Free Deadly Dance by Dee Davis Page B

the wind whistled through it. The breeze had deposited a fine layer of dust on everything—including the floor. Which meant that no one had been inside the room in a very long time. She could hear Simon now, as he, too, called “clear.” And then more voices as the men moved into the living room.
    On an exhalation of breath, she moved back into the hallway and headed for the doorway at the end. Laststop. She hit the switch on her handgun’s tac-light, aiming the resulting beam toward the door. It was closed, and the first thing she noticed was that, unlike the rest of the house, the door was new.
    She heard movement behind her and signaled the team quiet with her hand. She pressed flat against the wall, straining for any sound. But there was only a soft rustling as Harrison came up behind her, moving to the opposite wall.
    She pointed toward the doorknob, and he nodded—lifting his gun, ready to intercept whatever the hell they might find inside.
    On a silent count of three, she reached for the knob. Turning it slowly, she pushed the door open, and Harrison rushed into the room, gun leveled as she followed, her weapon ready as well. But there was no need. Whoever had been here was gone.
    Leaving behind the scene of the crime.
    It looked exactly as it had in the video, right down to the view from the window. It was all there. The bed. The torn T-shirt. There was rope still tied to the headboard, and the wall behind it was stained a muddy brown.
    Blood.
    There were stains, too, on the mattress, a deeper brown than the spatter on the wall. Hannah reached out to touch one with a fingertip.
    “It’s still wet,” she whispered, as her mind tried to process the scene. Beyond the ropes and the blood, there was no other sign of violence. No overturned furniture or broken glass. The windows in the room were intact. And the headboard and mattress, though damaged now, appeared to be new.
    “Son of a bitch.” Simon stopped just inside the doorway, his eyes on the bed. “I don’t think this is going to have a happy ending.”
    Avery moved past Simon into the room, his gaze taking in the scene. “Everything’s new,” he said. “Someone definitely planned this.”
    “So where the hell are they now?” Hannah asked, wiping the blood off her finger. “You think the killer knew we were coming?”
    “I don’t see how.” Avery frowned. “We took every precaution.”
    “Could be he just wanted to move to a new location,” Drake offered, as he joined Simon at the doorway. “These guys get off on playing out a fantasy. Maybe his included alternate locations.”
    “Look for a cellar,” Harrison said, speaking for the first time, a tiny muscle in his jaw ticking.
    “There isn’t one.” Simon shook his head. “We checked the whole back of the house.”
    “How about outside?” Harrison walked over to the window, peering out the grimy glass. “Anyone check there?”
    “On the way in,” Drake said with a frown as Harrison turned back toward the door, clearly agitated. “There was nothing. I swear.”
    “Well, maybe a trap door in the floor. Or something hidden behind furniture. I don’t know. But I’m telling you it’s here somewhere.” Harrison dropped down to look under the bed. Then pushed back to his feet to move a chair and then the bedside table.
    “Harrison—” Avery started only to be cut off as Harrison waved him off.
    “Trust me. If it’s not in this room, then it’s got to beout there somewhere.” He gestured toward the hallway, his tone brooking no argument.
    “Drake,” Avery said, “you and Simon take the back of the house. Check again, this time concentrating on looking for egress either through the floor or through the walls. Hannah, you take the two front rooms, and I’ll help Harrison here.”
    Hannah nodded, fighting the urge to reach out for Harrison. She could almost see the tension radiating from him, the situation hitting too close to home. But there was nothing she could say to