“No.” Morgan wouldn’t ruin her sister’s career over a hunch. “That wouldn’t be fair to them. What we’re going to do is completely illegal.”

Not to mention dangerous.

Chapter Thirty-Six

A few minutes before midnight, Lance drove past Harold Burns’s one-story house. A quarter mile down the road, he steered the Jeep off the side of the road and parked behind a few evergreens. If Burns had slipped out of his house while the SFPD was watching him, he would have gone through the woods to the auto shop. What was good for the goose, in this case, could also be used for the goose hunters.

“You ready?”

In the passenger seat, Morgan checked the weapon in her holster and zipped her black jacket closed over it. “Yes.”

Lance slid some extra ammunition into the thick pocket of his dark cargos. Though he wasn’t cold, he tugged a black knit cap over his bright-blond hair. Morgan’s hat was for warmth. She tucked a flashlight into her pocket. He did the same, then loaded the rest of his equipment, including a pair of night vision binoculars, into a small backpack.

They got out of the Jeep and walked along the edge of the woods so they could duck into the trees if a car approached. Thick clouds drifted overhead, and snow flurries floated in the chilled air. His breath fogged in front of him. The ground was dark, but he wanted to preserve his natural night vision and didn’t want to risk using a flashlight. There wasn’t much out here. Burns would be able to see a light from far away.

Next to him, Morgan tripped.

Lance steadied her by the elbow. “You OK?”

“Just a rock. I’m fine.” She got her feet back under herself. “I don’t know how Chelsea went miles and miles through the dark woods.”

“She was literally running for her life. I doubt she was even thinking at that point. She kept moving on instinct. The fact that she’s an avid hiker and runner probably saved her life.”

“Remind me to start exercising,” Morgan said. “I doubt if I could run two miles without collapsing.”

They’d stopped for takeout earlier. Energized by the thought of taking action, Morgan had polished off every fry in her bag. Lance was glad to see her eat.

The greasy burger and fries might be unhealthy in the long run, but his body had appreciated the calories as well. He didn’t remember the last time he’d had a Coke, but the sweet, fizzy drink had hit the spot. The sugar practically vibrated in his system.

Just before Burns’s house, the woods cut away. They followed the edge of the forest, arcing around the back of the property. Ahead, the detached garage and house lay dark.

Lance removed his night vision binoculars from his bag and scanned the backs of the buildings. “No windows on the garage and I don’t see his truck.” He also didn’t spot any security cameras.

“Maybe he’s not home.”

“Or his truck is in the garage.”

There was only one way to find out. They were going to have to break in to the garage.

They jogged across the open space, keeping the garage between them and the line of sight of the house. Even so, Lance was glad for the absence of the moon and the exceptionally dark night. Unfortunately, the entry door was on the side of the garage that faced the house. They crept around the corner of the building. Despite the sharp chill in the air, sweat dripped between his shoulder blades. Approaching a building with unknown occupants felt much more dangerous since he’d been shot and nearly died in such a situation. And fear for Morgan’s safety drove his apprehension levels through the roof.

He motioned her to wait in the shadows as he drew his lock picks from his pocket. The lock was surprisingly simple, and a slight tingle of doubt crept into Lance’s gut. If he were keeping a woman prisoner, he’d use a complex security system.

Stepping into the open, Lance inserted the two thin blades into the lock. In less than twenty seconds, he felt the gentle click of tumblers sliding into position. He turned the knob and opened the door, slipping inside. For a few seconds, he listened for a chirp that would indicate an alarm system, but he heard nothing. Morgan’s body bumped him as she entered the garage behind him. She closed the door and absolute blackness fell over them.

Though his eyes had adjusted to the night, inside was far darker. There were no windows in the building. His night vision binoculars required at least scant light to function. They’d be useless in the pitch black of the garage’s interior. Lance risked the flashlight. He clicked it on, aiming a narrow beam of light on the floor. The garage was one large open space filled with junk. Disappointment welled inside him as he surveyed the clusters of discarded furniture and boxes. Even before they’d made a complete circuit, he knew the missing woman wasn’t here and that Chelsea hadn’t been held there either. There wasn’t enough security. No setup for even keeping a captive.

Morgan led the way back outside. Lance carefully locked the door as they left, and they retraced their steps back to the woods. The sound of an engine floated on the cold air.

“I hear a car.” He tugged Morgan behind a few trees. They crouched and waited as headlights approached then taillights faded before resuming their trek. Burns’s house and the auto shop were only a quarter mile apart. They passed the place where the Jeep was hidden and continued along the edge of the woods until the forest ended and the cleared space of the auto shop and salvage yard began.

They stood at the edge of the woods and surveyed the landscape, all dirt and shadows in the darkness. Ahead, a soft light shone from the exterior of the auto shop and one office window glowed pale yellow.

“Did he leave a light on or is someone there?” Morgan asked.

“Impossible to say without getting closer.” Which might give them away.

“Do you see Burns’s red truck?”

“No.” Lance used the binoculars to search the darkness behind the shop. “But it could be inside.”

The auto shop had multiple bays and overhead rolling doors. But there was no need to search it. Creeps did not usually keep prisoners in buildings frequented by customers. Holding a woman for eight months required privacy.

“Then we’d better be quiet and quick.” Morgan turned away from the office and toward the scrap yard. They skirted the forest until they reached the rear of the property.

“I don’t see any cameras back here.”

“Guess we’ll find out.”

They entered the scrap yard. Most of the land was open. Rusted vehicle carcasses were piled and clustered seemingly at random. Dirt-and-weed tracks large enough to drive on meandered around them. A small area was enclosed by a six-foot-tall chain-link fence. The vehicles inside looked like later models, some heavily damaged by accidents but likely still worth money for parts.

No moon lit the way, but Lance couldn’t risk using the flashlight out in the open.

“We’ll take it slow. Watch where you step.” He steered Morgan around a rusted fender.

Passing the severed front half of a crushed and rusty Volkswagen Beetle, she tapped her scarred forearm. “Good thing I’ve had a tetanus shot recently.”

They stopped at the chain-link fence. Most of the vehicles within its enclosure were intact and organized into rows, more like a parking lot than a junkyard. In the center, stood a large metal shed.

“You wait here. I’ll climb in and check out the shed,” Lance whispered. “The gate is around front, behind the shop. I don’t want to go in that way.”