“He might have never been there,” Blake conceded and pressed the button for the mic. “Boys, look for any signs that Mendoza or Isabelle were there.”
“Ok,” Benjamin replied.
Samson bent over the mic. “Can you smell her scent? Grayson?”
Grayson marched into the living room, when he suddenly stopped dead. The camera on his forehead picked up what he saw.
“Oh God, no,” Grayson murmured. “Please don’t let it be her.”
Blake felt a lump in his throat that prevented him from speaking. The dust that covered the old worn carpet was unmistakable. In the absence of a fireplace in the house it could only have come from one source: a dead vampire—or hybrid, for hybrids disintegrated into ash when they died just as a vampire did.
Next to Blake, Samson had jumped up. “No! No!”
The sound of pain and despair in Samson’s voice nearly tore Blake’s heart into a million pieces. He had to be strong now and think clearly, because his boss was in no condition to do so.
“Comb the place! Now!” Blake commanded. “Turn over every piece of furniture. Check his computer. Go through everything!”
Grayson nodded numbly, while Ryder squeezed his shoulder. “Maybe she managed to kill him.”
Grayson whirled his head to him. “Then where is she?” He pointed to the sofa. “I can still smell her. She was here.” He lifted his head toward the ceiling. “Dad, Isabelle was here. We’re too late. Too late!”
A string of vile curses rolled over Grayson’s lips.
“He left his cell phone. Wonder why,” Damian suddenly said and pulled a phone from beneath a stack of papers. “Must have forgotten it. It was hidden underneath all this crap. Didn’t even see it at first.”
His brother joined him, reaching for it. “Let me see.”
Damian handed it to Benjamin who pressed the iPhone’s home button. “Hey, it’s not locked.”
Blake zoomed in on it. “Is that the voice memo that’s open?”
“Yep,” Benjamin confirmed. “He must have been recording something.”
Damian looked over his shoulder. “Hey, it’s still running. Look!”
“Let me see,” Grayson demanded and snatched the phone from his friends.
“How long is the recording?” Blake asked.
“Over six hours,” came Grayson’s reply. “Weird…”
“Go back to the beginning and—”
But Grayson had already had the same idea and pressed the button to replay the voice recording from the beginning.
There were sounds of doors opening and closing, footsteps, some shuffling, voices in the distance, coming closer.
Then, finally, the voice of a man proclaimed, “Here she is.”
In the middle of it, Thomas’s cell phone rang and he turned away, answering it quietly. Blake tuned out his words and concentrated on the monitor.
An angry grunt. “Who the fuck is that? That’s not Kimberly Fairfax!” It was the voice of a second man. “What am I paying you good money for?”
The first man, who had to be Mendoza, replied, “But that’s her. She was right where you said she would be.”
“That bitch isn’t Kimberly. Who the fuck knows who she is! Fucking idiot! Should’ve done it myself!”
“Please, let me go.”
“Isabelle,” Samson murmured.
“I told him I wasn’t Kimberly, but he wouldn’t listen!”
“Shut up, you bitch!” That was Mendoza again, but he was cut off by the second man.
“Don’t!”
It sounded like a slap. Had the stranger snatched Mendoza, preventing him from hitting Isabelle?
“You’re still gonna have to pay for her,” Mendoza demanded. “I did my job. Not my fault that she switched places with that other bitch.”
“Of course.” The words of the unidentified man sounded just a little too smooth and accommodating. “You’ll get what’s due to you.”
A second later, Isabelle’s high-pitched scream tore through the speakers. “Oh God, no!”
A chuckle. Then silence. Footsteps.
“Now you and I are alone.” It was the voice of the stranger.
“Please let me go,” Isabelle pleaded. “I won’t say anything about this. To anybody. I promise. My father will pay you a lot of money if you release me unharmed.”
The man laughed, a cold laugh devoid of any emotion.
“I’m sure he would. But it’s not money I’m after.”