasn’t locked.It wasn’t even fully closed.
Their eyes met in silent communication.Bill drew his weapon; Riley did the same.
“FBI,” she called out, her voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins.“We’re coming in.”
No response came from the darkened interior.Riley took a deep breath, then stepped over the threshold, gun raised in both hands.Bill followed, moving to clear her blind spots as they entered a dusty foyer.
The house smelled of neglect—mildew, dust, and something else.Something human.Someone had been here recently.