Free My Tye by Kristin Daniels Page A

muttering a thanks and repocketing his phone. He un-holstered his gun and held it in front of him so Laine wouldn’t see, placing his finger alongside the trigger and double-checking the chamber.
    He really had an off feeling about this.
    Once he got closer, he noticed that whoever forced their way in had also left the door slightly ajar. Made his job easier, helping to leave the point of entry mostly untouched. With the tip of his gun, he pushed on the door until it drifted open. Watching where he stepped, he entered, cautious yet prepared for damn near anything.
    Other than more shards of glass on the floor, the kitchen appeared to be intact. Everything was neat and tidy, just as he assumed her house would be. A stack of mail graced her kitchen table and a single coffee mug with a spoon resting in it sat in her sink. He crept on, past the refrigerator decorated with eclectic magnets holding up pictures of babies and old Christmas photo-cards until he reached the archway leading to the rest of the house.
    The living room told much of the same story, neat and orderly with nothing disheveled or out of place. As he got closer to the hallway, though, that’s when his cop’s gut revved into overdrive.
    There wasn’t a sound in the house, nothing but the hum from the air-conditioning unit and the steady tick-tick-tick of the grandfather clock in the corner. Not that he could hear a damn thing over the pounding of his own heart. Adrenaline shot through his veins, surging with every step he took.
    When he came across the first gouge in the wall next to the linen closet, he bit out a nasty curse and raised his gun higher. Seeing the next, a round gash with a deep cut trailing three feet behind it, made the muscles in his already tense shoulders cramp that much harder. By the time he got to her bedroom door, he’d started to sweat and held his jaw so tight he thought for sure he’d grind his teeth away.
    He couldn’t believe what he saw.
    Instinct rushed through his body. He dug his phone out of his pocket and called Julie again. He didn’t wait for her to get through her typical greeting before cutting her off. “It’s Tye again. Call Steve on his cell and see if you can get him back out here. Yes, yes. SBI Steve. Tell him to grab his gear and bring it to the address I just gave you. Tell him we’ve got a problem.”
    He didn’t say what the problem was or link Laine to it in any way. And he was thankful his status afforded him the temporary luxury of not having to explain himself. Because if he had to describe the scene in front of him, if he had to verbally associate the twisted carnage he saw with Laine…
    Rage replaced the adrenaline rushing through his body. As he stepped closer to the bed for a better look, his stomach roiled and tightened. Red paint—at least it smelled like paint. For fuck’s sake, it better be paint—had been splashed all over Laine’s yellow comforter. Dead-center in the middle of the bed lay a child’s doll—one of the newer kinds he’d seen his nieces play with, a twelve to fourteen inch dark-haired, makeup-laden fashionista all dressed up in revealing, sparkly clothes. The thing even had on black plastic high-heeled shoes.
    He clenched his hand tighter around the butt of his gun when he got a glimpse of the paint-splattered screwdriver shoved through the belly of the toy. And to add to the depraved twistedness of the setup, the doll’s wrists and ankles were cinched together with thin pieces of rope, while another circled the neck. He followed that piece to where it ended in a double knot around a rung of the headboard.
    There was no mistaking the meaning of this sick display, or the intentions of the creep who set it up.
    He knew now that Laine held back way more to her story than the meager “I’m in trouble” statement she’d given him early this morning. Hell, trouble was putting it mildly. Trouble didn’t come close to the danger she now faced.
    The distant wail of sirens