Chapter 119

Chapter 119
Chapter Title: She's Not Inside

Reynolds

I turned toward the officers surrounding Dorsey.

“Take him in.”

Two officers moved toward him, hauling him to his feet and securing his hands behind his back.

“Detective,” one of them called. “What about the van?”

I barely heard him. I was already getting into my car.

“Have CSU sweep it before taking it to the garage,” I yelled as I slammed the door and started the engine.

The tires squealed as I pulled away.

I had left her less than fifteen minutes ago.

Fifteen minutes.

I grabbed the radio. “Somerset Central, Reynolds. I need backup at Delmarva Drive. Possible abduction of a federal agent. Repeat, possible abduction of Special Agent Katherine Hastings.”

The response came immediately. “Copy, Detective. Units are en route.”

I grabbed my phone and called Howard.

He answered on the second ring. “Reynolds?”

“Hastings may be in trouble.”

“What happened?”

“I was led away from Kimberly’s house. White van. The driver was paid to make sure I followed him.”

There was a brief silence.

“Are you saying someone deliberately pulled you away from the house?”

“Yes.”

“Where are you now?”

“Heading back to Kimberly’s.”

“Don’t go inside alone.”

“I’m not waiting.”

“Reynolds—”

“I’ll call you when I know something.”

I ended the call.

The road blurred beneath my headlights as I raced back.

I kept replaying the last few minutes in my head.

The drive to Brianna’s. Then Kimberly’s.

Hastings getting out. The porch light. The front door opening. The lights coming on inside. The curtains moving.

Nothing had looked wrong.

I tried to remember every detail of the neighborhood.

A car parked along the curb. Lights on inside a neighbor’s house. Someone walking a dog. A smoker standing outside.

Anything.

But there had been nothing.

How could they have known? How could they have known I’d drop her home after midnight?

Was I that predictable?

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel as I remembered forcing her to get some sleep.
Hastings hadn’t even wanted to go home. She’d wanted to come with me.

I should have let her. Or I should have asked if I could sleep on her couch.

Anything would have been better than leaving her alone.

I pushed the thought away. There was no point blaming myself yet.

First, I had to find her.

She was a tough agent. A great marksman.
But no amount of training changed the fact that she was exhausted. Sleep-deprived and vulnerable.

I turned onto Delmarva Drive. Kimberly’s small house came into view.

Everything looked normal.

I slowed as I approached. A light was still on inside.

The house wasn’t damaged. No broken windows. No shattered door. No obvious signs of forced entry.

I pulled over and stared at the house.

Then I remembered they had Kimberly.

They could have had her keys. They could have known exactly how to get inside without leaving any obvious signs of forced entry.

I parked at the curb and drew my weapon.

Far behind me, sirens wailed in the distance. Backup was coming, but I couldn't wait.

I ran up the steps.

The front door was closed. I reached for the knob.
It turned.

Unlocked.

My stomach tightened. Hastings would never have left the door unlocked.

I pushed the door open and slipped inside.
The hallway light was on.

I raised my gun, “CPD!”

Nothing but silence.

I cleared the living room and kitchen. Both were empty.

No overturned furniture. No blood. No obvious signs of a struggle.

I moved toward the bathroom. The door was cracked open. I pushed it wider. Warm, damp air greeted me.

The mirror was fogged. The shower was still wet.

Hastings had taken a shower.

She had been here. I silently prayed she still was.

“Hastings?”

No answer.

I moved toward the first bedroom. “Hastings, it's me. Detective Reynolds.”

I crouched beside the door and reached for the knob. It opened.

I pushed it inward a few inches and looked through the gap.

Empty.

The bed was untouched. But the window was open.

My eyes narrowed.

I stepped inside, checking behind the door and inside the closet.

A gentle breeze stirred the curtains. I moved toward the window and looked outside.

Nothing.

No movement. No one in the yard.

I backed out and moved toward the second bedroom. The door stood wide open.

Boxes were stacked along the walls. Kimberly's cookbooks and other belongings were packed inside them.

Nothing appeared disturbed.

I returned to the first bedroom.

This time, I pushed the door all the way open, allowing the light from the hallway to illuminate the room.

And then I saw it. Hastings' Glock.

It lay on the floor beside the bed. I crouched down without touching it. Several inches away was a syringe.

I stared at it, and my insides twisted.

They hadn't fought their way inside. They had waited until she was vulnerable.

Then they drugged her.

I rubbed my forehead. “They took her.”

Maybe they hadn't gotten far. I turned and ran back outside.

I was halfway down the steps when a woman in running clothes came jogging toward the house.

I stepped into her path and held up my badge.

“Detective Reynolds, CPD. Sorry to bother you, ma'am. Did you see anyone walking or driving around here?”

She slowed. “A car,” she said.

“What kind?”

“A Civic. It came barreling from the corner a few minutes ago.”

“Did you get the plate?”

She shook her head. “No. It happened too fast.”

“What direction?”

She pointed down the road. “Toward the marina.”

“Thank you.”

She nodded and continued her jog.

I pulled out my radio. “Somerset, Reynolds. I need an ID on a Civic believed to be leaving Delmarva Drive, possibly headed toward the marina.”

“Copy, Detective.”

My heart pounded against my ribs as I waited.

Then the dispatcher came back. “Reynolds, no vehicle matching that description is currently showing on the marina route.”

“Keep looking.”

“Stand by.”

A pause.

“I've got one. Silver Civic headed toward the highway. It's traveling toward Pocomoke.”

“Call Pocomoke PD. Have them intercept and stop the vehicle.”

“Copy.”

Sirens grew louder.

The first patrol car turned onto Delmarva Drive. Then another. Black SUVs followed.

FBI.

Howard jumped out of the first SUV before it had completely stopped.

“Where is she?”

“She’s not inside.”

He looked at me. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You don't look fine.”

“I said I'm fine,” I snapped, more forcefully than I intended. “But I'll feel better when we find her.”

He didn't argue.

Behind him, CSU technicians unloaded equipment. Others carried black bags with their kits into the house.

The house quickly filled with people. People who weren't supposed to be there.

I stood outside, watching them go to work.

It was going to be a long night.

The syringe was bagged. Hastings' weapon was photographed and collected.

The CSU technicians dusted surfaces, photographed the bedrooms, and began searching for anything that could tell us who had taken her.

I returned to the first bedroom.

Kimberly's things filled the space.

Designer handbags. Shoes. Clothes arranged by color. Makeup and perfume covered her vanity.

I opened the top drawer of the dresser. Inside was a jewelry box and a bracelet sealed in an evidence bag.

I picked up the plastic bag and stared at the bracelet. Soot and dirt stained it.

I recognized Hastings' handwriting on the evidence bag. It had been recovered from the warehouse that burned most recently.

I pulled open another drawer. Underwear and socks.

I was about to open another when Howard called my attention.

He lifted his tablet, bringing up what appeared to be a camera feed from a security camera directly across from the house.

Except the feed went dark after several minutes.

“Looks like they put putty over the camera,” Howard explained. “Simple, but effective. I guess Hastings missed it.”

“After everything that's happened in the past twenty-four hours, checking CCTV footage was probably the last thing on her mind,” I pointed out.

“I heard you brought Gray in,” Howard said. “What did he have to say?”

“He believes Kimberly and Hank are possible suspects,” I replied. “They both have motive.”

Howard shook his head. “Well, I don't think Kimberly would abduct her own sister. Calling her would be more effective.”

I nodded. “You're right. All Kimberly would have had to do was ask Hastings to meet her. Why go to all this trouble?”

“This case doesn't add up,” Howard said. “It's like everything is a distraction rather than straight-up revenge. The busier we get chasing one aspect of this case, the more likely we are to get blindsided by something else.”

“It seems that way because Hastings and I have been tailing her sister's cold case. Everything leads back here.” I paused. “But I still don't buy the ‘Divine didn't approve of her’ explanation. There has to be more to this.”

“Detective,” a CSU tech called from the living room. “We have an unmarked parcel here.”

I walked out, Howard following behind me.

The tech pointed to a rectangular box, the kind usually used to ship a book, sitting on the coffee table.

That hadn't been there when Hastings took her shower and I fell asleep on the couch.

I pulled on a pair of gloves. The box was too light to be a bomb.

“Open it,” I said to the tech.

She did. Inside was a yearbook. I picked it up.

The cover was worn, the edges softened with age. I turned it over in my hands.

Then I noticed something underneath it. Newspaper clippings. I pulled them from the box.

The dates were almost eight years old.

My eyes moved across the headlines.

SENATOR WILLIAMSON LAUNCHES CAMPAIGN AGAINST TEEN PREGNANCY.

Another article. WILLIAMSON CALLS FOR STRONGER PARENTAL RESPONSIBILITY.

And another. SENATOR VOWS TO PROTECT YOUNG WOMEN FROM “THE CONSEQUENCES OF IRRESPONSIBLE CHOICES.”

I scanned the articles and thought of Hank, Kelly Lawrence, and their baby.

If Hank had gotten Kelly pregnant, it would have destroyed everything his father had built politically.

The senator's entire public image.

His campaign. His speeches. His carefully crafted reputation.

Divine hadn't gotten rid of Kelly because she disapproved of her.

She'd gotten rid of her because one word from Kelly could derail everything Divine had worked for.

Once the baby was born, it would be proof that their own son hadn't followed the values the senator held in such high regard.

I then looked down at the yearbook in my hands. Twenty years old, maybe even more.

I opened it and flipped through the pages filled with smiling teenagers.

Sports teams. Clubs. Prom photos. Annual dance and graduation committees.

Then I stopped. A familiar face stared back at me.

Archer Ryder.

I frowned.

The name beneath the photograph read: ROBERT ARCHER RYDER JR.

My God. R. Ryder.

The initials on Allison's bracelet. The emergency contact on Marissa Vega's form.

Robert Archer Ryder Jr.

I slowly lowered the yearbook.

All this time, we'd been looking for a ghost named R. Ryder.

And he'd been standing right in front of us.

Archer.

My phone vibrated. I looked at the screen.

Nick.

I answered. “Yeah?”

“We just got confirmation from Pocomoke.”

My eyes remained on the yearbook.

“What happened?”

“The silver Civic was found abandoned on the highway.”

“Was anyone inside?”

“No.”

I closed the yearbook. “Of course not.”

Howard was silent for a moment. “Reynolds?”

I looked toward the bedroom where Hastings had been taken.

“They didn't leave us a trail.”

I glanced back at the photograph of Robert Archer Ryder Jr.

“They left us a name.”