Read Chapter One Excerpt
Enjoy the first chapter of Blair Howard's newest release from the Lt. Kate Gazzara Novels-Annie: Book 20
Chapter One
July 13, 1986
White knuckling the steering wheel, he made a hard left, bouncing the front of his brand-new Chevy Cavalier across the uneven entrance, muttering curses under his breath, cringing at the potential long-term damage he was causing to the suspension.
Shit, I don’t get paid enough to cover damn repairs.
He crinkled his nose in disgust, his eyes cast downward at the glint of light hitting his gold wedding band. Another waste of time. If it weren’t for his boys, he would have deemed his fifteen-year marriage a failure. She never appreciated him, nagging him at every turn. It was always about her. Always.
The car continued to bounce down the gravel drive of the old colonial estate he’d bought at a discounted price from an extended family member. The house was run-down, the white siding stained a deep yellow-brown, and the concrete porch stained and cracked and chipped. To the casual observer, it appeared to be just another dilapidated, abandoned plantation house, but to him, it was paradise.
He navigated the overgrown bushes, trees and sundry vegetation and parked behind an old-growth magnolia, hiding the car from view. Not that anyone could see much from the road since he’d let it grow until the acreage was little more than a wilderness hiding the house and its surrounds.
“Hey, Pa,” his oldest son called out from the front porch, where he was sitting in the shade playing checkers with his younger brother. “You musta had to work late?”
“Yep,” he answered. “You been here since school let out, Junior?”
Junior nodded. “Yeah, and I brought Bubba with me, just like you said to.” Pride etched the boy’s expression, but it was ignored by his pa. It was a simple task, and there were much more difficult ones yet to come, and he was going to dive right in.
“You check on her?” Pa demanded, slamming the car door and heading up the six concrete steps to the porch. “Or have you two just been out here playing games?”
Both boys’ eyes fell to their hands, and their silence was all the answer he needed. Pa’s jaw set so hard it ached as he ran up the steps. They were nearly teenagers, and yet they still were having trouble learning his business.
They’ll learn to deal with it, he thought to himself as he pushed the heavy front door inward and crossed the threshold into the decrepit, stale manor. It was disgusting the way the place stunk, and he could only imagine if his crabby wife set foot inside. The thought made his lip curl upward as he stomped across the worn, original hardwood floors.
Every impact of his boots raised a small cloud of dust. He wore the same pair of service-issued boots and faded coveralls whenever he visited the old house, not wanting any trace of the place on his work attire.
“There’s just a bunch of mice in here,” Junior called from behind him, offering whatever lame excuse for his lack of diligence he could come up with in the moment.
“You’re just scared of a little girl, is what,” Pa snarled, pausing at the foot of the stairs to glare at his oldest son. “She’s been here for nearly three days without nobody checking on her. I can’t have that. Don’t want her to die before you boys ever get to—”
“I don’t wanna do what you do,” Junior interrupted timidly. “I don’t think Mama would approve of it.”
Anger simmered in his chest. He glared at the boy, shaking his head. “She just wouldn’t understand,” he said with a growl. “A man wants what a man wants. There’s no shame in that.”
Junior’s face scrunched up in an exaggerated frown, and his thin, chapped lips parted as if he was going to say something more, but he didn’t. He stayed silent, falling back and slipping out onto the front porch. Pa watched him go, and for a moment, he considered following him out and teaching him a lesson. But he needed to check on the girl first.
She hadn’t been an intentional target, but his trip to the elementary school had dangled the dark-headed fifth grader in front of him like a carrot in front of a hungry horse. He’d spent the next two weeks stalking her, learning her schedule, her habits. She was from a good family on the north side of Chattanooga, and that had complicated things. It was easier to go for the poor, less likely to be watched girls. But this one? He was certain she was worth the risk.
His hunger to lay his eyes on the child drove him forward. He turned again and continued up the stairs.
He’d locked the girl in a small bedroom on the second floor where he knew she’d be safe. There was a window, but he’d paid it no mind, knowing she’d sustain a severe injury if she tried to jump. The room contained no furniture, nothing other than a stained mattress on the floor. Yeah, she was safe enough; of that, he was sure.
He stopped at the top of the stairs, took a deep breath, and then made his way along the hallway, listening for the muffled sobs. They always cried nonstop for the first couple of weeks, and some never stopped. Those never lasted as long, usually falling victim to his impatience. Maybe this one just wasn’t a crier.
What a relief that would be.
He chuckled to himself as he stopped in front of the old oak door, took a plastic Halloween mask from a hook on the wall, put it on, and took the key from his pocket. Involuntarily, he glanced back along the dark hallway. And it was dark. When he’d first bought the place, he’d intended to have the electricity turned on, but when the time came, he didn’t have the money. Not only that, but his wife had taken to watching his seemingly every move. Bitch! he thought as he inserted the key into the lock and turned it, turning the knob with his other hand as the lock clicked.
He pushed the door open and stepped inside, his eyes focused on the mattress in the corner… And his heart jumped to his throat.
The girl wasn’t there. He flung the door the rest of the way open and gasped as he took in the empty room. Where the hell is she?
His long, slender legs covered the distance to the window in a flash. The glass was broken. There was dried blood on the sill and on the remaining glass shards.
“You stupid, stupid girl,” he growled to himself as he peered downward at the patch of flattened knee-high native grass.
“Damn, damn, damn!” he shouted.
The girl could’ve escaped at any point over the last two days, days he hadn’t had the time to visit due to work-related restrictions.
“Damn it all to hell!” he shouted, shoving back from the window, then turned and stormed out of the room, his footsteps echoing along the hallway like thunder as he ran to the stairs.
“Get the hounds, boys! She’s gone!”
As he ran down the stairs, he could hear the ruckus on the front porch as his sons jumped up from their chairs. He ran out to the front door, where they met him at the threshold, their faces drained of color.
“Well? Are you both plumb deaf?” Pa roared, throwing his hands in the air. “I said, go get the dogs!”
Without a word, Junior and Bubba turned and ran down the concrete steps and dashed away, their thin arms flailing in rhythm with their skinny legs. They were both showing signs of being built just like their father: tall, muscular, with a shock of dark brown hair. Whether or not they had the same urges, Pa still wasn’t sure about.
Without giving the boys a second glance, he ran down the steps, made a left and circled around to the back of the house and the spot where the girl made her escape.
He could hear the dogs baying as he stared at the broken stems of the Johnson grass and the spatters of dried blood, and he smiled, nodding to himself. The dogs should have no problem tracking her, and, more than likely, a twelve-year-old girl would have no chance of outrunning his prized trio of bloodhounds. They were often loaned to the city for search-and-rescue duty or, on rare occasions, to track down escaped criminals. But no one knew why he really owned them.
“Over here, boys,” he called, listening to the dogs whining as they strained at their leashes. “C’mon. Let’s get them on the trail. The blood looks… kinda old. I don’t know how long it’s been since she jumped.”
“Why the hell would she jump?” Junior gasped, looking up at the broken window. “She probably got hurt an’…”
The look of concern on his son’s face bothered Pa, but he didn’t say anything. It would take time to drain the empathy from his son, but he would do it. Just as it had been done to him.
“Get the dogs on the scent,” Pa instructed, grabbing his youngest son’s shoulders and guiding him and the dog he was trying hard to control to a splash of dried blood. “Now, go find ’em,” he snapped. The Bloodhound whipped around and took off, almost jerking the lad off his feet.
A minute later, his oldest son, two in hand, was racing along behind his brother, the dogs straining at the leash, with Pa following, nervously raking his fingers through his hair. He’d had plenty of kids try to escape, but he’d never had one get a head start, and it worried him. Would the girl remember anything? He didn’t think so; he sure as hoped not. He always wore a mask, but now he wasn’t sure how effective that had been.
And now she was on the run. “Shit!” he muttered to himself as he followed his sons. “She could lead ’em right back here, and if she does…” He trailed off, unable or unwilling to contemplate the consequences of that scenario. That would put all eyes on him. Yes, he had connections, and he would exercise them if he had to, but… He couldn’t afford to get caught. That would ruin everything. And he couldn’t have that. He had to find her, and quickly.
Not quite an hour later, three-fourths of a mile west along the roadside that bounded the property, the trail went cold. The girl, by some miracle, had escaped.
“What do we do now, Pa?” Junior asked as they stood in the ditch at the side of the road, wondering what had happened to her.
“Nothing,” he answered, taking a pack of Marlboros from his shirt pocket and shaking one loose. “Can’t do anything except wait and hope her memory ain’t so good. She didn’t see much, so…” Shit, shit, shit!
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