Away From the Dark (The Light #2)(104)

“But”—I pointed toward the now-blank screen—“that earlier graphic, there are ten or fifty times as many Shadows.” I used the new term. “Not everyone you’re taking into custody was brought to The Light unwillingly. Their campus is gone, but with the right connections they’ll be able to rejoin the force. What will stop them?”

Agent Adler shook his head. “The mission was successful. You do realize how unusual it is to be able to infiltrate three separate locations with the exercised precision and such a low number of casualties.”

“Sara,” I whispered.

“Going back last Friday made the difference in our success. We didn’t have the manpower ready.”

I nodded. “Have you issued the APB for Dylan Richards?”

“Not yet. The charred remains of his car were found on the grounds in Bloomfield Hills. Right now we’re assuming he was in the mansion when it blew.”

My knees gave way as I collapsed in a nearby chair. “No. No.” My volume increased. “I don’t care if it was five minutes or one, there was a plan to save Richards and I know it. Besides, did you hear what Gabriel said? He said something about his power going to someone who would inherit.”

Brady nodded. “We’ve been searching, but we’re coming up blank. He must mean it as a transfer of power. Gabriel Clark or Garrison Clarkson never had children.”

“Not a child, Richards is Clark’s nephew. He’s alive; I know it. Even that * wouldn’t allow his nephew to be blown up. I saw the two of them interact just the other day—f*ck, I don’t even know what day it is.”

“Tuesday,” Brady offered.

“Yesterday. There’s no way Clark allowed that.”

Agent Adler shook his head. “I don’t see how—”

“Did you have constant aerial surveillance?” I asked.

Brady tapped his keyboard again; however, before he hit the key to play the time-lapsed video, he asked, “Are you sure you want to see this?”

My fight was gone. “I’m sure. Go back ten minutes before the blast.”

He did. Ten minutes played in less than thirty seconds. The explosion made me gasp. Adler’s hand came down on my shoulder as I wiped a tear from my tired eyes. There was nothing preceding it, just a catastrophic eruption. Obviously the means to produce such an explosion had been in place for an event such as this.

I agreed that on the video there was no activity on the grounds. If Richards had received a warning call, he hadn’t heeded it.

“Is there any way he could have known earlier?” I asked out of desperation.

“It’s doubtful. The timeline is tight.”

While Adler answered, Brady brought up the video again and rewound to sixty minutes before the explosion. Moments after he put the time-lapsed footage in motion, I saw a blur of white in the darkness near the pool. The lights around the pool were the only illumination on the rear grounds.

“Wait,” I said. “Go back and run it in real time.”

Both men stilled as Brady did as I asked. Thankfully, the government had sophisticated cameras with immense zooming capabilities. Though it was grainy, there were definitely two figures who appeared to have run the length of the yard, the exact trek I’d run the day before.

“Was she wearing white?” Brady asked, interest as well as concern in his voice.

“No, not when I left, but, shit, I remember there were other women there in white. It could be one of them, or it could be that they made her change clothes.” The possible reasons for the change of clothes turned my stomach. I wouldn’t allow myself to let my thoughts linger there as I stared at the screen.

“It’s difficult to see the other figure. I’d assume it’s a man.”

“Have they thoroughly checked the outbuildings?”

“Yes, and the wooded area. No one’s there.”

“There’s a back gate. Can you access the video of that gate?”

Brady shook his head. “No, the main center for the surveillance was in the house. When it blew, we lost our connection.”

“That neighborhood is within Bloomfield Hills and is gated,” Adler said.

“Yes?” I asked, wondering where he was going with that.

“The neighborhood has cameras!” Brady said.

My exhaustion gave way to one last surge of adrenaline. “Can you . . . ?”

I didn’t even need to finish my question before the screen came alive with nearly twenty feeds time-stamped at 00:00:00 Tuesday morning. The house wouldn’t blow for over an hour, but in general the streets and intersections were quiet, except for a late-model black SUV. It stopped at one stop sign long enough for us to see the driver.

“Shit! It’s him!” I said, the hairs on the back of my neck standing to attention as Dylan Richards’s image came into view.

“I don’t see anyone else in the vehicle,” Adler said.

“But we saw the woman in white near the pools. If the bureau has thoroughly investigated the rear grounds and there’s no one, or no body, down there, she has to be in the vehicle. I can’t imagine him taking any of the other women from that house. It has to be Sara. I told you, she’s not dead.”

Brady isolated the SUV and followed it to another home within the neighborhood. Once he zeroed in on the home, a smaller screen emerged and we were shown the owner of the home: Motorists of America.