CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Brent walked across Jay Maxwell’s office to his desk, picking his way through the mess left behind in the kidnappers’ wake. Drawers had been upended, the contents dumped on the floor.
He hated to move the piles of debris, but couldn’t afford to leave his shoe prints on the papers, a dead giveaway to Taylor that someone else had been in the place after the crime scene team swept through a second time. The Navy SEAL would guess there was a good chance Brent would return to the house. Guessing that Brent searched the house and knowing it were two different things.
Since the kidnappers hadn’t found the records in the desk drawers, Brent yanked on a pair of thin gloves and pulled the drawers out of the desk. One by one, he flipped them over to see if something had been taped to the bottom. No luck.
He did, however, notice that two of the desk drawers were shorter than they should have been. Crouching in front of the desk, Brent examined the desk wall with the flashlight.
A false back. Good workmanship, too. If Brent hadn’t been looking for this, he wouldn’t have noticed it. He felt along the edges. Near the top was a slight depression in the wood, about the size of a thumb print.
Brent pressed against the false wall and the panel moved slightly. By feel, he forced the gap to widen by sliding the panel to the left. Picking up the flashlight again, he aimed the light at the back of the desk.
A black book was propped against the wall. Satisfaction swelled inside Brent. Hopefully, this was what the kidnappers were after. He eased the book free.
He took a moment to flip through the pages, stopped on one. His jaw flexed. Maxwell was a fool to think the government agencies would overlook something like this. One of the alphabet agencies was sure to have noticed. Maxwell would’ve been behind bars before long. Instead, he and his wife ended up dead.
Brent closed the book and stood, sliding it deep into the pocket of his cargo pants. This was what the kidnappers wanted and Keith Phillips was the one who had taken Alexa. All he needed to do now was find out where the militia leader had hidden the girl and mount a rescue.
A noise in the hallway brought his attention to the door. His hand closed over the grip of his weapon. One heartbeat, two, and Rowan walked into the office, the light from her flashlight aimed at the floor.
“Right here, baby,” he murmured as she paused at the threshold. “Find anything?”
“Heather left me a letter in one of her hiding places. I haven’t checked the ones in Alexa’s room or playroom yet. What about you?”
“Maxwell’s black book. This is what the kidnappers were after.”
“Where did you find it?”
“Hidden panel at the back of the desk.” Brent circled the desk. “Come on. Let’s go check Alexa’s room and playroom, then we’ll get out of here.”
“Good. This place gives me the creeps. I’ve never liked the house. In the dark, this place is spooky.”
Brent clasped her hand and led the way to Alexa’s room. He felt Rowan’s slight hesitation in the doorway. The memories must be painful and close. “Where do we look?” he prompted Rowan.
“In the closet, behind Alexa’s clothes hamper. Heather loosened the baseboard.”
He wanted to spare her unnecessary pain by keeping her out of this room for now. Brent made a mental note to have this crime scene cleaned so Rowan wouldn’t have to deal with it. “Stay here and keep watch in case we have unexpected visitors. No need for both of us to trip over things in the dark.”
In the closet, he moved the hamper and eased the baseboard from the wall. Empty. “Nothing. Next place?”
“In Alexa’s playroom.”
He crossed to her side and nudged her back into the hallway. “Which way?”
“Left to the end of the hall.”
The room Rowan indicated was filled with stuffed animals, a miniature kitchen, a couple of toy boxes, and a couple bookshelves along with coloring books and crayons, dolls and dollhouses, all things he recognized from the boatloads of stuff his nieces and nephews played with. There was also a daybed covered with a comforter featuring pink ponies and princesses.
“If Heather left anything here, it will be inside the teddy bear on the bed.” Rowan snatched the bear from the bed and opened the Velcro flap at the back.
Brent shined the flashlight at the bear.
“Nothing. That’s the last place I know about where Heather hid stuff from Jay.”
He glanced around the room. “Is there a toy Alexa loves more than any other?”
“This.” Rowan snatched up the stuffed red dog that had been lying beside the bear. “Her first steps were to grab this dog. She sleeps with it.”
“Bring the dog with you,” he murmured. “Time to leave.”
“Fine by me. I hate this place,” she muttered.
Brent waited until they were outside in the backyard again before taking off the thin rubber gloves and shoving them into a pocket.
“You didn’t think I needed those?” Rowan whispered.
“The cops won’t raise an eyebrow if they find your fingerprints in the house.” At the back fence, he cupped his hands and lifted Rowan so she could hoist herself over. He quickly followed her.
The back of his neck prickled. He caught her hand as they walked through the same neighbor’s yard on their way to his SUV. When Rowan pushed the pace too fast, he wrapped his arm around her waist and tugged her against his side. “Slow down, baby. Running attracts more attention than walking.”
“I feel like someone is watching us.”
“Me, too.” He quartered the area, searching for the best hiding places for someone to watch them. Unfortunately, there were too many to narrow the choices to one or two.
Brent guided Rowan to the sidewalk, glancing around as they approached the street. Nearby, an engine idled. Not able to pinpoint where the vehicle was located, he tightened his grip around Rowan’s waist and stepped onto the street with her.
Tires squealed.
Brent’s head snapped to the right to see a dark-colored full-sized truck dart from a driveway and barrel toward them.