Breaking Steele (Sarah Steele Legal Thriller)

Chapter 41

I WENT TO THE spot where I did my best thinking—near the office, on the bench beside the lake. In the center of the lake, the fountain ceaselessly spouted water. It made ripples in the pool and sounded like rain. It was the only music I needed for this. The place was deserted, and at this hour I would be shocked if it wasn’t.

I hadn’t had a chance to study the pictures. They were still a mystery. I pulled my legs up and sat cross-legged on the bench in a lotus position. Time to meditate. I opened my phone and focused all my energy on the images in it. The pictures must’ve been taken on a nice camera—the quality was good. I took them apart centimeter by centimeter, studying every little square.

I shut off my imagination and feelings and became like a computer, only recognizing objective details.

Her clothes. I noticed she wasn’t wearing her own shirt. It was a button-up blouse with a floral pattern, which Angela wouldn’t have picked out in a million years. She wasn’t wearing any pants. There was a big, dark stain on the carpet beneath her hips, and what looked like blood running down her leg. She wasn’t wearing any shoes, but I saw them in the corner of the photo.

Her marks. She had bruises on her shins, as if she’d tripped over an obstacle in her path. Too low to be a fence. Too high to be a step. Maybe it was a car door, like she was forced to enter one. There was a bruise on her cheek as if she’d been backhanded. And one of her toenails was torn off.

Bindings. Her hands were tied behind her. I couldn’t see what with but I assumed it was duct tape, as that’s what covered her mouth and bound her feet.

Location. The building was being renovated. It seemed to be a house because I saw a closet with a Cat Lover’s Calendar hanging on its door, and the wallpaper trim had cartoon kittens hugging and cuddling with mice. There was a toolbox in the closet with a power drill beside it. The air seemed hazy, as if filled with sawdust or drywall dust. All the wooden trimming was torn off and thrown in a corner. Loose and twisted nails littered the ground. Angela stood with a wooden post at her back. Her hands looked to be behind it.

I was pulled into her eyes. They were the only free thing about her. She looked straight at the camera in pleading agony. That was what got to me.

Hunching over, I broke down in sobs. I didn’t want to imagine what she was going through at that very moment. I knew what was happening, but I didn’t want to believe it was possible. That in this world, a smart, feisty, lovable girl like Angela could be ravaged like this. That she could know such pain and agony in her short life.

Anger overwhelmed me. I covered my face with my hands and screamed. The sound pierced the night.

Then, panting, I closed my eyes. All that I’d been hiding, the part of me I’d wanted to destroy—I brought out. It was time to let the darkness out and use what I had kept buried. I had to help Angela, had to stop Hank and his brother once and for all.

I looked at the stopwatch on my phone. Two more hours until she’d be dead.

I stood up and started pacing, taking huge breaths. I thought through every detail, piecing them together like a puzzle.

I was fairly certain she was at the same location where I’d been taken when I was kidnapped. First, because the house was being renovated. And second, because I had seen the same weird green carpet lint that was at her feet.

If she was there, that meant she was only twenty miles from my house. At the most. I’d been drugged, taken there, and put back in my room in less than two hours.

I had to find all the houses that were being renovated in my area. That would take forever.

But I had someone to call. After dialing, I paced impatiently until he answered.

“Hello?” Rick said.

“Did you do as I asked?”

“Yes.”

“Are you home?” I asked.

“Yes. Wha—”

“You work in real estate. Don’t large companies pay to move people into town for jobs? I know Micron does it all the time.”

“Yeah, most of the bigger companies that hire out of state contract with relocation services. Why?”

“I’ve got a hunch. See if you can find out what service Williams, Inc. uses. I hope one of the houses they use is the one they took me to.”

“That’s a long shot, but I think you’re right—they’d have houses and apartments set up for new hires for temporary housing. Let me call a guy. Doug works for a service in town and I’ve done a few deals with him for Williams, Inc. I’m betting they use him, as there are only two services like that in town.”

“Let’s just hope he’s up.” It was late, and I prayed that Doug kept his phone on.

Ten minutes later, Rick texted me an address. Delaware Avenue. Number 1123. It was eight blocks from my house and was owned by the relocation service, but only used by Williams, Inc. He said Doug was a little drunk but gave him access to their database after Rick explained what was going on.

A few seconds later, my phone lit up. It was Mandy.

“Sarah, I’m gonna go out to look—both of us are. Rick found eight more homes in a twenty-minute driving radius of your house—there’s no way you can do this alone.”

My gut balled up. What if Mandy found the right house first? What if she got hurt? “No, Mandy, I need you and Rick to stay home. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you guys got hurt, or worse.”

“I wasn’t asking, Sarah. We’re already out. Rick has a shotgun and he called the police with all the addresses. I’ll text you three addresses and Rick and I will take the rest. I’m on my bike and not in the mood to argue.”

I swore under my breath and hung up. Seconds later, a text came through with three more addresses. That made four I had to search.

Hold on, Angela. I’m coming for you.