Just a few pictures. Hopefully the security cameras wouldn’t catch her.
Jeez-o-Pete. She had to think of that now? Not that it mattered. Her butt was square in the middle of this thing and she wanted to know why. What was Stennar Pharm trying so hard to hide that they’d terrorize an employee for it?
Time to find out.
She fixed her course to the stairs and stepped down on tiptoes so her heels wouldn’t smack. The main warehouse lights had been turned off, but the industrial-looking sconces that dotted the walls remained lit and provided enough illumination for her to see.
Once on the warehouse floor, she glanced around at the row of closed office doors. So far, so good. Rather than stay in the main area of the warehouse, she darted down the first row so she could cross to the back end and stay fairly hidden.
In the silence of the cavernous building, she swung down aisle seven, her gaze drifting over the location numbers on each column. Halfway down the aisle, she located five boxes of Baxtin. The large plastic totes, as expected, were sealed with plastic straps. Fingerprints had been left in the dirt and grime on the outsides of the containers. The totes saw a lot of action in and around the warehouses and their condition was an indication of how long they’d been in service. The grime didn’t necessarily mean anything. The dents on the durable plastic were the tells. More dents meant older totes. These totes might be middle-aged.
Fastened to the sides of the totes were pockets containing barcode tickets. Barcodes told the story. At each location, scans would be done to create an electronic trail of where the totes had been. After delivery, all totes were sorted and a printed manifest given to each driver prior to leaving Stennar Pharm. Once the order was delivered to the outside location, the driver would scan each barcode. The receiving company would compare the number of totes in the delivery to the electronic signature pad and the paper manifest. After the electronic and paper manifests had been signed off, the driver retrieved the empty totes and left.
Jillian pulled the label and the crackle of paper in the silent warehouse triggered a blood rush. She glanced around. No one in the area.
She went back to the label where she saw the Stennar Pharm address, the route, order number and the barcode containing all the pertinent delivery info. She focused the camera. Snap. Next box. Snap. Snap. Up one box. Snap. Snap. Snap. Seven shots later, she had what she needed and slid the camera strap over her shoulder.
Mission accomplished. Time to go. She returned the barcodes to the side pockets on the totes and darted down the long aisle. A shipment of boxes waiting to be dealt with sat at the end of the row.
And then the bay door creaked and rumbled to life and Jillian’s head damn near exploded.
A male voice sounded from two rows down and she froze, her arms and legs deadening.
Two men rounded the end of the row. One was Cliff.
Move.
Without thinking, she dove behind the pallet of boxes and her sweaty palms slipped on the cold cement floor. Her elbow took the brunt of her landing. Jabbing pain shot through her shoulder. She drew air, holding it for a second until the initial sting wore off.
“It’s the one on the end.”
That sounded like Cliff. Coming her way. Obviously in search of the boxes she hid behind. If she’d been smart and not allowed panic to consume her, she would have simply walked around the corner and told Cliff she’d been checking on something on her way out.
Hadn’t that been the plan?
Too late now. She swung her head left and right, searching for an escape route. Anywhere but here.
Nothing. Even if she made a break for it, they’d see her.
She heard a truck backing to the loading dock and then the squeak of brakes.
“Let’s just load it by hand.” Definitely Cliff.
“Awright. I’ll grab the dolly.”
The swish of sliding cardboard came from above her head and that same blast of panic shot through her as the top box was moved off the stack. Jillian, back on her haunches, curled into a ball, making herself as small as possible. Her arms trembled and she slammed her eyes closed, praying she wouldn’t be seen. Do something.
Another box slid off and she crouched lower. Time to get serious. One more box and—hello, boys—she’d be seen.
With the camera.
How would she explain this? She couldn’t. Not reasonably. Sure she took the camera everywhere, but after the week she’d had, the break-in, the listening devices, they’d never believe she wasn’t up to something.
SD card.
She should take it. If something happened to the camera, she’d have the SD card. She flipped the tiny door open, ejected the card and shoved it in her bra where it wouldn’t get damaged.
She hoped.
Her chest ached from the clotting air trapped there. She backed against the box and rapped her knuckles against her chest. Can’t get hysterical now. Slowly, she drew a breath and let it out.
Directly in front of her was a long aisle. If she created a distraction that would draw Cliff and the other guy away, she could run.
Phone.
She dug her cell phone from her purse. All she needed to do was set an alarm then slide it to the right. When the men went in search of the noise, she’d bolt. If she got caught, she’d say she returned to the warehouse to find her phone that she must have dropped on her way out.
Not a great plan, but it would do.
The red message light on the phone blinked and she touched the screen. Jack. They’d made plans to meet, but he’d have to wait.
“I’ve got it!” The second man’s voice boomed in the near vicinity. Here they come.
Quickly, she pulled up her calendar, missed the button and squeezed her hand closed. Steady now. She tried again and managed to set an appointment. Then she locked the screen. Just in case someone got nosy. Silently, she slid the phone in the opposite direction of her intended escape route. The stupid thing only went twenty feet. Damn.
It would have to be enough.
“What the hell is that?” Cliff said when the phone began chirping.
Please, please, please.
“I thought everyone was gone,” the other guy said.
“They are.”
But Cliff’s voice was more distant now, moving away. Toward the phone.
Realistically, she had about five seconds before they located the phone and stepped right into her sight. Now or never. Keeping crouched behind the remaining boxes she gathered her camera and purse and scooted across the aisle, her low heels click-click, click-click, click-clicking against the floor. Towering stacks of boxes swept by in a blur. Her purse and camera drooped off her shoulder and she gripped them tighter. The end of the aisle was in sight. She could hang a left and bolt out the emergency exit just a few feet down.
Four more steps and she’d be at the end. I’ve got this.
Two steps.
On the last step, a man came flying around the corner and rammed into her. Caught. Crushing weight knocked her over, her right knee hitting the floor first followed by her head.
“Oof.”
An explosion of pain filled the side of her face. A warm trickle of something, blood maybe, seeped down her cheek and she brought her fingers up to check. Yep. Bleeding.
She lurched forward, her shoes slipping on the cement. No traction. The man grabbed her blouse and his fingers scraped along her back. He gripped harder and crumpled the material in his fist to rein her in.
“Stop,” the man said. “Don’t make me hurt you.”
“Hey,” Cliff yelled, his voice not far behind her. “She works here.”
The truck horn flared and, with the pounding her skull had taken, it blasted like cannon fire, the sound gonging inside her head and reverberating. Her vision blurred and she drew her hands up to cove
r her ears. Knifing pain bore into her and her stomach flipped. Need to get free.
Vomit gurgled in her throat and she concentrated on each inhalation of breath.
Too late.
The end of the aisle seesawed. For a second, she heard a fffoom. Must be her mind playing with her. Or maybe shutting down the pain.
Chapter Ten
Lynx climbed the last step on Vic’s back porch and the door swung open. The big man stood in the doorway with one of the twins, Ava if the pink sleeper was any indication, asleep in his arms, her chubby cheek resting against his chest.
“Wake her up,” Vic said in a barely audible voice, “and I’ll rip your jaw off and shove it up your ass.”
Helluva greeting.
“Wow,” Lynx mouthed.
Vic waved him inside. “You can talk. Don’t be loud. She’s been screaming for two hours. Gina gave in half an hour ago. She may be upstairs killing herself. I’m not sure. At the very least, I know she’s got a bottle of scotch up there.”
“Where’s Justin?”
He grinned. “My boy? Sleeping like a champ. As usual, the women in my life are being a pain in the ass.”
Lynx laughed. “You know you love it.”
Glancing down at his daughter and her little bow mouth, Vic tilted his head. The look on his face, all...well...peaceful, made Lynx wonder if he’d ever have kids.
Last thing a recovering addict needed to throw into the mix was a screaming baby. Still, he wouldn’t mind looking at someone like that.
Vic eased the door shut, making sure the lock didn’t snick and wake up the baby. He waited three seconds, stared down at his daughter who remained comatose and backed away from the door. “What’s up?”
“I need your help with something.”
The baby shifted and Vic rocked from one foot to the other, his eyes wide and horrified. “My sweet Ava,” he sang, “Daddy loves you. But if you wake up, I will go fucking crazeeeee.”
Both men stayed silent. Lynx might have laughed at his stud friend who feared nothing. Except his baby. Ava found another comfortable position and settled back to sleep. Vic shook his head and focused on the ceiling. A second later, he looked back at Lynx. “Close one.”
“I’ll say.”
“What do you need?”
More rocking from Vic. Back and forth, back and forth, and Lynx found himself swaying along. “Jillian was supposed to call me. We were gonna meet at Starbucks after she took pictures at the warehouse.”
“Say what now?”
Ava shifted again, then hiccupped. Vic held his finger to his lips and mouthed “Be right back.”
Vic with a baby. That was like the Terminator in a diaper. Bizarre.
Lynx leaned back against the newly installed kitchen counter and folded his arms. Gina had been on a tear recently updating the hundred-year-old house and things were shaping up. Before, the place had that nice lived-in look guys like. Now it was more slick and shiny.
Oddly enough, it was also quiet. Typically the television or the boys yelling at their video games drifted into the kitchen. Maybe, given the Ava situation, Vic and Gina had nixed any noise.
Vic returned. “We’re good. I hope she stays down. My wife is so sleep deprived, I’m afraid to go lights out. She might kill me in my sleep for doing this to her. I’ve got all the knives on lockdown.” He scrubbed his hands over his face. “Tell me you’re here to save me.”
“Actually, I am. I’ve called her three times.”
“Jillian?”
“Yeah. She was supposed to call me as soon as she got out of the warehouse. My guess is she should have called me thirty minutes ago.”
“You think something is wrong?”
“Yep. I’m gonna check it out. See if she’s there.”
“You’re just gonna walk in there?”
He shrugged. “Not much choice. If there’s anyone there, I’ll tell them she was supposed to meet me. Not a lie.”
“They’ll also think you’re some psycho junkie looking for a fix.”
The second it came out of his mouth, Vic smacked his lips together. Lynx held up his hands. “It is what it is.”
“Yeah, but—”
“No. I can’t have everyone around me watching what they say all the time. It’s ridiculous and it’s unfair.”
“Hey, I was being sensitive. Enjoy it while it lasts.”
Lynx cracked a smile. “Because you’re a stupid fucking redneck?”
“That and you’re a paranoid ass-kissing Boy Scout.”
Ah, yes. The reset button had been pushed. All things back in balance. “Then nothing has changed in the thirteen years we’ve known each other. Now, can we wrap up this lovefest and find Jillian?”
“You’re on, Boy Scout. Give me two minutes to let Gina know I’m going out.”
When they got into Lynx’s car—the Mercedes Mike shoved down his throat—Vic held a .38 out to him.
Crap. The big man had done more than tell his wife he was leaving.
Vic inched the weapon closer. “When’s the last time you practiced?”
Years. “A while.”
“Forget it,” he said. “Take the fucking gun and make sure you don’t shoot my balls off. When this is over, remind me to drag your ass to the range.”
Lynx took the gun and held it in his open hand. Slowly, he wrapped his fingers around the grip and absorbed what used to be the familiar feel of a weapon. Back in the day, he’d preferred a .45 in his grasp. Now the .38 would have to do.
* * *
With great care, Jillian sat up and leaned against one of the stacked boxes. Her head whooshed and her stomach instantly rebelled. She closed her eyes and concentrated on not throwing up.
When she opened her eyes again, Cliff stood over her, hands on hips, his eyes slightly narrowed.
“Jillian, what the hell were you doing? We thought you were a thief.”
She glanced around. Beside her was her purse. Had she dropped it? And the camera? Where is it? She glanced to her other side. Nothing
“Where’s my camera?”
“What camera?”
She reached for her purse, hoping the camera might be under it. Nothing.
“I had it with me. It’s gone.”
Cliff glanced at the other guy, raising his eyebrows in a she’s-cooked gesture, then squatted to eye level with her. “No camera. You feel okay? You whacked your head when you fell.”
They took her camera. The sons of bitches stole her camera. She resisted pressing her fingers into her chest to check for the SD card tucked into her bra.
“Yes, but I had my camera with me.”
Cliff shook his head. “I didn’t see any camera. How’s your head?”
Despite the throbbing, realization had set in. They took her beloved camera and were now attempting to convince her she never had it. She focused on Cliff, her eyes burning. Hopefully he’d get the point and stop screwing with her. “I feel fine. I know I had my camera. Where is it?”
The other guy stepped closer, way too close. Looming over her. The base of her skull hammered. Along with her cheek and the side of her head. Total mess.
She scooted back an inch and looked up at the man standing over her. “Who are you?”
“This is Ron. He’s a part-timer.”
She didn’t know any Ron. Then again, she didn’t know everyone who worked in the warehouse. “Okay, Ron. You need to step back and give me room to get up.”
He shrugged his massive shoulders. “You need help?”
“No. Thank you.” The aisle swayed and she propped a hand against a box to steady herself. Little dizzy.
Cliff tilted his head. “You blacked out for a few seconds.”
Blacked out? She didn’t
remember that. Could have happened, she supposed. “I’m fine. I need to get home.” She swiped a hand over her cheek and came away with a smear of blood. “I’m still bleeding.”
“You cut your cheek when you fell,” Ron said.
“You mean when you tackled me.”
Cliff sighed.
“Yeah. Because I didn’t see it was you and I thought you were trying to rob the place.”
From the corner of her eye, Jillian spotted someone swing around the corner of the aisle. Ned. Marching toward them. He zeroed in on her and it seemed to register that she was bloody. He shot a look at Cliff and his playmate. “What the hell is going on? Jillian, why are you bleeding?”
“She fell,” Ron said.
Jillian ignored him. “Ron tackled me.”
Ned spun on Cliff, who held his hands in surrender. “I saw someone sneaking around. I thought she was a thief and we chased her down. She fell and hit her cheek on the floor.”
Ned pinned his gaze on Cliff, shifted to Ron then back to Cliff. “She’s hurt and you’re standing around? She could have a concussion.”
Finally, someone defending her. Ned took Jillian’s arm and squeezed.
“Ow,” she said.
“Sorry. Come up to my office and sit.” He turned back to Cliff. “You two join us so we can figure this out.”
Jillian tried to tug her arm free, but Ned held on. “I need to go home.”
“Not yet, you don’t. You can’t drive with a head injury.”
“I don’t have a head injury.”
Cliff drew up beside her. “She blacked out.”
“I did not.”
“How would you know?”
Damn.
“Either way,” Ned said. “You’re coming up to my office while I get to the bottom of this. I’ll have to report your injury to HR.”
Human Resources. Fantastic. An incident for her file. This wasn’t her fault, though. She’d been accosted and wouldn’t let them spin it. No, sir.
In Ned’s office, she took one of the guest chairs while Cliff and Ron stood to the side. Ned had gone off to grab the first-aid kit. Fine. She’d wait.
She poked a finger at Cliff. “I want my camera back.” Somehow she’d managed a firm voice.
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