Page 51 of The Agent
The radio went silent. Caleb stood in front of Lydia White’s door and rapped his knuckles on it. There was no doorbell, justa sign on the mailbox that said No Solicitors. He knocked again, but still no answer.
“Lydia White?” he shouted. “This is Agent Caleb Ford with the Drug Enforcement Agency.”
Nothing.
The radio came to life again. “Kim’s house is clear.” A moment later, one of Hernandez’s officers checked in. “Don and Melinda Levenstein’s house is clear.”
“Lydia White,” he said again. “With your permission, I’d like to search your house. There is a possible fugitive on the premises.”
He debated picking the lock when static hissed out from the radio. “Back-door lock’s been jimmied open,” came Hernandez’s grim voice. “I’m going in.”
The adrenaline in his veins flowed harder. No time to pick a lock. Instead, he kicked Lydia White’s door open with his heavy black boot and then he was in the front hall, shrouded by darkness. Holding his weapon, he moved through the shadows, clearing the living room and a small den, before rendezvousing with Hernandez in the hallway.
“Kitchen’s clear,” the detective murmured.
The two men headed for the staircase, Hernandez falling into step behind Caleb, letting him take the lead. You could say a lot of things about Hernandez, but Caleb felt good knowing the detective had his back. The two of them moved together as if they’d been a team for years, scouting the hallway, using hand signals to direct their movements. They found the bathroom and master bedroom empty, then crept down the carpeted hall toward the single door at the end of it.
Caleb’s instincts began to hum, growing stronger when a muffled sound broke through the silence.
He signaled for Hernandez to pull back. They paused in front of the white door, exchanging a significant look. Someone was inthere. Slowly, Caleb rested his hand on the door handle, glanced at the other man again, then pushed his way into the room, weapon drawn.
A strangled cry came from the bed.
Caleb’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, a soft curse exiting his mouth as he stared at the elderly woman bound and gagged on the bed. Had to be Lydia White.
Caleb held up his hand to silence the crying woman, scanning the bedroom. There was a door, ajar, at one end of the room. Hernandez slipped toward it, then kicked it open and yelled, “San Diego Police Department!”
Nobody was in there. After examining the narrow closet, Hernandez stepped back and said, “Clear.”
Disappointment tightened Caleb’s chest. Damn it. Grier had been here, and for a while, judging by the empty food containers littering the carpet.
Caleb went to the woman’s side, pulling off her duct-tape gag as gently as he could. “Lydia White?”
“Yes,” the woman croaked. “Oh, thank heavens you’re here! He was going to kill me!”
Caleb helped her into a sitting position. He pulled the knife from the holster on his ankle and quickly sliced open the tape binding her hands and feet together. Holding it by the corners, he set the pieces of tape on the table next to the bed for forensics to print and bag. He knew without a doubt whose prints they’d find on the tape, all over the room, in fact.
That son of a bitch had been here, scheming and watching Marley. Caleb’s eyes drifted to the window, then narrowed at the hole in the wall beside it. His pupils contracted as Hernandez flicked on the light, but adjusted quickly, and he noticed flecks of blood on the plaster where the drywall had been broken. Grier’s DNA would be on it.
“Mrs. White, can you identify the man who did this to you?” Caleb asked.
She nodded, a soft sob sliding from her mouth. “Yes, yes, I’ll never be able to forget that face.”
“I know you’ve been through quite an ordeal,” he said, keeping his tone quiet. Behind him, he heard Hernandez barking into the radio, arranging for a forensics team and an ambulance. “We’re going to take you to the hospital, to get you checked out, all right?”
The elderly woman’s eyes filled with tears. “It was so terrible, officer,” she said in the raspy voice usually heard from long-time smokers. “He was here for that dear girl across the street. He was so angry!”
“Don’t worry, Ms. Kincaid is under police protection. You are, too, now,” Caleb assured her. “Mrs. White,” he continued, “the man who did this to you—did he say he would be coming back? Did he give any indication of where he might have gone?”
“No. No, nothing,” Lydia stated.
Caleb turned to Hernandez, who carefully walked through the bedroom, making sure not to touch anything. “Miguel, can you stay with Mrs. White while I go across the street to Kincaid’s?”
Hernandez nodded, taking Caleb’s place at Lydia’s bedside, offering surprising words of comfort as he reassured her the paramedics would be there soon to examine her.
But Caleb wasn’t worried about Lydia White as he left the house. The elderly woman was dehydrated and in shock, but she would be fine. Marley, on the other hand…
His chest constricted as he realized how close Grier had been this entire time. He bit the inside of his lip so hard he could taste the blood in his mouth. Christ, he was scared for her. He’d seen the digital photo one of Hernandez’s men had taken of Marley’slocker at the hospital, the thick black X marking her face in that picture.
