Save Your Breath (Morgan Dane #6)(53)

Yet, the need to know—and to find Olivia—drew him forward. He took one more step. Once out of the direct sunlight, his vision began to adjust to the dimness within. The inside of the barn took shape.

“Sharp,” Stella warned, “I don’t have a warrant.”

“I’m not a cop. I’m a concerned citizen, worried about Mr. Olander.” Sharp ignored Stella’s irritated huff. It was all well and good for him to make excuses. It would be her ass on the line if the situation went sideways. But Sharp didn’t much care.

The barn looked mostly the same as it had that morning. Sharp looked down and saw footprints in the dirt. He thought back to his earlier visit but couldn’t remember if he’d noticed them before. The hairs on the back of his neck lifted, and a primitive alarm clenched his gut. His hand automatically sought his weapon.

Something was definitely wrong. But what?

Another cat shot past, the low streak of its body startling him. A bird flew in the open door and soared up to the rafters. Sharp followed the sound of its wings in the empty space. He scanned the catwalks that spanned the middle of the barn.

And then he saw it. The sight repelled him, a visceral human reaction to death.

From just outside the doorway, Stella called out for Olander again.

“He won’t be responding.” Sharp drew his gun and scanned the big lofty space. Nerves prickled along his skin, raising goose bumps on his arms.

“How do you know?”

Reaching behind him, Sharp pulled Stella into the barn and pointed to the catwalk on the far side of the barn. From it, Mr. Olander was hanging by the neck. The rope had been tossed over the railing and tied off to a support beam. The farmer’s dirty boots dangled several feet above the ground. Had Olander been so depressed he had jumped?

Sharp looked at the fresh footprints in the dirt.

Or had the farmer been pushed?

He approached the body.

“Shit.” Stella pulled her gun. “Any chance he’s alive?”

If there were, they would cut him down and attempt to revive him. If not, they would preserve the scene.

The body faced away from them. Sharp walked in a wide circle, skirting Mr. Olander so he could see the victim’s face. Sharp took in the purple skin and swollen, protruding tongue. “Nope. He’s dead.”

“Suicide?” Stella took out her phone and called for backup.

Sharp zeroed in on Olander’s hands, dangling at his sides. He moved a little closer and took out his phone. Using his flashlight app, he shone light on the corpse. Several of the fingertips were bloody and raw, a few nails torn below the quick. Pulling a pen from his pocket, he used it to lift the cuffs of the farmer’s jacket sleeves. Angry red lines ringed the corpse’s wrists. “His fingernails are torn, and I see ligature marks around his wrists.”

Sharp scanned the ground but didn’t see anything that could have been used to bind the farmer’s hands.

“So a probable no on suicide.” Stella leaned in for a better view. Then she put her back to Sharp’s and scanned their surroundings.

“Let’s clear the building.” Sharp moved toward the first doorway.

Stella called him back. “No. We’ll wait outside for backup. There’s a unit on the way. ETA is eight minutes. This place is too big for us to clear on our own.”

Sharp hesitated.

“Sharp,” Stella warned in a firm voice, “we don’t know if whoever did this is still here or not. You can’t find Olivia if you’re dead.”

“All right.” Sharp didn’t like waiting, but Stella was right.

They backed out of the building and waited next to the car.

Sharp knew she was right, but the time seemed to tick by in slow motion. He paced. There were no sounds coming from the barn or either house.

The house!

“Hold on.” Sharp spun and ran up toward the main house.

“Sharp!” Stella yelled. “Get back here.”

He heard her boots hitting the dry ground behind him.

Sharp reached the back of the house. The bulkhead doors stood open, and the chain that had secured them lay on the ground. Several links were severed. Sharp opened the flashlight app on his phone again.

Stella caught up, breathing hard. “We can’t go down there.”

“You’re right,” he said.

Stella had procedure to follow.

Sharp shone his light on the steps and started down. “We can’t, but I can.”

He descended, leading with his gun. He swept his light around the space. Footprints covered the concrete, lots of them, and scrape marks showed where something heavy had been dragged. He followed the same path he and Lance had used earlier that morning.

Even before he got to the area where the trunks had been stored, he knew. The room was empty. Four clean rectangles on the concrete marked the spaces where the trunks had sat.

Disappointment crushed Sharp.

“The guns are gone,” Sharp said to Stella as he returned to the stairwell from the back of the basement.

On the way up the stairs, Sharp checked the time on his phone. Five o’clock. He opened a text from Lance and read the message. “Holy shit.”

“What’s wrong?” Stella asked.

“Someone left a bomb at the office.”

Stella stared at him.