Shattered Secrets (Cold Creek #1)(70)

He was also planning to catch Reese Owens when he came out of church around noon. At least the mayor wanted to talk to him too. Then Gabe planned to be at the evening church service, the candlelight vigil and procession to the gift shop, where Sandy Kenton had been abducted. As for today, Tess sure as heck better be home or at his place when he got back, because all he needed was to have to go check on her with her cousins at that weird Hear Ye compound after dark. He trusted Bright Star Monson about as much as he did a Taliban terrorist.

He parked on the near side of a woodlot not far from the driveway. The old Green house and outbuildings looked dark and deserted. Though he’d check them out now, he’d come back with Vic and Mike with a search warrant later—if he could pry another one from the judge. Before he got out of his vehicle, he muted the volume on his portable radio and drew his semiautomatic pistol. He pulled his flashlight from his duty belt but didn’t turn it on.

He hiked across the driveway at a good pace until he heard the other equipment in his duty belt bounce. No need to make noise, even if the hushed sound of the waterfall covered some of it. He slowed to a walk.

The front windows were still boarded up with cheap plywood. No wonder this place hadn’t sold. He’d buy Tess’s house over this any day. The Green property did have more acreage than hers, though.

At the side of the house, he bent down and played his light through a broken basement window. Nothing much, except some chemical smell. Cleaning fluid? Maybe Marva had scrubbed the basement before she left. Mixing some toxic cleaning fluids gave off an acrid smell and could even cause a minor explosion. He knew Mrs. Taylor in town had gotten badly burned that way. But this reminded him of the stink of a deserted meth lab, like the ones he’d always come across too late to catch the cookers. At that thought, he walked even more quietly and carefully.

Around the back of the house, he slowed his steps. Would he ever get over the fear he’d felt before going into a small shop in a market or an Iraqi house, searching for a bomb?

He stepped up onto the small porch. The back door stood ajar. The smell grew stronger. He knew it was chemicals. He heard a strange sound, then a grunt or sob. Could someone still be inside?

He jumped away from the door to take cover, and his foot went through a board with a sharp crack. He sat down hard. His flashlight went spinning away, landing somewhere off the porch. Still holding his gun in one hand aimed toward the open door, he swore under his breath and tried to pull his foot back out. The broken boards scraped his shin. He pulled his leg free, scraping it more. When he stood, pain shot through his ankle. Throwing himself flat against the outside wall next to the door, he shouted, “Police! Don’t move!”

“Gabe?” came a shaky female voice within. “It’s Tess.”

“Tess? What the h—”

“Get away! Don’t come in. I’m alone. There’s a meth lab here. The stuff is bubbling pretty hard, and I think it’s going to explode!”

“Get out here!”

“They tied me up when they ran!”

In the dark, he stumbled through the door, into a small room, down a hall, feeling his way, following her voice.

“I lost my flashlight!” he said. “Where are you?”

“Gabe, go!”

“Not without you!”

But as he careened into the darkness, through an acrid stench that burned his eyes, he had a flashback. He thought he’d gotten over those long ago. Having to search a dark place at night, disrupt the bomb, feel the heat of the desert, feel the hate of whoever left the IED. He could see the detonation cord and the electrical wires within, the foam casing, the steel frags of ball bearings, nuts, bolts and nails all around it, meant to puncture body armor. Where were his armored gloves? He had bare hands, holding his pistol that would do him no good now, so he shoved it back in its holster.

“Gabe!” Tess cried, cutting through his waking nightmare. “This cooker they use—it could explode. They’ve been gone awhile. I’m tied here. You should go. I...I really care for you—love you. Please go.”

He fell to his knees beside her, wanting to hold her but not having time.

“Gabe, please—”

“Shut up, Tess. Damn, you’re trouble, but not more than you’re worth! Where are you tied? Help me, tell me.”

“Hands behind my back. Tied to a table leg with rope and some kind of netting. But there’s a cooker on the table above my head, and one on the counter too.”

He ran his hands down her shoulders to her wrists. His gut instinct was to tip the table away to free her and run, but disturbing the stuff could make it blow. He fought not to recall the earsplitting BANG! and fireball that had once tossed him like a toy soldier. And the one that had blown his team to bits.

He groped for his utility knife in his duty belt, slid it by feel between her wrist and the cords. “Pull your wrists toward me to give me room,” he told her. He shoved the knife, sawed. She gasped once.

“Your legs tied?”

“No, just there—ah!”

He wasn’t sure if he’d cut her, but she was free. He yanked her to her feet and dragged her down the little hall toward the door. His shin and ankle felt as if they were on fire. He lunged over the porch and pulled her with him. They hit the ground, rolled on the grass. He pulled her to her feet and, staggering like drunks, they ran into the darkness.