Page 81 of Driven to Love

Shit. This was game on. She sawed faster. Her breath released when she felt the tie give and her hands were free. With renewed strength, she sliced at the air between them.

His eyes widened.

That’s right. She had the weapon now, and she wasn’t going down without a fight. A little plastic wouldn’t stop her.

Chapter 23

Nash struggled to maintain the speed limit as he drove across town. He didn’t have a clue where the old Stagmeyer farm was, but he’d punched the Miller residence into the search on his phone and it popped up with an address on the edge of town.

The gravel crunched under his tires as he pulled into the driveway. The four-square house with a wraparound porch sat in disarray. A few new boards stood out on the siding. Nash could see someone had been working on the repairs.

An old GMC truck sat beside the barn. Nash parked and slipped his phone into a pocket and his pistol into the hidden holster at his waist.

Only a precaution. He prayed he didn’t need it, but he wasn’t about to chance it with Addison’s life on the line.

He rang the bell. Nothing. Pressing the button again, he leaned in and listened. Still nothing.

He cupped his hands around his face and peered through the window. The house was dark. No footsteps resonated, not even a barking dog. That was odd, especially for a farmhouse. Wasn’t it law that they had to have a dog or two?

He stepped off the porch. With his hands on his hips, he surveyed the yard. There was an old machine shed that appeared to be used as a garage. A barn in the back looked like one good storm would take it to the ground. Was that a front hitch of a camper stuck out around the edge behind the barn?

Nash took another look at the house, then back at the camper. Could be if someone’s fixing it up, they were staying in the camper. He took one last look at the house before crossing the yard, full focus on the camper. As he reached the edge of the machine shed, movement drew his attention. He flinched, hovering his hand over his holster. An orange and white cat jumped from a tractor parked in the shed. The expression it held was one of contempt, as if Nash was interrupting its nap.

That would teach Nash not to pay attention. He’d been out of the military too many years. He needed to remember to keep his head on a swivel. Nash moved up beside the opening to the machine shed, flattened his back against the wall and leaned in, scanning the interior. It wasn’t quite a hoarder’s home, but there was plenty of stuff. Some of it looked like it went back multiple generations. Hanging on the wall were old manual tools from a generation long before not only Nash, but his father. He tiptoed around the tractor and looked for signs of life. No new footsteps, no noise, and a layer of dust an inch thick on the workbench. He’d bet no one had been in here for a long time. Except the cat.

He backed out of the shed and headed toward the barn. This time, he canvassed the area like he’d been taught back in the military.

No signs of life in the barn. He tiptoed closer to the camper. It had high cutouts above the wheels—an ice fishing house. The curtains were drawn, obscuring Nash’s view of the inside. He placed his ear to the glass. Silent, but he couldn’t leave without checking inside. He unholstered his gun and reached for the door. Inhaling, he steadied himself, and on the count of three, tried the knob. Locked. He pounded on the door. No sound came from inside.

Nash looked over his shoulder. The coast was clear. Pulling the multi-tool from his pocket, he released the lock in seconds. Not the strongest lock ever made.

He stepped back and flung the door wide open. When nothing happened, he leaned in. The icehouse was empty. Damn. He really wished Addison would be here.

He holstered his weapon and checked the rest of the camper.

Back outside, his phone rang. Detective Simon’s number flashed on his screen.

“Anything?” Nash sent up a silent prayer that they found her.

“Miller didn’t show up for work and didn’t call in. A couple of the guys on the jobsite said he’s a bit of a prepper, and he talked about a cabin up north. I’m running a check on him, but so far, no properties pop under his name or his parents.”

Where the hell was she?

“Steele, one more thing. One of Miller’s coworkers sold him an old van last month.”

Nash’s jaw ticked. “The color?”

“Gray.”

Son of a bitch. Nash stared through the window into the dark house. “Do you have his number?”

“Yes, but you don’t need it. This is a police matter.”

“Gray Duck Grove PD isn’t that big that you couldn’t use some help. Cade and I were former military. He was special ops. You might as well loop us in. You’re not going to keep us out of it.”

Simon’s groan came through the phone, loud and clear. “Fine. I’ll text it to you. But Steele, don’t do anything that I have to arrest you for.”

Too late.