Chapter Three

"Shit," Presley muttered. "Shit, shit, shit."

And he kept saying it while he tried to tamp down this mental firestorm. Images and memories of one of the worst days of his life.

Yeah, this was not going to be fun.

"I didn't know that about you," Billie said, her voice making it through the loud buzz in his head.

"A lot of people don't know," he settled for saying.

Ruby did though, but while she could no doubt hear every word of this conversation, she was staying quiet about it. Probably because she knew what was most important right now was mapping out the new location. Or working out the possible kinks. Maybe, too, figuring out what the hell to do with an operative who might be falling apart.

But Presley wouldn't do that.

Not with a life at stake.

A personal crisis would just have to wait. He would suck it up and deal, and he kept mentally repeating that as he drove toward a house that he'd vowed never to see again.

"Two plain-clothes cops are heading to the address now," Ruby finally spoke up. "Angel will get there as fast as he can. I'm pulling up a street view and information about the house, but, Presley, tell me about it. About the interior, about the neighborhood. Where is a hostage likely to be stashed here?"

He needed a couple of breaths first and to do a hard shake of his head to clear it. He even bashed his fist on the steering wheel. Then, he answered her while dragging himself right back to that pit of hell.

"One-story brick in what was once a middle-class neighborhood that I've heard has gone straight downhill over the years." He kept his tone as if this was a routine briefing. "Three bedrooms, two baths. Eleven windows," he added, doing a quick mental count, "and two doors. The backdoor feeds into a large yard with a greenbelt behind it."

Which meant unless things had changed, there were no neighbors to see what the heck was going on.

"My guess is the kidnappers would hold Victoria in the bedroom at the far back of the house. That's on the right as you face it," he added as he drove. He didn't glance at Billie. Couldn't. He didn't want her to see the emotion that he knew would be in his eyes. "There's only one window in that room, and it faces the side yard where there used to be a high fence."

It'd been his room.

And also where he'd found his mother dead.

That'd happened when he had come home from school. Seconds later, Presley had found his dad, dead from a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head, in the main bedroom on the other side of the house. Presley had no idea what his mother had been doing in his room, and since she was dead, it was one of those mysteries that would never be solved.

What wasn't a mystery was that the kidnappers had known this had once been his home. They knew what had happened there.

Hope it doesn't bring back too many bad memories for you .

So, yeah, this was connected to him.

"The kidnappers could be using this location to rattle you," Ruby commented a moment later. "That might be all there is to it. That, and the fact that the house has been vacant for two years now. So are the houses on either side of it."

That could definitely play into a kidnapper's plan, having the house and the surrounding area to themselves. But Presley thought it was more than that.

But what was the more ?

He didn't know. Yet.

"What's your ETA?" Ruby asked, cutting off any possible answers that Presley might have to his own questions. Those answers were best saved for later, anyway.

Focus .

"We'll be there in ten to fifteen minutes, depending on traffic," he answered. Which meant the kidnappers hadn't given them much time. Still, if they could get the two cops and Angel in place, that would be enough backup.

Hopefully.

"I'll get the drone there," Ruby added and ended the call.

Presley kept on driving, kept on moving through the syrupy downtown traffic. Since Billie was in on this potential shitstorm with him, Presley knew he had to tell her something. So, he picked the most sanitized version he could think of.

"As a newborn, I was abandoned at a fire station. I was adopted by a seemingly normal couple, Jeanie and Hugh Nolan. I was raised here, in this house where we're going. It wasn't a perfect life, but it was solid enough. I never went hungry, and there was no abuse."

"So, what went wrong?" Billie asked when he fell silent.

Presley knew this because he'd looked at the police file once he'd become a cop. "My mom had asked my dad for a divorce. According to some of her friends, she'd met someone else. My dad went ballistic when she told him, and he shot and killed her. Then, he went to his bedroom, wrote a note to me saying he was sorry, and he went out with a single shot to the head." He stopped. Had to. "After that, CPS took over and I was put in a foster home."

Billie no doubt knew about him ending up in the system. It'd been a good home, for the most part, but it'd recently been in the news for an old murder that'd happened there.

"Ruby could be right," Billie concluded. "The kidnappers could have chosen this spot because they knew it would be an emotional gut punch. It could throw you off your game and make you a less formidable opponent."

"Maybe, he admitted. "But if they wanted less formidable, why not demand someone other than the two of us do the drop? Why not pick Jesep or his two likely pampered trust fund kids?"

"Because one of them could have orchestrated this and be paying the kidnappers," Billie was quick to point out.

It was something that had already occurred to him. Still, why choose someone who could kick the kidnappers' asses? Yeah. That didn't make sense.

Shoving that aside as well, Presley took the turn on Barlett Street and glanced around to make sure they weren't about to be attacked. He didn't see any threats, but he'd heard right about the neighborhood going downhill.

Hell on steroids, this was bad.

He drove past house after house in serious disrepair. Yards, too, with weeds waist high in places. Abandoned graffiti junkers lined the streets, and he imagined it would be easy to stash a hostage in one of those cars and then lay in wait inside the house.

"This feels wrong," Billie remarked, obviously picking up on the bad vibe, too.

Presley made a sound of agreement and parked just up the street from the house. It was just as rundown as the rest of the neighborhood, but all the windows looked intact.

"Drone feed isn't showing anyone around the residence," Ruby relayed. "Are the cops and Angel there yet?"

He was about to say no, but then he spotted Angel's van stopping about a half block away. While Angel was parking behind a junker, a black sedan pulled into a spot on the other side of the street. The sedan was about as nondescript as a vehicle could get, which meant these were almost certainly the cops.

"They've arrived," Presley informed Ruby.

"Good. How do you plan to approach the house?"

Presley glanced around. "Well, if the kidnappers are here, then they know we're here as well. And considering this whole deal feels like some kind of sick game, I'm banking on them not gunning us down before we get inside the house. Why end the game that way?"

"Because the goal might be to kill both of you," Ruby pointed out, but then she sighed. "Angel, get in that backyard. Do it quietly and stay out of sight. Once you're in place, Presley and Billie can move in."

Angel didn't waste any time exiting his van, but he didn't walk directly to the house. He darted into the side yard of a place about four lots up. Presley figured he was heading for the greenbelt. Once he reached the house, he could climb over the fence.

Hopefully undetected.

After all, the kidnappers might carry through on their threat to cut off parts of the hostage if Presley and Billie weren't alone.

Presley gave Angel a few minutes before he gave Billie the nod. They got out of the SUV, and after slipping their hands over their weapons, they made their way to the door. He tested the knob.

Unlocked.

So he opened it and glanced inside.

Thankfully, there was nothing the same about the living room. The pale yellow walls were now a bright green, and it wasn't a fresh job. It was peeling in places as was the popcorn ceiling. The house smelled of rot and dust and death.

He glanced down at the floor. No signs of footprints, but it looked as if someone had recently dragged a broom through it. Maybe to obscure the fact that someone had been here.

"Mrs. Wessington?" he called out.

No response. Not a human one anyway, but he heard some kind of rustling sound. And, yep, it was coming from his old bedroom.

"Angel says the windows are open on the back and sides of the house," Ruby informed them.

So, maybe the noise had been the wind. But someone had opened those windows. Of course, they could have been that way for a long time since the place was vacant. Hell, squatters could be here.

Billie and he drew their guns and started moving, both of them scanning the area for any traps or anything that could get them killed. But Presley saw nothing other than some roaches as they made their way down the short hall where there were two bedrooms and a bath. His mom had used the other room as an office for her bookkeeping business.

The door to his room was ajar, and Presley peered through the narrow opening. But there was nothing to see but an empty room.

Using his elbow, he opened the door the rest of the way, and the uneven foundation caused it to keep moving and bump against the wall.

And then Presley saw it.

Straight ahead on the wall where his bed had once been. Someone had used a black marker to scrawl TTYS.

"Talk to you soon," he grumbled.

That was not what he wanted from these asshole kidnappers. Nor did he want to see what was on the floor.

Not Victoria Wessington. Not a person at all. But in the center of the room was a small clear glass jar.

And in the jar was the bloody tip of a finger.