Weir was a wonder boy. Not that Nate would ever say that to his face. Within an hour, he came up with a list of vacation rentals that they all agreed Oakes had likely been hiding out in at one time or another. Three on the list had reported break-ins more than once over the past few months.

All three were higher-end homes located on bodies of water, with views. Usually advertised as perfect for girls’ weekends, couple’s retreats, or honeymoon getaways. The first two were empty with no sign of anyone, legal or illegal, in residence. No cars, no tracks, nothing. The third was located on Old Charter.

The owner had discovered evidence of a break-in over the weekend before Memorial Day. Normally he and his wife stayed there during that time period, but they had been at their daughter’s wedding that weekend. Nothing had been taken, but things were out of place and the TV remote had been crushed and left under a coffee table.

SkPD found recent evidence of a vehicle, and there was garbage in the trash can that the owners had not generated, but nothing else. The alarm had never gone off but had been disabled. SkPD chalked it up to owner paranoia.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Klay growled at Nate. “Just drive by the address and see if there are any signs of life. I fucking can’t go with you because Sophia Possos and her entourage are going to arrive at any moment.”

“I can ride along,” Weir piped up.

“No, you fucking can’t. You aren’t a field officer any longer.”

Weir squinted at Nate, then looked back at Klay. “You know he’s going to do something stupid, right?”

“If he values his life, he won’t.” Klay dragged his suit jacket from the back of his desk chair. “It’s bad enough I have to wear a suit today, now I have to worry about you going off half-cocked. I promise you, Richardson, if you do something stupid I’m siccing Gomez on you. Got it?” He jabbed a thick finger against Nate’s chest, emphasizing his point.

“Yes sir.” Nate was going to do whatever it took to make certain Miguel was safe.

“I don’t believe you.” Klay shook his head, grabbed his car keys, and left without saying goodbye.

Nate snatched the sheet of paper with the address off Klay’s desk, shoved it in his pocket, and headed out to his car. Weir followed, saying something, but Nate wasn’t listening. He was too busy trying to come up with a plan of attack.

 

There were definitely lights on in the house, even though it wasn’t dark yet. Sunset wasn’t until sometime around ten p.m. Three hours of light left, but under the dense cover of trees it was already dusk.

Nate had parked his car on the shoulder and hiked through the underbrush toward the house. Oregon grape scraped against his slacks along with bristly pine branches. Himalayan blackberry snagged and dug into his clothing, leaving scratches along his hands and forearms. His suit was a mess, but it was worth it. The house was supposed to be vacant. It wasn’t; there definitely were forms moving on the first floor.

“Damn,” Nate muttered. He needed to see who was in the house. It would be embarrassing to call this in, only to discover Weir had made a mistake about it being empty for the next few days. The house was three stories, and three of its sides were almost entirely glass. The home probably had an amazing view, but Nate’d approached from the rear, which was concrete and wood.

His cell phone buzzed against his thigh. Nate sighed; it was Klay or Weir checking up on him, he was certain. He looked at the text from Klay. Don’t do anything stupid. Too late. Shoving the phone back in his pocket, he inched closer to the building and to the left, where he would be able to see what was going on inside. Unfortunately, the north side of the home had less trees and shrubbery than the back. Nate risked being exposed if he wasn’t very careful.

What he saw made him go cold. As an agent, Nate had seen terrible things. He’d been on a team that discovered a group of illegal immigrants who had been left in the desert in a container truck. Some had died before they’d been found. But his participation in those events had been after the fact. The violence had already happened.

From his hiding spot between two large fir trees, what he witnessed chilled him to the bone. Nate wished he’d thought to bring binoculars, although he hadn’t expected to need them. Crouching again, he crept as close as he dared. A twig snapping under his weight scared a bird, but the sound was lost in the soughing of tree limbs and distant crashing of waves.

Three men were sitting at the dinner table. One he recognized as Oakes/Scott from the coffee shop; the second was Miguel. Nate’s heart pounded. Nate didn’t recognize the third; he was young, with longish dark hair and pale skin. He appeared to be stark naked, as was Miguel. Neither Miguel nor the unknown man moved while he watched. Oakes stood up, and Nate saw he was fully clothed, with an apron tied around his waist. What the fuck?

Nate’s phone buzzed again, and he reached into his pocket to press the power button. He wasn’t risking being seen or heard by Oakes because his phone went off at the wrong moment. Sorry, boss.

His legs were starting to cramp from the crouched position he’d been in for the last half hour or so when Oakes disappeared around a corner. From where Nate was positioned, he saw the edge of a set of stairs. Taking advantage and hoping against hope that Oakes would be gone for more than a few seconds, Nate ran closer to the house.

There was no cover between the house and the surrounding walkway. Nate could see directly inside. Miguel and the other man, a very young man he saw now, were tied to the dining chairs, full glittering place settings covering the table in front of them. The younger man was facing the window, and his eyes widened dramatically when Nate motioned.

Miguel’s head turned, and their eyes caught. Nate saw his mouth move and form the word “No.” From behind, Nate heard a footstep, and he turned just in time to see Oakes coming after him with a shovel. He ducked aside, and the heavy tool smashed against his right shoulder instead of his head. It felt like he’d been stabbed in the arm with a white-hot poker. He stumbled but remained on his feet somehow. Oakes screamed with rage, spittle spewing from his mouth, and raised the shovel again.

Oakes stumbled backward on the uneven terrain, the heavy shovel setting him off balance. It was going to be Nate’s only chance. Ignoring the pain in his shoulder and arm, Nate rushed him, grabbing the shovel and trying to pull it from Oakes’s grip. They crashed to the ground, and Nate was stunned for a moment by another stab of pain as he fell. Unfortunately it was just long enough for Oakes to slam a meaty fist into the side of his head. Everything went black.