Chapter 6

Raegan staredout her kitchen window, relieved to see the house next door still blanketed in darkness. Rocky's black Ford F150 Raptor sat motionless in the driveway, just as it had since she'd heard him pull in an hour before.

Given the concern he'd shown for her earlier today, she'd fully expected him to show up on her doorstep the second he got home. It's why, after showering and preparing for tonight, she'd kept the lights off and her curtains pulled shut.

I think I'm just going to go home, crawl in bed, and wake up tomorrow as if this whole day never happened.

That's what she'd told him earlier, back at the bank. At the time, Raegan had meant every single word of that statement. But on the drive home, she began processing all that had happened, and by the time she'd turned onto her new street, a different plan had begun to take shape.

It's time.

She'd tried playing the long game, but that shit was done and over with. No more late-night stakeouts that yielded jack crap. No more sneaking around, peeking through windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of something credible to take to the authorities.

No more waiting.

Any one of those bullets could've struck her today. She could've died right there in the middle of a damn bank. And if that had happened…if she no longer existed…there'd be no one left to get justice for her friends.

I can't wait any longer. I have to do this. I have to know for sure.

Only she already knew. In her heart, Raegan knew the man she'd seen go in and out of the house down the street was the same son of a bitch responsible for the deaths of her friends. And after three years of being made to feel like she was crazy due to her life-altering grief…

I'm fucking done.

Another quick glance out the small window above her sink, and she felt confident in her ability to keep her actions hidden from the man next door.

Rocky's face filled her mind's eye as Raegan turned to leave the darkened room. Using the moonlight as her guide, she made her way through the living room and to the rental home's back door.

Her pulse moved at a slightly heightened speed as a shot of pre-action adrenaline began making its way into her veins. Aside from today's robbery—and that day a couple of weeks ago when she'd spotted a terrorist living among the innocent—Raegan had gone three years without feeling the familiar rush.

Battle-ready. That's what Chief Tupper used to call it.

You know how to tell you're battle-ready, Lieutenant? It's when that rush of adrenaline hits, and you can't wait to put boots on the ground.

Well, the adrenaline was there, and she couldn't get her black-laced boots out the door fast enough. Only…

Slow and low, Lieutenant. The enemy spots you before you can get to them, it won't matter how fast those short legs of yours can move.

Raegan's hand froze half-a-second after she grabbed the doorknob. Taking a moment to recenter and regroup, she drew in a long, deep breath.

Five, four, three, two…

She released the air from her lungs in an equally long, slow exhale. Repeating the move, she did this two more times before she felt both physically and mentally ready for what needed to be done.

The Army wouldn't listen when she'd gone to them with what she knew. The cop she spoke with at the nearest CPD precinct had literally rolled her eyes and handed her a form Raegan never bothered to fill out.

So now here she was, about to break into a house she suspected was the hub for some sort of terrorist activity, and if she got caught…she would be the one sitting behind bars.

Ironic as hell, eh, Chief?

With thoughts of Chief Tupper and the others driving her forward, Raegan opened the door and stepped outside. The temperature had dropped with the setting of the sun, and the night air was a comfortable cool against her face.

Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, the style secured beneath the ball cap she'd purchased with this mission in mind. It was plain black, just like her boots, socks, jeans, and the long-sleeved T-shirt covering her torso and arms.

The gloves Raegan wore were also black. Their purpose—to prevent DNA and fingerprint evidence from being left behind.

Just in case.

She swung her gaze back over one shoulder toward Rocky's house. Her trained eyes scanned the area, but it was still dark inside, and there was still no sign of movement she could see.

With that concern out of her head, Raegan kept her body low as she carefully began her planned trek across her small backyard and into those running along the same street side as hers.

One by one, she made her way past the other homes. Some were dark like hers and Rocky's, their occupants presumably already down for the night. A couple were well-lit, the people inside visible as they went about their evening routines.

She took even more precautions when passing through those yards, keeping her body low and in the shadows as much as was humanly possible. When Raegan reached the house at the end of the street, she slowed her steps and brought her focus into high gear.

To the outside world, the two-story Tudor home was the picture of suburban innocence. Brick and stone made up the structure's exterior. Adorable flower boxes filled with overflowing greenery and blooms adorned the windowsills running along the home's main floor.

The perfectly manicured landscaping was kept nice and tidy by a lawn service company that, from what she'd observed, came once every week to mow the yard and pull the weeds. And the small, two-car garage in the back never seemed to get any use.

Much like the home itself.

But it had been used at least once in the past two weeks. Raegan knew, because she'd been watching. But the time for that was over. Now was the time to act.

She wasn't sure what she'd do if she got inside and found evidence of a crime. But she had to do something to try to stop the men she'd seen go in and out of the house.

Before it was too late.

Raegan decided to check out the garage first. The soles of her boots fell in near-silent steps as she kept her head on a swivel while making her way across the pavement leading to its large, windowless doors.

She looked up, her gaze scanning the roof's ledge for signs of cameras or other surveillance equipment. When she didn't see anything that could prove she was there, Raegan went around to the south side of the small structure to the pass-through door she'd previously spotted there.

A quick glance around ensured she was still alone. She lifted her hand, wrapped her fist around the knob, and with her breaths held frozen, she started to turn her wrist.

Surprise flickered through her when she found the door unlocked. Pushing it in slowly, she kept the lights off as she slipped inside.

The air was thick and musty as if the garage had been closed up tight for a decent length of time. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out the small Streamlight flashlight she'd brought from home. Raegan pushed it on but kept its bright beam low to prevent its detection from the outside.

Although the twin garage doors contained no windows, the garage itself housed two: one facing north, toward the direction of her house, and the other facing south.

With slow, careful steps, she quickly began assessing the building's contents. Two metal shelves stood along the back wall. A jug of weed killer, a coiled, faded green garden hose, and a pair of rusted trimming shears were all that graced its dusty, cobwebbed shelves.

A noticeable, dark stain marred the pavement in the center of the floor. Evidence that a vehicle had once been parked inside.

Raegan went to the stain and squatted down. Using her teeth, she removed one of her gloves. Using one hand to hold the small flashlight, she pressed the tip of her freed index finger against the splotchy stain.

She brought her finger to her nose before taking a healthy whiff. The scent of old, stale motor oil filled her nostrils, and it was obvious that the source of the leak hadn't been parked inside the garage in a very long time.

Slipping her hand back into the glove, Raegan pushed herself back up to her feet and looked around some more. Within a few short minutes, it became clear that whatever the men were up to, they weren't using this space to do it.

She exited the garage, closing the door silently behind her as she left. Once again, Raegan remained vigilant in her situational awareness. Before she took even a single step toward the back of the quiet house, she made sure there wasn't anyone around to bear witness to what she was about to do.

All clear.

With no witnesses in sight, she rushed from the garage to the brick home's back door. This was the tricky part, the make-or-break-it moment forcing her to slow down and focus.

Falling back on her training, Raegan carefully checked the door's frame for any evidence of wires or other devices that could trigger an alarm…or worse. Not seeing anything obvious, she tipped her head up to check the small overhang above.

No cameras. No obvious wires or other incendiary components.

Not on the garage or back here. Odd, considering her suspicions of the man she'd seen walking into the place a couple of weeks ago.

Asshole probably thinks he's too good to get caught.

Her former unit's handheld ETD, or explosive trace detector, sure would come in handy right about now. But since she no longer had a team—or an ETD—to help keep her ass alive, Raegan committed herself to the plan.

If she died trying to catch a ruthless killer, so be it.

She reached up and tried turning the knob. Not surprised to find it locked, she reached back and pulled out the small lockpick kit she'd purchased off the internet.

Part of her M.P. training had been learning how to gain entry by various breaching means. As a team, Raegan and her unit had practiced everything from kicking in doors to blowing them straight off their hinges.

Lucky for her, that training also included learning how to pick a lock.

The tip of her tongue met the cold metal end of the flashlight as she secured it between her teeth. With both hands free, Raegan unzipped the small kit and pulled out the needed tools.

Seconds into her attempt, she felt the telltale give of the lock's components. Raegan tested the knob, and…it started to turn.

Moving quickly, she slid the tools back into their protective pockets before zipping the kit shut and returning it to her back left pocket. She pulled the flashlight out of her mouth, giving her lips a quick lick and an inward roll.

Raegan used precious seconds to draw in a long, deep, cleansing breath. Releasing it slowly, she prepared to commit her very first felony.

Yes, Your Honor. I knowingly and willingly broke into another person's home. But it was for the greater good, so that doesn't really count…right?

Hopefully, her little B and E stint wouldn't lead to a meeting with a judge. Not unless it was to testify against the bastard she knew had a connection to this place.

Of course, that scenario hinged on the son of a bitch living long enough to see his day in court. And Raegan had no intention of letting that happen.

He has to die. It's the only way.

Grateful for the cluster of trees separating this house from the one next door, she gave her surroundings a final assessing glance before retrieving the pistol from the holster at her waist and turning the knob once more.

Raegan closed her eyes, and after a quick, silent prayer, she carefully pushed open the door. She froze, her eyelids lifting as her ears worked overtime to listen for even the slightest sound.

An alarm. A dog. Someone walking around inside.

There was nothing. No alarm sounded. There was no barking of any kind. And most importantly, as Raegan began to tiptoe her way inside, she didn't see a single person in sight.

So far.

She shut the door behind her, leaving it unlocked to ensure a quick and easy exit. With her flashlight in one hand and her gun in the other, she began clearing the home's modest kitchen.

The first thing that struck her was how clean the room appeared. There wasn't a single dish in the sink. A toaster that appeared to be new and a coffee pot/K-cup combo machine were the only two appliances gracing the white granite countertops.

A simple, elegant vase adorned the island"s center, the pretty flower arrangement sprouting from its opening a realistic silk creation. Raegan wasn't sure what she expected to find when she'd first walked in, but flowers and a pristine kitchen weren't it.

She walked to the stainless steel refrigerator a few feet further in, on her left. With a quick glance through the shadowed space leading from the kitchen into what appeared to be the home's living room, Raegan listened once again for the slightest sound of movement or voices.

When the silence remained, she reached up and opened one of the refrigerator doors. Several bottles of water lined the shiny glass shelves, but that was it.

No food. No sodas or snacks of any kind. Nothing but water.

A quick inspection of the freezer section yielded even less. One bag of ice, unopened, rested neatly on the freezer's insulated floor.

Raegan closed the door and continued on, into the rest of the house. With her gun up and at the ready, she passed by a half-bath on her way to the living room.

Much like the kitchen, both areas appeared to have never been used. In fact, the living room was so perfectly decluttered, the furniture positioned just so, the place looked like something she'd find on a showroom floor. Matching couch and loveseat set. Rustic-chic coffee table, end tables, and lamps. Even the few paintings on the walls appeared to be staged.

What the hell?

Feeling more than a little perplexed by her findings thus far, she turned and began making her way up the set of carpeted stairs. Moving slowly, she took each step with care, using what she'd learned in her training to create almost silent footfalls as she traveled up to the home's second floor.

Raegan forced her pulse to steady while working her lungs in slow, easy breaths. Her gut said she was alone, but until she'd cleared each and every room, she wasn't about to take any chances.

She made it to the top of the stairs. The house wasn't overly large, so it didn't take long to check the three bedrooms and one full bath that occupied the upstairs space.

A heady blanket of disappointment pulled her shoulders down when Raegan found the second floor decorated with the same minimalist look as the first.

There wasn't a stitch of clothes in any of the closets or dresser drawers. No shampoo, soap, or toothbrushes in either of the bathrooms. If Raegan didn't know better, she'd think the place was staged to sell.

Only there was no For Sale sign in the yard, and the men she'd seen coming in a couple of weeks ago had all been carrying various-sized boxes and tubs. And since she'd recognized one of the men almost instantly, Raegan was one hundred percent certain they weren't moving men or in to interior design.

They'd been hauling something into this house, and though she hadn't been able to see what, she instinctively knew it wasn't good.

You have to have missed something. There has to be something else here.

Giving the upstairs another check, Raegan walked more swiftly down the stairs as she returned to the home's main floor. She looked around the living room again, as well as the half-bath, and just like upstairs, she found nothing useful in the least.

With a frustrated sigh and a shake of her head, she went back into the kitchen. After checking every cabinet and every drawer, she started to leave the same way she came in. But something stopped her halfway between the room's arched entryway and the door.

Unsure of what it was, Raegan slowly swung her gun and flashlight to her left. Standing with her back to the refrigerator, she moved the bright beam in a slow, methodical, horizontal line. But all she saw were the immaculate countertops, perfect, custom-made cabinets, and the vintage pantry hutch butted up against the room's southern wall.

What am I missing?

Somethinghad pulled her attention that way, but even after a second look, she didn't notice anything she hadn't seen before. Or, maybe she was just using this obsession as a way of coping with her guilt and grief.

That's what her former shrink would probably say.

Raegan lowered her weapon and flashlight as her shoulders dropped in defeat. But just as she did, an anomaly in the room's tiled floor shone bright in the light's narrow beam.

There!

The hope she thought was lost came rushing back, and her heart gave a hard kick against the inside of her ribs. She inched forward, closer to a large scratch in the floor's otherwise smooth surface. Only it wasn't just any scratch.

This one ran in a long, wide arch. Its place of origin appeared to be just behind the vintage hutch. Almost as if someone had swiveled the hutch outward, away from the wall.

Multiple, multiple times.

Bingo!

Raegan went to the timeless piece of wooden furniture and leaned down to take a closer look. As soon as she did, it became clear that the groove in the floor had been made by the hutch being pulled away from the wall and pushed back again.

And the only reason someone would have done that would be to get to something behind the hutch. So naturally…

Raegan rose back up to her feet. Holstering her weapon, she held the flashlight in one hand while using both to move the hutch.

It was surprisingly light, making the move relatively easy, and once it was out far enough for her to see, she slid to the side and shined her light to the newly exposed wall behind it. Only it wasn't a wall.

Holy shit!

She'd found a door. A hidden door…complete with a padlock in place to keep it secured.

Well, if this doesn't scream bodies in the basement, I don't know what does.

That was what she'd been missing. The basement. Because of the dense bushes and other thick foliage planted around the home's foundation, it was impossible to tell from the outside that the place even had a basement.

And with the door having been purposely covered up…

If I hadn't seen that scratch, I never would've known.

But she did see it, and now she was more confident than ever that this place…this adorable Tudor home in Chicago Suburbia…was really nothing more than an unwitting accomplice in some sort of malevolent plot.

Raegan started to reach for her lock-picking kit when a shuffling sound filled her ears from somewhere close by. She barely had time to register the odd noise when a strong male hand appeared a fraction of a second before it covered her mouth in a firm, unwavering hold.

No!

Fear shot through her veins, and for a long, terrifying second, she let it overpower her ability to even think. But then her training kicked in, and muscle memory took over. And in the very next second, Raegan found herself engaged in yet another fight for her life.