Kevin crouched down slightly, leveling his gaze with hers. “What about Griggs? Has he contacted you since?”
“No,” Marnie said, shaking her head. “I haven’t heard from him. I don’t know where he is.”
Sam straightened, pulling his phone from his pocket. He sent a quick message to Wyatt, who was tailing Griggs, then turned his attention back to Marnie.
“Stay put,” he said, his tone hard. “If Griggscontacts you, call me immediately. And don’t think about skipping town, Marnie. We’re watching.”
Marnie nodded weakly, her shoulders slumped in defeat. As Sam turned to leave, Lucy let out a soft growl, her ears flattening slightly. Sam reached down to scratch behind her ears, his jaw tight.
“You ready?” Kevin asked as they stepped back into the night air.
“More than ready,” Sam replied. “Time to finish this.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Sam parked the cruiser a block down from Griggs’s house. Lucy shifted in the back seat, her ears perked, alert as always. Sam grabbed his flashlight and gun, motioning for Kevin and Lucy to follow.
Wyatt’s unmarked car sat ahead, its silhouette blending into the quiet neighborhood.
Wyatt rolled his window down as they reached the car. “He’s been inside for hours. Lights on, TV going. Looks like he’s comfortable.”
Sam glanced toward the small house, its curtains drawn tight, shadows flickering from the television’s glow. It wasn’t much—a sagging roof, peeling paint, a porch that looked ready to collapse—but inside was Desmond Griggs, their key to unraveling the tangled web around Garvin McDaniels’s murder.
“Here’s the plan,” Sam said, his voice low. “I’ll go to the front. Wyatt, you take the back. Kevin, cover that door on the side. Lucy stays with me.”
Wyatt grinned. “You got it, boss.”
Kevin nodded, gripping his flashlight.
They moved in silence, splitting off to their positions. Sam approached the front door cautiously, Lucy at his side, her ears swiveling to every sound. The door was locked, as expected. Sam leaned closer, listening for movement inside. The muffled sounds of an action movie filtered through, explosions and gunfire masking their approach.
He gave a subtle nod to Kevin, stationed by the side. Sam turned back to the door and knocked sharply.
“Desmond Griggs,” he called, his voice firm. “White Rock Police. Open up.”
Inside, the sounds of the TV abruptly stopped. Sam’s hand tightened on his gun. Lucy let out a low growl, her stance shifting as she prepared for action.
Wyatt’s voice crackled softly through Sam’s earpiece. “He’s moving. Back of the house. Looks like he’s grabbing something.”
Sam knocked again, louder this time. “Griggs! We know you’re in there. Open the door!”
A beat of silence passed, then the lights inside went out.
“Move in!” Sam barked into his mic.
Wyatt surged toward the back door, Kevin covering the side. Sam kicked the front door hard, the frame splintering as it burst open. Lucy shot ahead of him, her growl echoing through the small, cluttered house.
“Police!” Sam shouted, sweeping his flashlight across the room.
Griggs was already bolting through the kitchen, a bronze statue of an elk tucked under his arm. He turned briefly, a glint of metal in his hand—a gun.
Sam ducked as Griggs fired, the shot slamming into the doorframe behind him.
“Lucy, go!” Sam commanded.
Lucy launched herself forward, her powerful frame hitting Griggs as he aimed again. Her teeth clamped onto his arm, forcing him to drop the gun with a clatter. Griggs roared in pain, twisting violently as he tried to shake her off.
Sam rushed forward, but Griggs managed to throw Lucy off, the dog landing hard but springing back to her feet with a snarl.