Karin Slaughter - Kisscut

Nick bounced on the balls of his feet as he walked toward the other car and told the three agents inside they were in charge of the back.

"Let's give 'em a couple, three minutes head start," Nick said, checking his watch. Time could either stand still or fly during a situation like this.

Nick looked back at the car, where Dave Fine was pouting. He said, "I wouldn't leave a dog trapped in that car in this heat."

"Me, neither," Jeffrey said, making no move to roll down the windows.

They were quiet, staring out at the busy interstate while they waited for Nick's signal.

Finally, Nick looked at his watch and said, "Let's go."

Jeffrey tucked his gun into his shoulder holster as they walked. He had worn his ankle holster as well. Normally, Jeffrey would feel uncomfortable armed this way, but for the moment he felt ready for anything the small house might have to offer.

Trees and high shrubs had obscured a lot of the house from the street. Up close, Jeffrey could see it was mostly brick with vinyl siding on the trim and overhangs. The gutters were painted a bright white to match the trim. The house was small, probably two bedrooms with one bath and a kitchen-living room combination. There were houses like this all over Grant, built cheap just after the war, meant to be starter homes for returning veterans. Cement blocks served as the foundation with vents to let the house breathe.

"No basement," Nick said.

Jeffrey nodded, pointing to the roofline. There did not appear to be a second story, either, but someone could definitely hide in the attic.

Wallace went first, easily scaling the five-foot-tall chain-link fence from the side that was most concealed by the shrubs. Nick had a little more difficulty, and groaned quietly as he lost his footing on the other side, his butt hitting the ground. Jeffrey followed them, wondering why his knee was giving him trouble, then remembering how he had hurt it lunging for Fine.

When they were all safe on the other side, Nick took a small walkie-talkie out of his pocket and said, "We're inside the perimeter."

There was a faint "Check," as the others got into position.

Jeffrey took out his gun indicating they should head toward the front door. As they got closer, they could hear soft music coming from the house. Jeffrey recognized a boy group, but couldn't put a name to them.

Wallace stopped at the front door, his gun held up beside his head. He counted off to three then kicked at the door.

Nothing happened.

"Shit," Wallace cursed, shaking his leg out. For just a moment, Jeffrey considered that they might have the wrong house. Then he thought about the fact that someone could be waiting behind that locked front door with a double-barreled shotgun, ready to blow off their heads. He thought of Sara for a split second, and how she said she worried about him, then he thought about Lacey Patterson and pushed everything else from his mind.

Jeffrey indicated to Wallace that they would kick together this time. He counted off to three, and this time the door didn't hold.

"Police!" Nick yelled, storming in after them. There was no man standing inside with a shotgun. Instead there was a young girl wearing a short pink T-shirt and matching underwear. She could have just woken up from a nap.

Jeffrey pointed his gun up to the ceiling. He was about to ask her if she was okay when the little girl pointed silently down a hallway.

Jeffrey took off his jacket and put it around the girl while Nick and Wallace checked the other side of the house. He ushered her to the front porch, telling her to wait for him inside the front of the gate. He wanted to say something to her, to put his arm around her and tell her that she was okay now, but there was something so vacant about the child he could not bring himself to do it. She seemed beyond any kind of comfort.

Nick and Wallace came back, shaking their heads that no one was in the other side of the house. Nick tilted his chin up, indicating he would go first down the hall. Jeffrey was eerily reminded of Dottie Weaver's house as they walked in. The setup was similar, but the feeling was different. A dirty strip of carpeting muffled the sound of their feet on the hardwood floor. There were framed pictures of children's art on the wall.

Ahead, Nick flattened himself against the wall beside a closed door. This was where the music was coming from, and Jeffrey could make out the chorus now, "I love you, love you, my sweet baby."

Nick reached down and opened the door, crouching in the entrance in one swift motion. Something unreadable passed on his face, and he stood, walking into the room with his gun still drawn. Jeffrey followed him, seeing a king-size bed with mirrors all around it. The sheets were messed up, as if there had been recent activity, and there was a smell in the room that Jeffrey did not want to put a name to. The stereo was propped up on the box it came in, sickly sweet music still pouring out from the speakers. Two video cameras on tripods were pointed at the bed, the mirrors on the walls reflecting the scene back to Jeffrey. He stood there, wanting nothing more than to get out of this room, as Nick checked under the bed, then opened the door to one of the closets.

Wallace made a noise to get their attention then nodded down the hallway. Jeffrey backed outside the room as Nick checked the last closet, then followed.

Wallace put his mouth close to Jeffrey's ear and whispered, "I saw a boy go in there," indicating a closed door on the opposite side of the hall.

Nick pointed to a cord hanging down from the ceiling where the retractable stairs to the attic were. The cord wasn't moving, but that was no guarantee no one was up there.

Jeffrey passed the bathroom, which was small and dirty. Toys were stacked on the counter and in the empty tub. There was no shower curtain or closet in there, but some cabinets were built into the wall along the hallway. Jeffrey opened the first cabinet, but all it contained were the items you would expect: towels, wash rags, some diapers. The diapers got to him for some reason, and for the first time that day, he lost what little hope he had that they would find Lacey Patterson alive.

Nick put his hand on Jeffrey's shoulder, and Jeffrey got the feeling he was thinking the same thing.

There was one last room in the small house, and Jeffrey took the lead this time, pressing himself to the closed door just as Nick had. He threw the door open, crouching around the corner with his gun drawn, but the room appeared empty.

Three twin beds were shoved into the corner, dirty-looking sheets bunched up on them. There were no frames or box springs, just the mattresses flat on the floor. Sheets were nailed tightly to the windows like canvas over a frame. There was only one closet in the room, and Jeffrey walked over to it, expecting to see the worst behind it. He stood to the side and opened it, only to find shelves packed tight with boxes. Red numbers labeled the boxes, and Jeffrey pulled one of them out, frowning when he saw it was full of pictures. He looked at the other boxes and realized the numbers were probably the age of the kids in the pictures. The top row contained a few that were labeled "0-1."

He remembered the boy Wallace had seen, and bent down on one knee. A couple of boxes on the bottom of the closet looked crooked, and Jeffrey pulled them out. He leaned down and saw a frightened little boy, not more than six years old, with his head between his knees. The boy saw Jeffrey, then reached out to pull the boxes back around him. He was so frightened that the boxes shook from his touch.

Jeffrey stood, thinking he would see the fear in that kid's eyes for as long as he lived. He wanted to pull the boy out from his hiding place and tell him that it was over, but Jeffrey wasn't sure that it was. The adult or adults who had done this were still in this house somewhere. It was better to leave the kid where he was safe rather than put him in more danger.