A First Love to Die For

Chapter Forty-Three- Tick Tock

(Lincoln's POV)

I glanced at the clock on my dashboard as I drove. It was just creeping up on noon. Yet, it felt like this day had been going on for fucking ever.

Sam sat next to me in silence. I was extremely thankful because my nerves were too raw for me to be able to sustain any kind of conversation.

Charlie and I had pulled everyone in and organized and delegated to make sure that we were not leaving a stone unturned.

The team that was dissecting her financials realized immediately that she had two houses. It appeared that there was one that she lived in and one that she rented out. The rental was her parent's house. She had inherited it a few years ago when they died. 

Looking at her bank records, it made sense why she didn't work. She used the rental money as an income, but she really didn't even need that. She had inherited enough to live comfortably for the rest of her life.

I had known that she didn't work but her money had never been something that mattered to me. Truthfully, she had never mattered to me. Until now, now I wanted to know it all, to tear her entire life apart. That way I could find her and tear her to god damn pieces.

As we drove, I worked at taming down my rampant anxiety. Sam kept tossing me worried glances.

If I was to describe myself as a cop, I would say that I was calm, collected and rule oriented. That's not who I was right now, and I didn't know what to do about it. I sure as shit wasn't going to pull myself away from the search. I hoped that he would help me keep my shit in order if it was needed.

A team of us had been sent to both properties. Sam and I had been sent with the team that was checking out the house that Candy lived in. The plan was to enter at the same time. Just in case there was an alarm at either place.

We had synced our entry times. I pulled up the street and looked at the clock again. 12:02, we had made good time. Which meant now we had to wait for everyone else to get in place. My eyes kept straying to the dashboard, that itch intensifying with each passing moment.

As the other two teams parked up the street and came down, Sam and I got out of the truck. He went into the back and pulled out my Kevlar, tossing it to me and then donning his own.

This was the moment where my adrenaline normally kicked in. That mix of excitement and anxiousness driving me forward. That hope that I would find something to reassure myself that we were on the right track.

This was different. I wasn't doing normal police work here. We knew who our killer was and she was holding the love of my life hostage. This was a rescue mission, and this was the god damned opposite of my normal. 

The worry was like a festering, gaping wound, itching at my skin and clouding my brain.

All geared up, Sam and I made our way to the front door, while the other two teams made their way to the two other entry points of the house. There was both a backdoor, as well as a basement entrance.

I could hear Duncan organizing his teams through my headset and so we waited for his go ahead. I had already given him notice that we were ready when they were.

"We're a go." Sounded through our headsets and there was the distinct noise of the three doors being breached by our search party.

I gestured for Sam to go right at the front hallway and I went left. Both of us yelled "clear" as we made it through the house.

Our house not only seemed to be clear, but it also had an overall feeling of emptiness. It seemed as if no one lived here. There was no mess, no personal touches. It felt wrong.

Through the headset, I could hear Duncan. "I'm sorry. I understand that you live here but the house is in the name of a suspect that we are actively searching for and we need to make sure she isn't here."

It appeared that his house wasn't as quiet as mine. Those poor renters. We would have to issue a formal statement from the Fenelon Police.

As all three teams met and we confirmed that our house was clear, I held my breath waiting to hear from the other house.

Duncan's voice sounded thick with emotion. "All clear here."

"Fuck". I didn't even feel the pain as my fist collided with the drywall. I ignored the concerned stares of the cops around me. Gruffly stating, "Decide which team stays to monitor and make sure she doesn't come back here."

Then I booked it out to the truck, embarrassed by my lack of control. I knew that Sam could close off the scene.

I ripped off my Kevlar and tossed it into the back. My truck roared to life and immediately I looked at the time. 12:35. Fuck. We were running out of time and we had no fucking leads.

One of our teams had been in charge of tracking the cell phone information against the time of death for all our victims. Now that we knew that Candy's car was a dead zone, it gave us a general idea of when Candy had taken our victims.

The assumption was that as soon as their cell phones had gone dead, Candy had taken them.

The shortest was Chantelle. Five minutes of torture. The longest was 48 hours. It felt incredibly wrong that the best-case option was two days of torture. God help me for wishing that upon Josie.

12:37, it felt like the clock was searing my eyes.

Sam cleared his throat as he got into the truck. "You okay?"

I nodded but didn't have it in me to lie straight to his face, so left it there.

I could feel his gaze on me, but he chose to take me at my word.  "There's no point in us going back to the station. I've been thinking about it, I think we should go talk to Stephie. If there is anyone who is going to know what Candy is up to. Or anyone who is going to know where she is, it's going to be her."

Because the houses had popped right away, we hadn't started interviewing friends and family yet. Holy shit. He was right. That was going to be the next step. I called Charlie who completely agreed with where we were headed.

As I hung up, I whispered a "thank you" to Sam.

He grunted in response and stared ahead, as I silently steered the truck towards "The Beauty Boutique".

I could only hope that we were on track to find something. Anything. All this disappointment was eating at me, gnawing at my self-control. My cut-up knuckles clenched on the steering wheel as my gaze traced back to the dashboard. 12:45. The clock was god damned mocking me. Tick-tock mother fucker.