Page 6 of Outlaw Ridge: Shaw (Hard Justice: Outlaw Ridge #5)

The cruiser tires bobbled over the potholes and cracked surface of the parking lot, and Shaw pulled to a stop directly in front of the door.

Or rather the gaping hole where the door had once been.

What was left of it and the padlock that had once secured it, now lay on the ground, ripped from the hinges of the rotting wood of the frame.

And that appeared to have been recently done.

There were no coatings of dust or debris on the lock, and the cuts on it looked fresh.

Ditto for the footprints left on the grimy floor just inside the bar.

Judging from the width of them, the person who’d left them had been wearing some kind of protective footwear that would obscure any actual prints.

“We’re parked just up the road from you,” Owen relayed through the earpiece. “Drone hasn’t picked up any obvious holes or makeshift graves. No other vehicles either.”

So, the victim was probably inside.

“Do you see anyone?” Owen asked.

“No,” Shaw answered after having another look around. And because those seconds were ticking away, he drew his gun and added. “We’re going in.”

Ava didn’t hesitate in getting out of the cruiser, proving just how brave she was. Unlike him, she wasn’t a cop, but she was still willing to risk her life. He only hoped the risk was worth it.

Because of the boarded-up windows, the place was pitch black, forcing Ava to use the flashlight on her phone.

They stepped into the bar that wasn’t in any better shape than the exterior had been, but there was no obvious vandalism.

That was somewhat of a surprise considering how long the place had been empty.

There was no broken glass or debris on the floor.

Just that thick dust that coated everything.

Well, everything except those oversized footprints that were large enough to have belonged to Big Foot.

The footprints were easy to follow so that’s what Shaw did. And they led straight to the bar. For what had been a dive, the bar itself was solid wood and in good enough shape that he didn’t spot any cuts or cracks in the surface to indicate someone had been shoved inside it.

Ava fanned her flashlight across the floor, and Shaw looked for any kind of anomaly. He didn’t see one so he started behind the bar.

And that’s when he heard…something.

But he wasn’t sure what.

Ava no doubt heard the sound, too, because she turned her flashlight in the direction of an air conditioning vent. The bottom rim of it was only a couple of inches from the floor where there were more of those footprints and smears in the dust.

They hurried there, both of them dropping to their knees while Shaw pulled at the grating. It popped right out.

And he saw the head.

A head that was almost completely encased in duct tape. Only the nose and eyes were visible.

“Hell,” Shaw spat out.

The person wasn’t moving nor making any more sounds, and he or she had been squeezed into the small space. Blood seeping out from the tape let him know that whoever this was, they’d been injured.

“Owen, we found someone,” Shaw relayed to his boss, and he knew that Owen would take things from there and get an ambulance to the scene.

It was a risk since it could cause even more injury, but Shaw took hold of the person’s shoulders and started pulling. The person groaned, giving Shaw hope that this wouldn’t be another life claimed by a killer. Of course, a rescue didn’t mean survival, but he had to try.

Ava clamped her phone between her teeth so they’d still have the light but she could also help. They pulled together, dragging out the person.

A man.

Duct tape had been slapped over a good portion of his body, but Shaw could see enough of his chest to know he was breathing.

“Put a rush on that ambulance, Owen,” Shaw instructed.

With one last desperate pull, the man collapsed onto the floor, his chest heaving in shallow, ragged gasps. Shaw dropped to his knees and began tearing at the duct tape wrapped across the man’s face. One strip clung dangerously close to his nose, threatening to block his already labored breathing.

“You’re going to be okay,” Ava murmured softly, crouching beside him. Her voice was steady, but her hands trembled as she reached out to brush the man’s shoulder. “Help is on the way. Just hang on.”

The man flinched but managed to turn his head toward her. His bloodshot eyes blinked hard, trying to focus, and then, with a hoarse sob, he croaked, “Ava.”

At the sound of her name, Ava froze, her shoulders snapping back as her gaze darted to Shaw. “He knows me,” she said, her voice a mix of confusion and alarm. “Who is this?”

“I don’t know,” Shaw said, his tone clipped as he worked to peel away another strip of tape. He didn’t recognize the man’s voice, not with the raw, guttural edge of desperation, nor the bruised face beneath the tape.

Then the man’s head lolled toward Shaw. “Shaw,” he rasped out. “It’s me…Grant.”

The name echoed in his head. Not a quiet one either. But a full fledge, top of the lungs shout. Shaw knew him. He knew this man.

Grant Huxley.

The district attorney who had sent Dell to prison. The man who had stood unwavering in court as he secured the conviction. And now, he was here. Right here. A victim.

Shaw’s throat tightened.

“Help me,” Grant choked out, his voice fraying with desperation. “God, help me. She wants us all dead.”

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