The Silence (Columbia River #2)(76)

“On the floor in the kitchen. I’m putting pressure on her thigh. She looks really bad—there’s blood everywhere.” Veronica gasped. “Are you pregnant?” she asked in a surprised voice.

Mason couldn’t hear Jayne’s answer. He took the Mosier exit, thankful there wasn’t a light or stop sign to deal with. How badly is Jayne injured?

“He’s coming back!”

The call ended, but Mason was less than a half mile from Veronica’s house. Long seconds later he slowly drove by the home. A burgundy minivan was parked under the attached carport on the east side of the home, and once he’d passed the home, he spotted the tail end of the Mustang behind the house. It’d been driven over the grass and around to the back.

Reuben is still here.

Mason turned around and parked at the curb across the street. He sent Ava a text with an update and Veronica’s address. He took a picture of the home and sent that too.

The return text was three letters.





OMW


On my way.

If Ava was already on the highway, she might arrive sooner than the Wasco County deputies.

How long can Jayne wait?

“Dammit!” He stepped out of his vehicle, dashed across the street, and ducked behind a large rhododendron outside the white picket fence. Jayne was in the kitchen, so Reuben must be too. He tried to remember the layout of the home. The kitchen was in the back with large windows overlooking the yard.

Wait for backup.

He checked his weapon. “What if she’s bleeding out?” he muttered. No sirens could be heard; backup might be crucial minutes away. He was on his own for now.

Staying low, he followed the white fence until he was closer to the home. He awkwardly stepped over the fence and was jabbed in the thigh by its pointed pickets. Darting to the west wall of the home, he kept his head down, avoiding the few windows. He guessed they were bedrooms since the kitchen and main living area were on the other end of the house, but he wasn’t taking any chances. His goal was the back side of the house, where he hoped to find a protected view of the kitchen.

Immediately ahead were three narrow concrete steps that led up to a single door with a half window.

He couldn’t guess what was on the other side of the older house’s door. A utility room? A family room? He stopped, his back to the siding as he contemplated the best way to avoid being seen from the door’s window. While he thought, the door opened a few inches and he froze, holding his breath.

“Don’t go out!” a child said from inside.

The door slammed shut and little-girl voices argued.

The girls. Veronica hid them in a playroom.

Mason holstered his weapon and removed his badge. Will they trust me?

He had to try. He crept toward the door and tapped softly on it, holding his badge up to the window first, keeping his face out of sight. The arguing voices went silent.

“I’m a policeman,” he said quietly, his mouth close to the door. “I know there’s a bad man in your house, and I’ve come to get you out. I talked to your mom on the phone.”

The lock on the door clicked into place.

Smart girls, but that’s not helping at the moment.

“Two days ago I was talking to your dad in the front yard when you came home. I had a white cowboy hat in my hand.” He crossed his fingers, hoping the hat was enough to trigger a memory. “I’m going to show you my face now, okay?”

Keeping his badge still at the window, he raised his head and looked through the glass. The playroom was small, and the girls were huddled together behind a play kitchen, watching the window. The oldest scowled at him. He guessed she was about eight, the other around six.

Faint yelling sounded from inside the home.

The younger slapped her hands over her ears.

“You can trust me.” Exactly what every predator says to a child. “Do you remember me?”

The oldest nodded, her eyes still wary.

“Good. Let’s get you to a safe place. Is there a friend’s house close by you can go to?”

The older said something to her little sister, who shook her head. The first girl pointed at Mason and said something else to the younger girl, who shot him a cautious glance.

It appeared he’d convinced one.

Come on.

The bigger girl stood, pulled the younger out from behind the kitchen, and moved toward the door.

Thank God.

The lock clicked, and Mason backed away, giving them space. The oldest stepped out, suspicion in her gaze. “How do I know you’re a policeman? Badges can be fake.”

“You’re right.”

“You’re not wearing a uniform.”

“I’m a detective. We don’t wear uniforms.” He was running out of ideas to persuade her. “I talked on the phone with your mom a few minutes ago. She said she’d told you to lock the door in the playroom.”

The younger girl pushed her way past the older and faced him. “What’s happening? Is he going to hurt Mommy?” Her eyes were terrified.

Mason held his hand out to her. “I hope not. I’m going to stop him, but first I need you two in a safe place. Let’s go.” He held his breath.

The youngest took his hand and came down the steps. The older hesitated.

“I need you to show me the house of a neighbor you know,” he said to the older girl.