A few heartbeats of silence confirmed that Dylan had not.
But she obviously had ideas. As horrible as Dylan was, he hadn’t killed Todd.
Yet.
But this woman, she knew the score. “You can’t be impulsive. You need to plan.”
“So what now?” Dylan asked, his tone suggesting he now realized he’d been stupid.
“We dump him.”
“Then what?”
“Then we go back to our original plan. My original plan,” she clarified. “And it doesn’t involve any extracurricular activities like kidnapping or harassment. We lay low. We don’t do anything to attract any more attention to ourselves. We let the sheriff take the heat for the murders, and we quietly move on.”
We dump him.
Todd heard water lapping. His blood chilled as he realized where he was and identified the thumping noise and the reason the cart was bouncing. It was rolling down a dock, the wheels hitting uneven boards.
They were taking him to a boat.
They were going to dump him overboard.
The cart stopped moving. Fabric flapped. Something metal rattled.
The boat?
Fear pooled cold in Todd’s belly. He stiffened, then forced his body to relax. If Dylan knew he was awake, he’d probably knock him out again—or worse. Tied, Todd was helpless, but the thought of being unconscious as well—with them free to do whatever they wanted without him even being aware—brought sickness roiling back.
Todd fought it. He concentrated on controlling his respirations and heart rate. Even and slow. His muscles needed to be limp.
Rough hands hooked under his shoulders, and Dylan tried to drag Todd out of the cart. Todd fought the urge to kick or respond in any way. His face scraped on the metal mesh bottom. Though not as strong, Dylan was about the same size as Todd, but deadweight was a bitch to maneuver.
Dylan breathed hard. “Get his feet.”
The woman grabbed Todd’s ankles, and they heaved him through the air. He landed on a flat surface. It felt like fiberglass under his face. Pain sang through every inch of Todd’s body as he slid into something hard. He’d have bruises on top of bruises.
If he was lucky.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Matt opened the rear door of the sheriff’s SUV and prepared to lift Brody down to the ground in front of Stephanie Crighton’s house. The dog had other ideas and leaped out of the vehicle. Brody’s nose was in the air, and the fur on his back stood on end. He sensed something. The hairs on the back of Matt’s neck lifted in response.
Bree and her deputies assembled on the side of the road and turned toward the house.
Built of cedar and glass, the lakefront home looked like it belonged to a successful attorney. Landscaping lights shone on trees and brightened ornamental shrubs. Matt pointed to a bush with pink flowers. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Butterfly bush,” Bree said.
Inside, the house was dark.
“We don’t have a search warrant.”
“No, we don’t, but I’m not waiting another second.” Bree drew her sidearm. “Extremely exigent circumstances.”
Life-or-death matters could negate the need for a warrant, and no one could argue that an abduction wasn’t an emergency; however, it wasn’t a risk-free decision. The sheriff’s department could be sued. Evidence discovered could be challenged by a defense attorney. A warrantless search could affect the outcome of a criminal trial.
In this case, they wanted to find Todd. They’d worry about the details later.
Juarez and Collins hefted AR-15s. They all adjusted their earpieces.
Matt touched his microphone. “Do we have a plan?”
Bree’s voice sounded in his ear. “Follow the dog?”
“Sounds good.” Matt squatted and presented Todd’s T-shirt to Brody. The dog ignored it. An intuitive canine, he knew what to do. He was leaning into his harness before Matt could give him a command.
If Todd was nearby, then Brody would find him.
Matt walked behind the dog. Brody didn’t give the house any attention. Putting his nose to the ground, he followed a path around the side of the building. Periodically, he lifted his head and sniffed the air. A two-car, detached garage sat in the shade of a huge oak tree. There were no windows on the overhead doors. Brody sat at the base of one and pawed the concrete.
Bree knew the dog’s cues by now. Matt didn’t have to say a word. She led the way around the garage to a side door. Collins stepped forward and approached the entrance. Covering her eyes, she peered through a glass pane in the upper half of the door. “Don’t see anyone.”