The Missing

Darby opened the van’s back doors and ran to the driver’s side door, legs rubbery as she got behind the wheel, relieved to find the keys dangling in the ignition. She started the van and hit the gas hard, bouncing in her seat as she drove across the front lawn – BOOM over the earpiece. Banville fired back in a tight pattern, two shots each.

Darby stopped the van between Washington and the front door of the house and, using the van as a shield, got out and ran for the downed officer.

The fabric of his jacket was torn open from the shotgun blast. No blood. Darby unzipped his jacket. Through the torn fabric she saw body armor with a trauma plate.

Washington’s eyes, wild and glassy, looked up at her, his throat working, making wet, gurgling sounds.

Darby gripped him under the armpits. ‘Hold on, you’re going to be fine,’ she said, repeating the words over and over as she dragged him across the lawn, the fierce wind blowing leaves everywhere.

Over the earpiece, new sounds between the gunfire: shouting and glass shattering.

Darby managed to hoist the upper half of the man’s torso into the back of the van. Jumping back outside, she lifted the man’s legs and pushed him back across the carpet.

Kneeling beside him, Darby removed the SIG Sauer pistol from his shoulder holster. She ripped open his shirt, buttons popping off, and undid the Velcro straps from the vest to relieve the pressure.

Glass breaking – not coming from the earpiece but from outside.

SIG gripped in her hand, she slammed the van doors shut.

Boyle was standing on the garage roof with a shotgun.

Darby dove to the ground – BOOM, the blast hit the back doors. Rolling to her side, she scrambled to her feet and ran to the driver’s side door – BOOM, the blast ricocheting off the van’s bulletproof plating.

Ears ringing, she brought the gun up over the front hood and aimed at the roof –

Boyle jumped onto the driveway.

He’s going for the car, she thought and fired two shots.

Too wide. Both shots hit the side of the garage. Boyle stumbled and fired again – inside the garage. Banville must be in there.

Boyle turned and headed into the woods.

Darby followed, catching a glimpse of Banville inside the garage. She ran into the woods, chasing the sound of branches snapping ahead of her, ru

A shotgun blast hit a tree close by. Her legs froze and she tripped and fell, tumbling hard against the ground full of rocks and downed branches. Darby got back up and heard Boyle ru

More footsteps crashing through the woods behind her – Banville. No sounds in front of her.

Where was Boyle?

Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness and she could see the ground in front of her, how it dipped and fell and leveled off. Darby headed up a hill, pushing her way through a thick brush of trees, the handgun big and awkward inside her clenched fist.

The ground leveled off. Left or right, make a decision, hurry.

She turned left and came face-to-face with Daniel Boyle.

Darby brought the handgun up. Boyle swung the butt of the shotgun hard against the side of her head. Bright sparks of pain danced in front of her eyes as she fell backward and hit the ground. Boyle stepped on her hand, crushing her fingers against the pistol, and pressed the hot muzzle of the shotgun against her throat.

BOOM and Boyle staggered backward against a tree. Banville came around and shot Boyle in the chest and still the shotgun came up and Banville shot him again and again, Boyle’s face collapsing, deflating like a balloon as he slid down the tree in a wet, red trail.

Chapter 63

Darby’s legs were shaky. She couldn’t stand. Banville put his arm around her waist and escorted her away from the body. She kept turning around to make sure Boyle wasn’t chasing her.

‘He’s dead, he can’t hurt you,’ Banville said to her, more than once. ‘It’s over.’

By the time they exited the woods, the road wasn’t dark anymore. Police cruisers were parked everywhere, their revolving blue and whites bouncing off the trees and windows of Boyle’s home.

A red-faced cop stood in the driveway. Sheriff Dickey Holloway didn’t mince words. He was good and pissed about having a shootout in his backyard.

Darby left them and headed into the house. Chunks of plaster had been blown out of the walls. The smell of cordite was strong. She stumbled through the rooms until she found the basement door.

The steps led to a nightmarish maze of corridors with very little light. Darby called out Carol’s name as she wandered into dim and dusty rooms packed with old furniture and boxes. At the far end of the basement was a small wine cellar thick with cobwebs and reeking of mold.

Carol Cranmore wasn’t here. Nobody was.

Banville was standing in the foyer when she came up the stairs.

‘There’s no prison cell downstairs,’ Darby said. ‘Boyle must have kept Carol and the other women somewhere else.’

Holloway was in the bedroom, examining the suitcase on the floor. One of the windows had been blown apart.

‘He barricaded himself in here and then escaped through the window,’ Banville said. ‘He shot at you from the roof.’

The suitcase held a good amount of clothes and a laptop computer. The envelopes held lots of cash and several false IDs.

‘Looks like he was getting ready to do some traveling,’ Holloway said. ‘You got here just in time.’

‘I’d like to take a look at the laptop,’ Darby said. There might be something on there that can help us find Carol.’

‘Right now, you need to get that cut treated. All due respect, ma’am, you’re bleeding all over my crime scene.’

The EMT used a butterfly stitch on the split skin above her cheekbone and then gave her an ice pack to help keep the swelling down. She could barely see out of her left eye, but she refused to go to the hospital.

Darby sat alone on the back bumper of the surveillance van with the ice pack pressed against the growing lump on the side of her face and watched Holloway’s men moving through the woods.

Seeing the flashlight beams crisscrossing through the woods brought back the piercing memory of watching the police search for Melanie. She had convinced herself Mel going to be okay. Mel never came home.

Please God, please let Carol be alive. I don’t think I can live through this again.

Banville came out the front door. He sat down next to Darby.

‘One of Holloway’s men is somewhat of a computer expert. He turned on the laptop. Everything on there’s password protected, he said. We’re going to need someone who knows how to bypass the security or the files will be erased.’

‘I can call the Boston Computer Lab – they’re in a different building, so they weren’t affected by the bomb,’ Darby said. ‘They aren’t on call. It will have to wait until morning. I’d rather not wait that long.’

‘You have another idea?’

‘You could call Ma

Darby shared the details of her phone conversation with Evan. Banville didn’t speak after she finished. He stared at the tops of his shoes, jingling the change in his pockets.

Holloway emerged from the woods.

‘We found a shed less than a quarter mile off the property. It’s locked up pretty tight. I’ll show you the way. It’s bumpy walking back there, so watch your step.’

The shed sat alone in a clearing, painted the same white color of the house. The large bay door was locked down with twin industrial-gauge padlocks to prevent anyone from gaining access – or from escaping. There weren’t any windows or a door.

They had to wait over half an hour for someone from the station to deliver a pair of bolt cutters.