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Back Seconds to Live Save as PDF
Chapters (47)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Page
  3. Dedication
  4. Contents
  5. Chapter One
  6. Chapter Two
  7. Chapter Three
  8. Chapter Four
  9. Chapter Five
  10. Chapter Six
  11. Chapter Seven
  12. Chapter Eight
  13. Chapter Nine
  14. Chapter Ten
  15. Chapter Eleven
  16. Chapter Twelve
  17. Chapter Thirteen
  18. Chapter Fourteen
  19. Chapter Fifteen
  20. Chapter Sixteen
  21. Chapter Seventeen
  22. Chapter Eighteen
  23. Chapter Nineteen
  24. Chapter Twenty
  25. Chapter Twenty-One
  26. Chapter Twenty-Two
  27. Chapter Twenty-Three
  28. Chapter Twenty-Four
  29. Chapter Twenty-Five
  30. Chapter Twenty-Six
  31. Chapter Twenty-Seven
  32. Chapter Twenty-Eight
  33. Chapter Twenty-Nine
  34. Chapter Thirty
  35. Chapter Thirty-One
  36. Chapter Thirty-Two
  37. Chapter Thirty-Three
  38. Chapter Thirty-Four
  39. Chapter Thirty-Five
  40. Chapter Thirty-Six
  41. Chapter Thirty-Seven
  42. Chapter Thirty-Eight
  43. Chapter Thirty-Nine
  44. Chapter Forty
  45. Chapter Forty-One
  46. Acknowledgments
  47. About the Author

She breathed and scanned the surroundings. The house sat on the right, with a large barn and several smaller outbuildings scattered around the yard. Junk, including the carcass of a rusting convertible and a rotted mattress, dotted the weedy grounds.

“More of a junkyard than a farm,” she said.

Carl tugged the brim of his hat lower. “Ready?”

“Ready.” Nerves dried her mouth, and when she swallowed, it felt like burrs moving down her throat.

They crossed the yard. Her SFPD cap shielded her eyes from the downpour as she crept up the wooden porch steps. They approached the front door, the buzz of adrenaline deafening. The house was two stories of peeling white paint. She glanced at Carl. His hand was poised next to his weapon as he motioned two uniforms around the house to cover the rear exit in case anyone inside decided to bolt. The situation was eerily like the one in November. And with the shooting of Brody so fresh, visions of Brody and Lance, bleeding and pale, flashed through Stella’s mind.

She shook the images away. Lance and Brody were both alive. No uniformed chaplains had visited their loved ones.

“Stella?” Carl stopped her with a hand on her wrist. “You were just in a shooting this afternoon. Are you all right?”

She wouldn’t be sidelined in the search for Gianna. “I’m fine.”

Stella shook off the mental slide show. No one was going to get shot tonight. They weren’t going to be surprised.

Carl took one side of the doorway. Stella stood on the other. The third uniform crouched behind them. She wiped water from her forehead and knocked on the door. No one answered. She rapped again. “Mr. O’Neil? This is the police. We have a warrant.”

The only answer was the sound of rain beating on the porch roof.

Stella gave knocking one more try. “Mr. O’Neil, open the door.”

Next to her, Carl drew his weapon.

Stella shielded her eyes and tried to peer through the glass panes in the door. “I can’t see much. It’s dark in there.”

Carl walked to the end of the porch and looked in another window. “Same here.”

“Are you ready?” Stella asked.

Carl nodded. The uniform brought the battering ram and swung the heavy black rod by the handles. It hit the door next to the lock. The door burst in. Carl and Stella led the entry. The uniforms followed. They swept the house, clearing each room floor by floor. When the entire house was declared empty, they met on the front porch again.