Lock&Load (PASS Series Book 3)

by Freya Barker

  I wait for her outside the bathroom and she invites me to follow her into the large office space. There are far fewer people here than there were earlier, and Bree explains most of the federal agents left to run down leads, leaving only PASS staff in the offices.

  Jake is on the phone and looks up, throwing me a distracted smile. Dimas is sitting at the desk beside him and seems engrossed in whatever he’s doing on his computer. Bree indicates a chair at an empty desk beside hers and I sit down. She flips open her laptop and starts typing.

  “Harold Eugene Jansen,” she says, picking up the phone on her desk. “Let’s see what we can find out.”

  Dimas looks up, his attention now firmly on Bree. Jake seems to follow suit, mumbling a quick, “I’ve gotta go,” before ending his call.

  “Yes, hi. This is Bree Graves from PASS Protection and Security Services. It is imperative I connect with one of our operatives who is visiting his father, but it’s possible his phone is turned off. Is there any chance you could get word to him to call his office?” She looks at me and nods encouragingly. “Of course, the patient’s name is Harold Eugene Jansen. He would’ve been brought in by ambulance earlier today. Yes, I’ll wait.”

  “I may have something here!”

  The voice is coming from one of the smaller spaces on the far side of this room and everyone turns in that direction. Yanis appears in a doorway and ducks into the office next door. Dimas is up from his chair and heads in the same direction. Jake is not far behind.

  I look at Bree who shrugs and turns her attention back to the phone in her hand.

  “Yes.” Her eyebrows pull together and her eyes flit my way. “Are you sure?” The hair on my neck stands up and I find myself leaning forward in my chair. “I see. Thank you.”

  I open my mouth to ask what is going on when she holds up a finger and then makes another call. Her eyes pop open in surprise.

  “Mr. Jansen, hello. Uh. I work with your son at PASS in Grand Junction; my name is Bree. By any chance have you seen or heard from him today?” A large fist squeezes my chest as the implication of what she’s saying registers. “No, he’s probably forgot to charge his phone again. Yes, of course, I’ll have him call you as soon as I track him down.”

  “What?” I blurt out the moment she ends the call. “What’s going on?”

  Instead of answering me she yells for Yanis, who comes charging out of the office, but she has her eyes on me when she starts talking.

  “Radar’s father was never at the hospital. He’s perfectly fine, I just talked to him.”

  “Dimi, Jake…we’ve got a situation!” Yanis calls out.

  I barely notice Lena draping a sweater over my shoulders until she gives my arm a little squeeze.

  I’ve been shivering since the realization Radar has gone missing hit home. The office is a blur of activity. Everyone seems to have something to do except me. I just sit here—staring around me numbly as law enforcement comes and goes—feeling utterly useless.

  They found his truck, but no sign of Radar. His phone had been recovered from under the vehicle and there were signs of a struggle in the gravel.

  Dimas and the FBI agent managed to track the phone to a quiet stretch of the US 50 about thirty miles south of Grand Junction. Jake and Yanis went out as soon as the red dot showed on the map, while Bree alerted Colorado State Patrol.

  I have no concept of how much time has passed since Jake called with the news, other than night has fallen outside. In here all the lights are on and everyone is doing their thing to try and find Radar. Everyone but me.

  I straighten up in the chair I was slumped in for God knows how long.

  “I need to do something,” I tell no one in particular, but Bree hears me. “This is not me. I don’t sit idle. Give me something to do. Anything.”

  She narrows her eyes at me before asking, “When did you last eat?”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  Last thing I can think about is eating. Not sure I could get anything down right now.

  “Not what I asked, but enough of an answer to know it was a while ago. I don’t think any of us had anything substantial for a while.” She leans forward and places a hand on my knee. “We all need fuel to keep us going, Hillary. Won’t do Radar or Sarah any good if we start dropping like flies.”

  I was thinking more along the lines of checking lists—like I did for Radar—or maybe making phone calls or something, but I can’t blame her for questioning me. Heck, at this point I’m not even sure myself I can be of any use.

  But I’m pretty sure I can manage to organize some food if that’s what they need.

  “I can order something,” I volunteer, and Bree manages a smile that doesn’t quite cut through the stress on her face.

  It’s a reminder I’m not the only one affected by Radar’s disappearance. These are people who love him too.

  Jesus. I love him. For someone who guards her heart so carefully, I sure have fallen fast. I’m in love with him and I’m not sure if I’ll ever have a chance to let him know.

  I force a sob that wants to surface back down, making my chest feel tight. I can’t think like that. Pulling the sweater around my shoulders, I get to my feet.

  “Pizza is easy,” Bree says, looking up at me. “We have a running tab at Pablo’s Pizza downtown.” She hands me a pen and a notepad. “I like their Santa Fe on a cauliflower crust.”

  I scribble down her order and go in search of Lena, who is on the phone. I mouth, “Pizza?” and she nods motioning for me to hand over the pad so she can write her order under Bree’s. Next are Dimas and the FBI agent whose name I now know is Matt, and finally I check in the boardroom to see if anyone is still in there.

  The room is empty, but my eyes are drawn to the whiteboard spanning almost the entire wall behind the large conference table. At the top of the board is written:
  Curiosity has me take a step closer when I hear movement behind me. Matt walks by and up to the board. He picks up a red marker, uses it to circle the name at the top, and scribbles something beside it.

 
  C. Philips. Curtis Philips?

  “What does that mean?” I want to know.

  Matt looks over his shoulder at me.

  “Something Radar was working on before Agent Dunn went missing. I’ve been poking through his laptop to try and find anything that might help us. Looks like he was on to something and all I did was follow his trail. I don’t know how much you know about the case, but we think this…” He points at the board. “…is the online identity of the mastermind behind this game connecting all these attacks. All we have to do is find him.”

  I shake my head in disbelief. It can’t be.

  “But he’s just a kid…” I mumble.

  Radar

  The first thing I notice is water dripping and an offensively dank smell.

  My head is pounding and despite the dim space, forcing my eyes open only makes it worse. I try to breathe through my mouth against the stench as I take stock of my surroundings.

  I lift my head from where it was resting on the cold, dirty porcelain bowl of a toilet, and gag when I imagine the kind of filth my face was pressed in. My glasses are gone, but I can tell I’m in a bathroom; a small window lets in just enough moonlight to recognize the space has seen better days. A huge chunk is missing from the edge of an old tub and about half the tiles are missing from the surround. The dripping sound is from what is left of the shower, now no more than a rusted pipe poking out of the wall.

  My ass is on the floor, hands cuffed behind me to the drainpipe of a wall-mounted sink. The door is open a crack and I manage to make out debris on the floor, an old bed frame leaning haphazardly against the wall, and a partially collapsed ceiling, despite my blurry visi
on. I listen for signs of life, anything to indicate I may not be alone, but all I can hear is the occasional vehicle engine in the distance. I can’t be too far from a road.

  I never got a look at my attacker. Don’t know if there was one or more. I just saw one person in the cruiser, but that doesn’t mean another person wasn’t ducking low to avoid being seen.

  My rattled brain is starting to clear some. Last thing I remember is my face heading for the gravel on the shoulder of US 50. Not sure how I ended up here or where here even is. All I know is it was light when I left and now it’s night.

  Jesus. Dad.

  Pain shoots up my arms when I violently yank at my restraints. The resulting clanking is loud—too loud—and I freeze right away, listening. When I’m sure no one comes running, I try again with a little more care.

  There is movement, and when I tilt my head back I see the actual sink slightly pulling away from the wall. Dust trickles down from where two bolts hold it anchored. Grabbing on to the pipe as best I can, I throw my weight forward and clench my jaw at the jolt of pain. Grinding my teeth I do it again and this time I feel it give a little.

  I keep at it, every so often stopping to listen. Anyone close by would be able to hear the groaning of the pipes and since no one has come running, I assume I’m alone. For now anyway.

  Whoever managed to get me from the side of the road to this bathroom must’ve been a big guy to haul me around, or there was more than one. There’s no doubt in my mind this is related to the investigation. We were closing in, so they took Sarah first and now me, which means someone was able to keep track of the progress we were making.

  It suddenly occurs to me that phone call about my father may well have been a way to get me out in the open. Fuck, I hope so.

  With renewed determination I work to loosen the sink from the wall, ignoring the hot burning in my shoulders until it finally rips free, showering me in dust and drywall debris.

  One of the benefits of being as tall as I am is that my limbs are long. Long enough to slip my arms around the sink as I struggle to my feet. I sway for a moment as the blood flows back to my extremities, leaving me light-headed. My hands are still bound behind my back, but at least I am free.

  As soon as the floor feels solid under my feet again, I open my eyes and my heart lurches in my chest.

  An old shower curtain is covering something in the cracked tub. I try to hold on to hope it’s just some debris, but the strand of blonde hair peeking out from under an edge tells me it’s futile.

  I have to be sure.

  I sit down on the edge of the tub, reach down behind me and pull at the curtain as I twist around to look. For once I’m glad for my lack of sharp vision, because the blank eyes and indistinguishable features underneath what I know is blood are enough to have bile burn the back of my throat. Sarah.

  I’m still forcing down the contents of my stomach when I hear car doors slam close by.

  I drop the curtain back over her face and surge to my feet. There’s nothing I can do to help her now and I need to get the fuck out of here.

  Slipping through the door, I step into what I now recognize is a motel room. At least, what once was a motel room. I immediately know where I am. I passed the place on my way out of town and am surprised I’m this close to where the cruiser pulled me over. If I can get away, I should be able to walk to my car, provided it’s still there.

  “Fuck you!” I hear yelling from right outside the door and scan the room for a place to hide. There’s a hole in the wall beside a ripped-up headboard, which is still partially bolted to the wall, revealing another room beyond. As I dart across the room, I hope it’s large enough for me to get through.

  “No, fuck you. This is all your fault, you might as well have pointed an arrow in my direction with that stupid picture you posted. You know the rules and still you needed to show off. You fucked us all over.”

  Both voices sound young and now I know one of them likely belongs to the councilman’s stepson.

  “Come on, Curt. It ain’t my fault we can’t find his computer.”

  My ears perk up at the name, but I don’t have any time to waste.

  I keep half an ear on the heated argument right outside and duck my head through the hole, but I get stuck on my shoulders. I shoot up a silent prayer I won’t make too much noise before I force my way through, hearing a distinct pop as I launch the rest of my body through the hole. My shoulder feels like my arm was ripped right from its socket, but I don’t have time to assess the damage. Every step is agony, with my arms still cuffed behind my back, but I have to get out of here.

  The door to this room is closed as well, but I notice someone knocked out part of the bathroom wall. I carefully traverse the rubble-littered floor, trying not to make a sound, when I hear the door open next door. I’m running out of time.

  I have one foot outside when I hear yelling. Fuck. Launching the rest of my body through, I start running along the back of the motel, hoping I can make it to the road to wave someone down. I stop at the far end, peeking around the corner to make sure the front is clear before darting across the empty parking lot to US 50.

  Running with your hands tied behind your back is harder than you think, and when I hear the crack of a gunshot behind me, I know I’m not going to make it.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Hillary

  “Tell us again.”

  I glare at Special Agent Sanders, who’s been grilling me for the past half hour.

  “Why? I’ve already gone over it twice.”

  I want to scream. They should be out there looking and instead they’re wasting their time with me.

  “Because I want to make sure we didn’t miss anything.”

  “I’ve told you everything. I don’t know what happened to him after Child Protective Services got involved, but that shouldn’t be too hard for you to track down. Or contact his mother.”

  “We’re already on that, Ms. Glenwood. I just want to understand how it is you seem to be connected to every aspect of this case.”

  My mouth falls open at that not quite veiled accusation and my eyes lock on Yanis, whose jaw has gone hard.

  “A word, Sanders.”

  The two of them leave the boardroom.

  I’m on the verge of throwing a hysterical tantrum when Jake steps in front of me, pulling me to his chest.

  “We all wanna get out there and look, Hillary,” he mumbles over my head, “but we can’t do anything until we know in which direction. Sanders is desperate, he has people disappearing on his watch.”

  “I don’t have any more information, though.”

  “You’d be surprised how often people unconsciously add in a small detail that didn’t seem that important when they retell a story a few times.”

  “He thinks I have something to do with this,” I complain, pushing back on Jake’s chest, and he lets me go.

  “Honey, he doesn’t. He’s just frustrated.”

  “Jake!” Bree yells urgently from the main office space.

  “Be right back,” he says, as he slips by me and out the door.

  Instead of waiting, I follow him. He joins the group already crowded around Dimas’ desk.

  “Emily Philips was Emily Loman before she married her late husband,” I hear Dimas explain. “Emily Loman, as in Ingrid Loman’s sister and Jeremy Loman’s aunt.”

  “So Jeremy and Curtis are cousins?” Jake asks.

  “They are,” Bree confirms. “And apparently Councilman Briscoe contacted the local CPS office last month, strongly discouraging them to pursue an investigation into his sister-in-law and her son.”

  “Where are those boys?” Sanders barks.

  “Even if he knows, I doubt Briscoe would be forthcoming,” Jake suggests. “Best bet is to get a hold of their mothers.”

  “Detectives Garcia and Bissette have been trying to find Emily Philips,” Yanis says. “Without any luck so far.”

  “Where is Ingrid Loman?” Sanders wants to kn
ow.

  Yanis turns to Bree. “Got a number?”

  “Give me a second.”

  She flips through some paperwork, and a moment after she dials a number on the desk phone and hits the speaker so everyone can hear.

  “Hello?”

  You can barely hear the woman’s voice above the din in the background. It sounds like she’s in a bar or something.

  “Yes, Ms. Loman, this is FBI Special Agent Sanders. I need your help. I need to know where your son is tonight?”

  “Jeremy? He was home when we left.”

  “You’re not home?”

  “We’re at a function at the Marriott downtown, my spouse is about to give his speech. We left Jeremy at home. His cousin is with him. Why? What is going on?”

  Sanders looks around the table and catches sight of me. For a second it looks like he’s going to call me out and I lift my chin in defiance, but then he turns back to the phone.

  “Would that be Curtis? This cousin?”

  “Yes, my sister’s boy. Can you tell me what this is about?”

  “Are they alone at your house?”

  “My housekeeper is there, but—”

  Sander doesn’t give her a chance to finish; he thanks her and quickly hangs up.

  “Dunlop,” he says to Matt. “You’re coming with me.”

  “Hold up,” Yanis stops him. “I can guarantee Ingrid Loman is right now trying to contact her son. Let’s call the home and get a hold of the housekeeper.”

  Bree is already dialing.

  I listen to her introduce herself and immediately switch to Spanish. I speak maybe half a dozen words, so I understand little, but when Bree hangs up she turns to the group.

  “The boys are not there. They left twenty minutes after the parents did.”

  “Shit,” Sanders mumbles before Bree continues.

  “Aracelli says she overheard them mention a new property Councilman Briscoe recently bought. Apparently they like to hang out there. It’s an old motel.”

  “Where?”