Whispers in the Dark (KGI #4)(50)

She rose and shoved the small volume in the front waistband of her jeans so that it was crammed against her belly. Then she adjusted her grip on the pistol and nodded at Nathan. “Let’s go. I’ll look at it later.”

They continued down the long corridor until they reached the door leading into the panic room.

Nathan examined the key pad and then turned back to Shea. “Do you have the code?”

She stepped forward and punched in a series of numbers. “It’s 3272*4824. Just in case you need it and I’m not here to do it.”

He frowned at that statement, but it would be pretty damn stupid not to plan for the worst.

The lock snicked and Shea started to push the door open, but Nathan stuck his arm out and shoved her behind him. He entered the room, rifle up, his gaze rapidly scanning the interior.

He motioned for her in a quick, impatient gesture. Feeling like a complete fraud and not at all sure of this stealth mumbo jumbo, she raised her gun and followed Nathan in. She just hoped to hell no one jumped out at them, because she couldn’t be entirely sure what would happen.

She was a good shot. At the range. Which was entirely different from shooting at an actual person when under enormous stress. A paper target posed no threat. You could take all bloody day to aim. You could breathe normally. No stress. Just point and shoot.

Not so much here.

Everything was still online and working. There were video monitors mounted along one wall with a view of each room in the house as well as the front, back and side views of the exterior. What Shea saw made her gasp.

She walked forward, her gaze riveted to the sheer destruction evident on the monitors.

“My God,” she whispered.

Nathan studied the monitors with her, his gaze moving over each one as if searching for any threat.

The living room—all of the rooms—were a mess. Nothing had been left untouched or undamaged. The furniture was destroyed. Picture frames lay broken on the floor. Vases, artwork, dead plants, her mother’s beloved wildlife figurines and the glass curio cabinet where they’d been housed were all in pieces, scattered through the room.

The entire house had been ransacked. Not just ransacked, but completely and utterly destroyed as if the person responsible had been in a rage. Or they hadn’t found what they were looking for.

Was this what had happened after her parents had been murdered and Shea and Grace had fled? Or had this been done more recently? Had her parents been left to rot in the house or were their bodies disposed of to conceal the evidence of the crime committed?

“Jesus,” Nathan muttered. “Looks like a damn war zone.”

Shea froze when her gaze skittered across the monitor that had a view of the dining room. The carpet that had borne the bloodstains of her parents was gone. Someone had removed it. Why? But she still saw the pool of blood in her mind. Tears filled her eyes and she looked hastily away.

In her mind, an endless loop played and she saw her father valiantly trying to protect her mother. Heard the intruders demand to know where the girls were. She saw him gunned down when he refused to give them any information on his daughters’ whereabouts and then her mother throwing her body over her husband as she sobbed and pleaded for their lives.

She shut her eyes and viciously shoved the images from her head. She’d looked away then too, no longer able to bear to see what happened. Grace had called her a heartless bitch when Shea had dragged her toward the door and shoved her into the tunnel.

But she’d known there was nothing she and Grace could do and she’d made a vow that her parents wouldn’t sacrifice themselves for nothing. She’d keep Grace—and herself—safe. Her mom and dad wouldn’t die in vain.

Who had done this? They’d gone to great lengths to conceal the deaths, disposing of the bodies, removing the blood-soaked carpet. Yet they’d trashed the house and left it in shambles? It didn’t make sense, which was why she suspected that the house had been ransacked much more recently. Like when Grace had been here and had been frightened away by intruders.

When Nathan spoke, she jumped. She’d been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t heard him move toward the door leading out of the panic room into the rest of the house.

“Same code?”

She nodded. Her heart jumped into overdrive and her hands shook so much that she wrapped both around the stock of the gun in an effort not to drop it.

The stock was slick and she took one hand away from it to wipe it down the leg of her jeans. Then she switched hands so she could rub the other one.

There had been no sign that anyone was in the house. No sign of Grace. Had the house been that way when Grace had arrived? Or had this been done by whoever had startled Grace?

Fear gripped her by the throat and threatened to choke her.

Where was Grace now? And was she okay? Why the hell wouldn’t she communicate with Shea? Or was she unable to?

That was what scared Shea the most. The thought of Grace hurt and unable to call for Shea was paralyzing.

“Let’s move. I don’t want to spend any more time here than necessary,” Nathan said when the lock released on the door.

She collected herself and moved into the hallway behind Nathan. Her gaze scanned each room, but what was she looking for? Everything was a complete and total mess. How would she even know if there was something missing?

Then she remembered the journal tucked into her jeans. She looked down and fingered the edge. She was convinced now that Grace must have dropped it. What Shea didn’t know was if it had been an accident or if Grace had intended for Shea to find it.