by Jenna Kernan
He’d been in this plant, but only as far as the metal detectors and once to Lou Reber’s office on the rare occasion he needed to speak to the head of the company’s security. Lou treated him as many here did, like a three-legged hunting dog. Not to be completely ignored, but useless, just the same.
His sense of direction was still good, so he headed toward the loading dock, passing through a room of boxed product bound together with clear plastic wrap. Next came the packaging area where the finished goods were obviously moved on conveyers into the flattened piles of cardboard boxes. He continued along the curving conveyor belts illuminated only by the red emergency lights above and on the exit doors. He paused at the next set of doors and peered through the glass. The emergency lighting gleamed off the shiny stainless-steel machinery. Perhaps where the pharmaceuticals were produced? He heard a crashing sound, like two aluminum saucepans being struck together. But he knew not to trust his ears. That could be anything from a fire alarm to...gunfire.
He peered through the window. Someone was running straight down the line of shiny production machines and in his direction. The figure ran hunched over, staying low.
He stepped back as one of the large double doors eased open, flattening against the wall as a small hand appeared, then the person crept through, staying low and moving silently.
He grabbed the wrist and pulled, throwing the intruder against the bank of windows with a thump. Air hissed out of her lungs. He looked down at the startled face of Paige Morris, her mouth open and about to scream, but she hesitated as recognition lifted her features.
He angled his head and kissed her on the lips. This was not a brief peck of recognition, but the hard, possessive contact of a man finding his woman. If they made it out of here, he was going to tell her that he loved her and ask her again to be his wife.
She had almost been once. He wanted that again. It was why he had thrown her from the sled into deep drifting snow. And it was why he had told her not to come back here. Yet, here she was.
Logan drew back. “I told you to stay away from here.”
“He’s coming.” Paige pointed back the way she had come.
“Who?”
“Sinclair.”
He pulled her farther from the door, putting himself between it and her.
“Who’s Sinclair?” he asked.
“Production manager. He has a gun. Chasing me.” Her words were tortured with the efforts of her breathing as she broke into sobs. She clung to his free arm with both hands. “I’m so glad to see you. I was so afraid. I thought... Oh, Logan, those men.”
“Lost them in the woods.”
She sobbed. “I’m so sorry about everything. That I hurt you. I never meant to hurt you.”
“Later, Paige.”
He set her aside. A moment later her pursuer led through the door with his gun. Logan snatched it from him and had the pleasure of seeing the surprise register on his face before he used the butt end of the man’s weapon to knock Sinclair unconscious.
“Now he has a head injury,” said Logan, looking at the downed man. Then he turned to Paige. “That Sinclair?”
“Yes.” She tugged on his arm to draw his attention back to her. “Logan, there are three more of them on the loading dock. They’re my colleagues. My new supervisor, the CFO and our head of security.”
“Lou?” He shook his head. “Can’t believe it.”
“The sheriff got shot. That was him we saw fall. His shoulder, I think. He’s still on his feet. But Logan, Sinclair shot Drake twice. He’s in shipping, and Hockings and the sheriff are on the loading dock. The others have them pinned.
“Who has the keys to the DHS agent’s vehicle?”
“Hockings was driving.”
Logan nodded. “Without their truck, that SUV is their way out. They’ll need to kill them if they plan to use their vehicle.”
“But Hockings says the box truck is empty,” said Paige. “And I found the shipment. It’s in boxes, twelve of twelve, right through there in shipping.” She pointed in the direction she had come.
“Let’s go.” Logan stood and checked Sinclair’s weapon. The clip had been fired, but he had eight rounds left.
Paige was beside him, clinging to his coat as they crept across the filling floor area and through the double doors to shipping.
“That’s them,” she said, pointing at the innocuous boxes.
“What’s inside?” he asked.
“A painful death,” she said, her gaze lingering on the packages.
Logan pointed to the blood trail.
“That’s where I left Drake,” she whispered.
“He’s hiding, probably.”
“Go after him?” she asked.
He shook his head and then glanced toward the loading dock. Drake would have to wait.
They paused at the doors, peering through the reinforced glass to the loading dock.
Paige gasped. Lou Reber stood over the sheriff and Agent Hockings. The pair were both down and the sheriff had his hand on Hockings chest, pressing hard.
“She’s been shot,” whispered Logan.
Behind Reber stood Vitale, aiming her weapon at the downed pair as she looked about.
“Where’s Sinclair?” she asked. “And where is that meddlesome splinter of a woman?”
Logan spared her a grin. “That’s you.”
“Sinclair went after her, through there,” said Newman, motioning her pistol toward the doors behind which they stood. She and Logan ducked.
“Lou, get the boxes and load them into the SUV. Carol, get the keys.”
Logan and Paige moved quickly to a position just beyond the boxes reaching cover as Lou Reber entered the room, weapon up and eyes alert. This one, Logan thought, knows how to use his weapon.
Logan hit him low and hard. Reber sprawled backward, the weapon going up. Reber hit the concrete on his back with Logan on top of him. Logan grabbed the wrist holding the gun as the head of security tried to bring the weapon to position.
“What was that?” The voice came from the dock.
“Go see,” said Veronica.
Logan drew back his left arm and swung. The uppercut snapped Lou’s head back. The crack told Logan that he’d broken the man’s jaw. Behind him, the door opened.
He turned to see Carol Newman frozen in the doorway, mouth hanging open and weapon drooping.
Paige darted into his peripheral vision. She had Carol’s wrist in both of her hands as she continued to run, diving now and sweeping Carol along with her as the two toppled.
Reber lay inert on his back, his jaw now at an unnatural angle as Logan rose to his feet.
“What’s happening?” shouted Veronica. Then came a gunshot and silence. Logan waited for Paige and Carol Newman to come to a stop. He wasn’t surprised to see Paige on top, Carol’s gun beside them and both of Carol’s arms pinned to the floor.
“Let me up,” said Carol, her eyes bloodshot as she spit the words.
Logan collected her gun and nodded to Paige. Carol made a great show of slowly rising. Logan stepped back so that when Carol made the lunge at him, he easily sidestepped. Paige was up now, too, and holding a mop like a Louisville Slugger. She swung, hitting Carol across the back. Carol sprawled on the concrete beside Lou.
“That’s for suspending me,” said Paige, “for doing my job.”
Logan handed her a pistol and the two moved to the loading dock window.
Beyond, they saw that Rylee was still down, but so was Vitale. The sheriff, his arm dripping blood, held Vitale’s weapon. One look at the woman’s ruined face and motionless body told Paige that the CFO of Rathburn-Bramley was dead.
Logan shouted to the sheriff. “Trace! It’s Constable Lynch and Paige Morris. Sinclair is unconscious and Newman is down.”
“They shot Rylee,” he said, his voice tor
tured.
“Permission to come in.”
“Yes.”
“What about her?” asked Paige, pointing at Newman who had pushed up to her arms, looking like a woman struggling with a yoga pose.
Logan handed Paige Newman’s weapon and then stooped. In a moment he’d levered Newman onto his shoulder and was heading back to the door. Paige pushed it open for him and then followed behind him.
Logan lay Newman beside Vitale and pointed the handgun at her head. Carol stopped moving.
“Watch her,” said Logan and then he disappeared, returning with Drake over his shoulder and dragging Lou Reber’s inert body by one ankle. He left Reber on the opposite side of Vitale from Newman. Drake, he gently set down beside Hockings. Drake groaned and curled to his side; his hands coated with his blood.
“Dead?” asked Trace, motioning to Lou.
“Unconscious.”
Trace gave the downed man a critical stare and then nodded. Logan removed his coat and stripped off his jacket before replacing his coat. Then he folded the polar fleece into a pad and pressed it to Allen Drake’s bleeding middle.
Logan then took over watching their adversaries and Paige checked the DHS agent. She knelt beside Hockings and drew back the woman’s coat. Her dark sweater was soaked and glistening with blood.
“Caught two in my vest, but one got under my arm,” Hockings said. Her voice was weak and her color gray. “Lung is punctured.”
“I’ll get the EMS. They’re on the road with the truck.”
She tried her phone but the call failed. Logan held out the key to the snowmobile.
“Go get help,” said Sheriff Trace. “Tell them we’ve neutralized the enemy.”
Logan kept his gun raised and aimed at the three captured members of Siming’s Army. “I parked it out front behind the shrubs.”
She hesitated only a moment and then snatched the key and ran through the doors and out of sight.
She was not gone long, returning with Mr. Garrett, who carried his bag over his shoulder like Santa Claus.
“The state police are on the way,” she said. “Came over the radio in the fire truck.”
“Thank God,” said Trace, who had been keeping steady pressure on Hockings’s wound. Despite his efforts, her skin had taken on a gray tone and her breathing was shallow.
“Fire truck is standing by with the box truck and they said to tell you the EMS vehicle is functional but stranded.”
The sheriff scowled. “She needs a hospital.”
Drake was no longer groaning. Garrett went to Drake first, checking his vitals. Then he lifted Drake’s shirt. Logan saw two tiny black holes above his belly button. They oozed blood steadily. Garrett cleaned and bandaged the wound.
The loading dock was freezing. Snow blew in through the open bay door and swirled around them. Paige went to the sheriff and DHS agent, who were on the opposite side of the open bay door from the captives. She spoke in quiet tones, so as not to be heard by Newman, whom Paige was not certain was semiconscious. Logan stood over the captives, weapon out and ready.
“What should we do with the shipment?” asked Paige to Rylee.
Rylee looked up at her.
“Secure it or destroy it?”
“Secure for forensics,” Rylee whispered.
Mr. Garrett was completing his triage of Allen Drake and was now checking the vitals on Reber, pressing two fingers to the vessels at his neck.
“The pathogen isn’t safe on the shipping floor,” Paige said to Trace. “If any more of that group gets here, they’ll find it. I need to move it.”
“We should pour the stuff down the drain,” said the sheriff.
“That won’t kill a virus. It will only release it.”
“So where are we taking it?” asked Trace.
She thought about that. If the backup that arrived first was from Siming’s Army instead of the federal government, they would search the warehouse.
“I don’t know. I’d prefer to lock it up,” said Paige.
“Not here,” said Hockings, the words causing her such pain, sweat popped out on her forehead.
“It’s got to be somewhere they won’t know to look,” said Trace. “I’m hoping that the cavalry is coming. But in this storm, it’s a crap shoot. Siming’s Army could get here first. Paige is right. We need to do something with those boxes.”
Paige understood. Hockings was down. Sheriff Trace was injured. She motioned to Logan, calling him to them. He cast a glance to Newman and then left that side of the dock to kneel beside Paige. But his attention remained fixed on his captives while Paige explained the situation.
His restless gaze flicked to her and then back across the loading dock.
“What’s in those boxes might get us killed. Think about Lori,” he said. “What would happen to her if something happens to us?”
That fired off angry sparks inside her. “I am thinking of her. If anyone breaks even one of those containers and the virus escapes, it could infect our entire village.”
“Bury it out in the snow?” suggested Logan.
“Cold won’t kill a virus.” They faced off. “Do you have an idea or not?”
Logan dropped his gaze and nodded. “Firehouse has a locking freezer.”
The sheriff glanced to Hockings, who nodded her permission and then gritted her teeth against the pain. Her breathing was shallow and her lips blue.
“How?” asked the sheriff.
“Use the snowmobile,” said Logan. “Make a sled.”
“Out of what?” asked Paige.
“Tarp will do,” said Logan.
“The snowmobile will leave a trail,” said Trace.
“One they can’t follow with a car or truck,” countered Logan.
“If that tarp rips or one of those boxes breaks open, it’s all over. I am not loading a virulent, deadly pathogen onto a tarp.”
“It can’t be here if they get here first,” said the sheriff.
Conversation ceased as Garrett crossed the windy portion of concrete that separated his triage patients and set his bag beside Agent Hockings. He and the sheriff were carefully removing the agent’s vest to reach the wound.
Garrett pointed at Trace’s hand with his scissors. “Whose blood is that?”
“Mine.”
“You’re shot, too?”
The sheriff grimaced. “Focus on her.”
Garrett slipped Hockings’s clothing up to expose the sucking wound under her armpit. Then he retrieved a plastic bag from his medical kit and placed it over the wound. The sucking sound ceased. Hockings smiled as if that bag gave her some relief. Garrett taped the bag in place and then removed the coat from Hockings’s arm and wrapped a blood pressure cuff around her biceps. In a few moments he looked up from his blood pressure gauge. His voice was calm as he spoke to Logan. “I need to get her and Drake to the EMS vehicle now.”
“Snowmobile,” said Logan. Then he stilled. “But can she stay on the seat?”
The sheriff shook his head as Hockings nodded that she could.
Paige gestured to Drake, lying motionless on his back heedless of the blowing snow. “He can’t.”
“I have a rigid spine board on the truck,” said Garrett. “We could get it and use it for you,” he said to Agent Hockings. “Then we can use it for Drake. I have two beds there.”
“How big is that board?” asked Logan.
“Seven feet by about two feet. Made of hard plastic and it has multiple nylon straps to hold the patient. I’ve never used it as a sled, but it would work.”
Logan, Paige and the sheriff exchanged glances.
“Yes, that would work,” said the sheriff.
“I’ll take them,” said Paige.
“After I secure the prisoners, I’ll get the boxes ready,” said Logan.
�
��You know which ones?” she asked.
“You showed me.”
She nodded and headed out. He went back to guarding his captives. A few minutes later she was zipping effortlessly across the empty lot, over the curb that had vanished under the nine inches of heavy wet snow. She glided to a stop beside the fire truck.
She returned with Mrs. Unger, who offered to help at the loading dock. Unger held a rope fixed to the spine board as Paige retraced her course riding back. There she discovered that Newman and Reber had their ankles and wrists duct-taped. Newman sat up, hands behind her back, glaring at them. A strip of tape also covered her mouth.
“She has a bigger vocabulary of curse words than any marine that I have ever met,” said Logan by way of explanation. “I’m moving them off the loading dock and out of the cold.”
Logan carried Hockings down from the loading dock steps as the longtime principal stood over her prisoners, gun in hand, like an aged Annie Oakley.
They strapped the DHS agent, wrapped in a blanket, to the improvised sled. Garrett sat behind Paige on the snowmobile as Paige went slow, but the blanket was thoroughly snow covered when they reached the volunteers, who immediately moved Hockings to the EMS vehicle, board and all.
“I wonder if she and the sheriff have a thing?” asked Paige.
“Engaged,” said Garrett and stepped off the sled. “Wedding is in January. That is if I can get enough fluids into her to keep her blood pressure from crashing and if we can get her to the medical facility and if she doesn’t get an infection.”
“I’ll say a prayer,” said Paige.
The moment the volunteers returned the spine board, Paige was on her way to collect Drake. She found Unger watching the prisoners as Logan was in the shipping area getting the boxes ready. Paige and the sheriff helped Drake down the stairs to the spine board. Once her patient was secured and the sheriff seated behind her, they headed back again to the road.
When they reached the EMS vehicle, the crew collected Drake from the makeshift sled. The sheriff stepped off the back of the snowmobile and leaned in, speaking just loud enough for her to hear over the motor and howling wind.
“Get those boxes out of here,” he said.
