“Is Luke back from his ride?” Bree asked.
“I don’t know. I’ll check the barn. Hold on.” After a brief pause, Dana said, “He’s not back. I’m going out to look for him. I’ll keep you posted.”
“Same.” Bree ended the call. Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel until the knuckles went white. The tires squealed as the vehicle took a turn fast.
Matt grabbed the armrest as the SUV leaned through a curve in the road. Bree cut several minutes off the short drive by pushing the SUV to its limits. As they neared the farm, they could see black smoke rising into the air. Bree slowed, then turned into the driveway. A patrol vehicle was already parked on the grass. Bree pulled up next to it.
Fifty feet in front of the vehicles, a bonfire burned on the front lawn. Matt stared through the windshield. “Why would someone set a bonfire?”
“If it were winter, I’d say to keep warm, but it’s seventy-five degrees today.”
“Some people just like to destroy things. Others just like fire.” Matt scanned the property. The barn was huge and falling down. Beyond it, empty fields rolled into the distance. There was a huge garage as well, and a silo. “What kind of farm was this?”
“They grew corn and wheat, kept chickens, raised the occasional steer or pig for meat. I only met them a handful of times before they went bankrupt.”
Matt noted the knee-high weeds around the foundation and heavy graffiti on the barn and house. “How long has the place been empty?”
“A few months,” Bree said.
Matt focused on the house and froze. It was a two-story white building, a stereotypical farmhouse, complete with a wrap-around porch. A tree had fallen onto the porch roof. The words FUCK SHERIFF TAGGERT had been painted across the front of the house. “I guess that’s the personal message.”
Bree sighed. “Looks like it.”
Matt squinted at the windows of the house. Then he turned toward the barn, looking for potential snipers. “Feels like a trap.”
“Yep.” Bree grabbed the radio mic and reported her arrival on scene to dispatch before stepping out of the vehicle.
Matt got out and closed the passenger door. Warm wind sent dead leaves tumbling across the cracked grass.
Juarez walked over. He was one of the newer deputies in her small department. He’d finished his field training and was out on solo patrol, but he had only about a month of real experience. He still sported an academy buzz that made him look like one of the cast of 21 Jump Street.
“What’s the situation?” Bree asked.
“Fire department is on the way.” Juarez pointed to the message for Bree. “I thought you’d want to see it.” The red-and-white lights from the roof of his patrol car swirled on his face, highlighting the tension in his features.
Bree scrutinized the area. Matt did the same. The bonfire appeared to have been built from broken boards taken from the partially collapsed front porch. Sections had been ripped out of the steps. Vines covered the foundation. Reachable windows had been boarded up, but several sheets of plywood had been pried off and tossed aside.
There were a dozen locations someone could watch them from without them knowing. A creepy sensation crawled up his spine.
“Have you checked the property?” Bree asked.
“No, ma’am.” Juarez flushed. “I wanted to wait for backup.”
“Smart.” Bree nodded her approval. “This situation has the potential to be an ambush.”
Juarez’s tanned throat shifted as he swallowed. Another sheriff’s vehicle drove up, and a deputy stepped out.
Matt shrugged into his vest and retrieved Bree’s rifle from the back of the vehicle. He couldn’t shoot a handgun to his satisfaction with his off hand, but his aim with a long gun was still excellent. “House, barn, or garage first?”
“We’ll take them left to right: barn, house, garage.” She started toward the barn. Juarez followed at her heels. Matt brought up the rear. They jogged across the grass toward the barn. The double doors were open, and they could see into the big, empty space. Except for two small pens, the space appeared to have been used to store large equipment.
Juarez went up a ladder and checked the loft. “Clear.”
“House is next.” Bree turned. She sent her deputies to the back door. She and Matt approached the front. They skirted the missing boards and climbed the steps.
Matt noted multiple potential points of entry for trespassers. The front door hung open. The plywood covering a low window had been pried off, the panes smashed. He peered through the broken glass. Enough sunlight streamed through the window and door that they wouldn’t need flashlights. There was no furniture inside. Overturned milk crates formed a semicircle facing the wood fireplace. The floor was covered with cigarette butts and trash. Someone had used the house as a shelter or party spot. The homeless were always looking for somewhere to sleep. Kids were always looking for a place to drink, smoke weed, and have sex. Abandoned buildings were great places for drug dealers to conduct business and for addicts to crash.