Page 42 of Upon Blooded Lips (Vengeance #1)

SPECIAL AGENT SUSANNAH GERHARDT

S olemn faces peer up at me from around the conference table.

“We finally obtained the warrant to search both David Harrison’s and Robert Harrison’s properties,” I say, unable to keep a grin from spreading.

I point at one of the agents. “Donald, I’d like you to look into why it took so long to get and why we had to go through three different judges to do so.

But be discreet. I don’t want to piss off the locals.

” He gives me a nod, and I turn back to the others.

“I want David’s house torn apart. He’s on the run now and bound to make a mistake.

Look for paperwork, videos, pictures. Get his bank accounts frozen and comb through them.

Turn over every stone to find out what he’s been up to, where he might be hiding, where his wife is, and any links to trafficking you can find. ”

Jessica raises a hand. “Do you suspect Willowmen PD to be complicit?”

My shoulder lifts. “I can’t say, but I find the town’s unwillingness to work with us suspicious, to say the least. The sheriff will accompany us, since he has the code to enter the gated community. Be circumspect around him and make sure we dot our i’s and cross our t’s. I want this bastard found.”

I get out of the car and run my gaze over David’s house.

It’s not as impressive as some of the surrounding ones, but it’s still a pretty single-story property.

All the houses have meticulous yards, but his grass is several inches longer than the HOA-mandated regulations.

Several newspapers are strewn haphazardly over the walkway and porch, and a parcel lies abandoned by the front door.

Despite it being after one p.m., all the curtains are drawn, blocking out the summer sun beating down on us.

Several agents head around the back, just in case David has returned.

I keep two with me while leaving another four at the front to keep away nosy neighbors.

My fist thuds against the door twice, and I wait with my hand hovering over my gun for a reply.

When none comes, I give a nod, and Marcus kicks the door in.

We rush inside the gloomy house, stirring up dust motes while clearing the property. No one’s here.

Although I was sure he wouldn’t be, I can’t help but feel disappointed.

This fucker had us bouncing around Europe, and now he’s somewhere in the States, if he hasn’t already skipped the country using a falsified passport.

But my gut tells me he’s an important piece of the puzzle, and I will not give up until I have him in custody.

The house looks like someone’s burgled it.

Drawers and closets hang open, mostly empty save a few scattered pieces of clothing.

I purse my lips and follow my team from room to room, noting the turned over couch and shattered TV.

The only room intact is the kitchen, the shelves full of dishes and canned goods, the fridge full of spoiling food.

We find nothing. No paperwork, not even a stray receipt.

My fingers tap against my thigh as we clear each room.

“Agent Gerhardt!” I hurry toward the shout, finding two agents standing in front of a door hidden behind a shelving unit in the laundry room.

A dark abyss stares back at me, but the find lights a spark of hope.

The men go down the rickety wooden stairs first, guns drawn and flashlights lit, making sure it’s clear before the rest of us follow.

The scent of must and mold permeates the room.

Unlike upstairs, which has a more modern feel, the basement looks like something out of the 1960s.

The low ceiling is made up of cork tiles, which have a couple of bare lightbulbs hanging from it.

Wood paneling lines the walls, and a dirty toilet and sink sit in the far left corner, surrounded by a low brick wall, the tap dripping now and again off the rusted metal sink.

One lone narrow window covered in peeling yellowed newspaper lets in the barest amount of light, illuminating the otherwise empty room.

Sheriff Calloway gives me a shrug and a smug smile. “Well, Agent Gerhardt, there’s nothing here. The Harrisons are a fine family and a pillar of the community. I knew you wouldn’t find anything.”

“Sheriff, I understand you recently lost two of your officers in the line of duty. While I’m sorry for your loss, it doesn’t excuse unprofessionalism.

” He huffs and sputters, but I turn my back, ignoring the pompous man.

Something’s nagging at me, and I can’t quite put my finger on it.

My gaze roams over the small room, and it clicks.

The basement is about a third of the size of the floor above it.

While partial basements exist, they aren’t as common as full ones.

I jog back up the stairs, through the house, and out to the cars.

The sheriff follows, still blustering, but I tune him out as I open three of the trunks and grab sledgehammers and crowbars.

I shove a couple into his hands. “How about you make yourself useful?” He blinks at me, shocked to the core, but I turn on my heel and head back down to the basement, handing out tools to my fellow agents.

It takes us a mere fifteen minutes to remove the ceiling and tear the wood paneling off the walls.

I swipe the sweat off my brow with the back of my hand and breathe a heavy sigh, glancing around the space.

While three proved to only be foundation walls, the fourth was a false one, which we opened up to reveal the rest of the basement behind it.

Several of my team drag dusty boxes from their hiding place in the lowered ceiling.

I open one, recoiling at what I find inside.

Pictures. Hundreds of pictures. Bile rushes up my throat, but I choke it down, refusing to disgrace myself in front of the sheriff who has now gone suspiciously quiet.

He stands with his back against the wall, eyes wide, disbelief etched in his face.

Jessica opens another beside me, which contains at least fifty camcorder tapes. Someone with a stronger stomach than mine will have to go through those. I don’t envy them that job.

I flick through a handful of pictures, several of which contain Tessa.

Another wave of vomit fills my mouth, and this time, I can’t hold it back.

I drop all but one photo back in the box and rush over to the toilet in the corner and let it out.

My hands tremble as I step back, pulling a handkerchief from my pocket and wiping my mouth on it before flushing.

I take a moment, those god-awful pictures flashing through my mind.

After several deep breaths, I straighten my shoulders and turn back to the room.

“Are you okay?” Jessica asks, sidling up beside me.

“I will be, once this fucker is locked up.”

She gives me a lopsided smile before gesturing toward the newly opened room. “You need to come see this.”

The sheriff follows us, and an incredible sadness fills me at the sight of the small childlike bedroom at the end of the hall.

A metal bed, like the kind you see in prisons, is bolted into the concrete floor.

A thick mattress, dirty and soiled, sits on top of it, along with a discarded pink blanket and a thin pillow.

Painted flowers in faded pastel colors decorate the walls, and a small bookcase beside the bed holds a few dusty toys and plushies.

Two thick rings embedded in the concrete where the headboard should be have short chains dangling from them, the tiny manacles left open and gaping on the mattress as if waiting for another child to fill them.

I swallow hard. “Jessica, can you bag the bedding, please?” I don’t wait for an answer but step toward the doorway and lean against it.

There’s a reason I do this job, but on days like today, I wonder how long I can keep doing it.

Until you find her , a small voice whispers in my mind. Until you bring her home.

“Susannah?”

“Yes, Agent Waters?”

“We’ve found something.”

How much more can there be? I nod and let him lead me to the room across the hall.

A large trunk sits in the middle of the room, the only thing in it.

Agent Waters flips the lid open, and the smell of decay fills the room.

Holding back a gag, I step closer and peer inside.

A mummified skeleton in the fetal position rests inside, its shoulder-length brown hair in a mass of tangles.

“Sophie Harrison?” I ask, although I can only assume until we can run dental records or DNA, if there’s any left to find.

Agent Waters removes a purse that was tucked behind the skeleton’s knees. He rummages through it, wrinkling his nose at the stench coming from being interred with the body. He withdraws a wallet and holds it out to show me. As I suspected—Sophie Harrison.

Sheriff Calloway peers into the trunk and sighs. “I’ll call the medical examiner,” he says before backing out of the room. Good riddance. Maybe that’ll keep him distracted long enough to let me finish up here without his interference.

I poke my head into the other two rooms, but they’re empty. I don’t waste time wondering what David used them for. It doesn’t matter. I grab Jessica on the way out, leaving the rest of the team behind to bag everything up to take back to the Chicago field office. We can go over everything later.

Right now, I want to speak to David’s brother and sister-in-law.