Seconds to Live (Scarlet Falls) by Melinda Leigh Read Free Book Online Page A

with Lance to the nursing home. Hannah called. She needs me there. Can you handle things here?”
    “Sure.” Stella was waiting for the forensics techs to finish collecting evidence. “Do you think it’s coincidental that we have one woman kidnapped, tortured, and killed and another gone missing just a few days apart?”
    Brody shook his head. “I don’t like coincidences, but it’s too early for assumptions. Missy Green’s apartment showed no signs of a struggle.”
    “True, but we don’t know where or how she was abducted.” Stella took a step back, out of the rain’s reach. “But both women have dark hair. They’re close in age.”
    “Maybe we’ll find a link.” Brody nodded. “Go home and get a few hours of sleep.”
    Stella had called the physical therapist and the spa. Dena had attended both appointments, and had left the spa at one p.m. “I’ll go through her calendar and contacts and get background checks on Mr. and Mrs. Miller.”
    “What did you think of the husband?” Brody asked.
    “I don’t know.” Stella glanced back at the house. “The spouse is always the first suspect.”
    “I’ll take their financial statements home with me, and I’ll focus on Adam. We could get a call tonight that she turned up safe and sound. That’s what usually happens.”
    Most missing people turned up within a day or two. But Stella didn’t think that was going to be the case. Too much blood was splattered all over the Millers’ bathroom. No matter how Stella tried to explain it away, she knew deep in her gut that Dena Miller didn’t leave her house under her own steam.
    Someone took her.

Chapter Six
    Wednesday, June 22, 9 p.m., Scarlet Falls, NY
    Mac pulled into the lot of the nursing home and parked his beat-up Jeep. A glance in the rearview mirror told him he looked ragged. He heaved his battered body out of the vehicle. Every inch of him ached. He ran a hand through his rain-dampened hair but knew he still could pass for a guy who lived in a cardboard box under the bridge.
    But what could he do? He’d concentrated on not dying and getting home as quickly as possible.
    Two villagers had driven him—and Cheryl’s body—to the hospital in Tabatinga. Returning her remains to her family was small consolation. She shouldn’t have died.
    Mac had been lucky. The bullet had merely grazed him, and the wound had been shallow. Thirty stitches and a truckload of antibiotics had been followed by a painful discussion with Mac’s boss and a grueling session with the local polícia . As far as they were concerned, Americans should stay out of the jungle, the traffickers were dead, and justice had been served.
    After he’d been patched up, he’d embarked on a series of planes, trains, and automobiles. A three-hour layover in Manaus provided enough time to shower and change, and he’d managed to doze off a few times on the flight to LaGuardia. But sleeping in economy class with a bullet wound in his side had proved challenging, and he felt like he’d been dragged behind the train from New York City to Albany instead of riding in the business-class car.
    The sliding glass doors of the nursing home opened with a whoosh . After the intense heat and humidity of the jungle, the air-conditioning felt like a refrigerator. He fought his instant claustrophobia. His feet wanted to turn and run out of the building. He’d take the Adirondacks, the jungle, the frigging Arctic Circle, anything to avoid being trapped in a medical facility. With every breath, the scents of disinfectant and human waste flooded his nose. The olfactory representation of human misery—and his childhood—closed in on him.
    He signed in at the registration desk just as a young nurse locked the main door. She rounded the desk and sat down, her blond ponytail bobbing as she glanced up at him. “Visiting hours just ended.”
    “I know. I’m here to see Colonel Barrett.” Official hours didn’t matter when death was imminent.
    “Of