the young girl, his steps quick and hurried.
Dread centered itself in the middle of her stomach. This didn’t look good. Her fingers tightened on the handle, everything in her wanting to leap from the car. But she’d promised Brandon she’d wait.
When a shrill scream rent the night air, she could wait no longer. Erica threw open the door and raced toward the dark house.
* * *
Private investigator Max Powell shifted his eyes toward the older-model Ford Taurus parked on the street and leaned forward over the steering wheel as though that would give him a better view.
The car’s open door and empty driver’s seat set his nerves on edge. That didn’t bode well. His gut tensed. Was his sister in that house? He’d gotten word from one of his street sources that she’d been here last night and would probably be back tonight. Max had rushed over to see if he could intercept her.
Max got out of his truck and peered inside the empty Ford. Relieved to see no evidence of foul play, he walked toward the house, his head swiveling in all directions, trying to discern whether there was a threat nearby or just someone who’d broken down and went looking for help.
Neither was a good option for the owner in this neighborhood.
Two feet away from the front porch steps, he stopped and checked the area one more time. The hair on the back of his neck stood at attention and adrenaline shot through his veins. He didn’t have a good feeling about this—at all.
The brief thought that he should call one of his cop buddies flashed through his mind. But he wanted to find Lydia first, have a chance to talk to her before they found her.
He’d take his chances on going in alone.
He pulled his weapon and headed toward the front door.
* * *
Erica turned the corner around the back of the house and stopped. The door hung on one hinge, the darkness yawning beyond it now silent. In fact, it was so quiet, Erica wondered if it was possible she’d imagined the scream.
No. That had been real enough. Erica pictured the young girl she’d seen walking down the street. Her destination had been this house. Had that been her scream?
Her heart kicked into overdrive, pounding hard enough to make her gasp.
She swallowed hard and looked around. She couldn’t just stand here waiting for Brandon. Where was he? What if the girl needed help?
Nausea swirled in the pit of her stomach as she looked back at the house and thought about her precious baby being held in such a place.
A crack house.
One that kept its secrets hidden, maybe forever lost, her daughter’s whereabouts never to be revealed. Had Molly cried for her, expecting her mama to come rushing in to save her?
The girl in the hoodie was someone’s baby. And she might need help.
Tears clogged her throat even as she put one foot in front of the other to enter the black hole of a doorway. She hadn’t been able to save Molly, but maybe she could help someone else’s child.
She slipped just inside and moved to the left. The kitchen. The rancid smell of unwashed bodies, rotten food and...other odors she couldn’t identify assaulted her.
Doing her best to ignore the offense to her nose, she listened. And heard nothing but her own ragged breathing. Erica moved farther inside. The moonlight sliced through the kitchen window to her left, casting shadows on the walls. Shadows that danced and mocked her. Should she call out?
Just as she opened her mouth, a creaking sound reached her ears. A thump sounded from down the hall, a scuffle. A muffled curse.
“Help!” a high scared voice called.
Erica dashed through the kitchen and into the hall. She tripped over the debris on the floor and managed to catch herself before she fell. Glass crunched beneath her feet, but she didn’t stop. Light pierced the darkness behind her, illuminating the filth surrounding her.
“Hey! Who’s in here?”
The deep male voice coming from behind her penetrated Erica’s fear even as she rounded the corner into the nearest bedroom only to come to a screeching halt.
A male in his midthirties had the girl by the throat with his left hand, a knife in his right. The girl’s fingers clawed at his hand.
“Stop it!” Erica yelled. “Get away from her!”
Running footsteps sounded behind her. Erica moved and placed her back to the wall so she could see who entered the room, but she didn’t want to take her eyes off the scene in front of her.
The attacker froze then shoved the crying young woman away from him and stepped toward Erica, knife raised, his eyes darting toward the door then back to her.
Adrenaline flowed, fear pulsed and she swallowed hard as she felt for the weapon in the holster just under her left arm.
In all the situations she’d found herself over the past three years, never once had she been forced to pull her gun.
It looked like tonight might be the night.
In the moonlight, she could make out the man’s harsh features: glittering dark eyes and a scar that curved from the corner of his right eye to his jaw.
She shivered, notched her chin and demanded, “Leave her alone!”
“Stay outta this, lady, or you’ll be sorry,” he snarled.
“Drop the knife! Now!”
Erica whirled to see a man, weapon drawn and aimed at the young man in the torn jeans and black sweatshirt.
Blue lights flickered and flashed against the walls as backup arrived. The attacker licked his lips, shifted his feet.
“Drop it!” the man yelled again. The knife clattered to the floor. Erica nearly wilted with relief. “Up against the wall!” he shouted.
More footsteps sounded in the hallway as the man spoke into his cell phone. Erica’s head spun as she watched the young girl’s terrified eyes snap to the man then to the window.
Before Erica could call out, the young teen ran to the window and climbed out.
“No! Lydia! Come back.”
The man’s shout hung on the empty air. Erica raced for the window, the breeze blowing back her blazer.
“Police! Hands in the air!”
She spun, shocked to see an officer’s weapon trained on her.
TWO
Max spotted the concealed weapon under the woman’s blazer and knew his pal, Officer Chris Jiles, had his gun on her. Her eyes, wide with shock, simply stared. Max brushed past her, careful to stay out of Chris’s line of fire, and stopped at the window. Lydia was nowhere to be seen.
Max slapped a hand against the wall and spun as Chris said to the woman, “Put your hands on your head.”
She finally blinked and said, “My name’s Erica James. I...I have a concealed weapons permit.”
“We’ll get to that in a moment. Hands on your head.” The woman complied and Chris stepped forward to remove her weapon from her holster. “Now show me some ID.”
Max knew Chris had the situation under control, and he turned and dashed from the room. He raced down the hall and out the door. “Lydia!”
He spun to the left, then back to the right.
She was gone.
Heart heavy, he returned to the scene to find Chris’s partner, Steve Shepherd, had the attacker on his knees. The man’s hands were bound behind him and his cries of innocence fell on deaf ears.
Two