Silent is the Grave

by Candle Sutton

  “Let’s check out the loading dock.”

  Morgan shoved open his door. “I figured you’d say that.”

  Going up an adjacent block, they circled around to hide beside a dumpster across the street from Tranquility Day Spa’s rear loading dock.

  An exterminator’s van and black SUV were parked outside the loading door, which looked like something he’d expect to find on an old barn, not a metro warehouse. The thick metal door wasn’t like a garage door; rather, it moved side-to-side on a track system.

  The door stood open about six feet. Not much of the inside was visible from where they stood, but he could see a bulky Hispanic man in an orange and black striped t-shirt standing just inside the door. Smoke trailed from a cigarette poking out of his lips.

  More concerning was the semi-automatic rifle hanging from his right hand.

  They could probably sneak up and disarm the guy easily enough. Problem was that there might be more armed guys inside.

  Well, that and they had no legal grounds to enter.

  “Think you can get a warrant?”

  Morgan snorted. “Based on what? God’s say-so?”

  “We have more than that. The evidence. An eyewitness.”

  “Evidence is sketchy and our eyewitness has flown the coop.”

  Right and right. Unfortunately.

  He skimmed up the building, his attention resting on the top floor. Elly could be up there right now.

  She might already be dead.

  His eyes traveled back down to the loading dock.

  Something about the exterminator’s van bothered him. He let his gaze rest on it for a second.

  Had he seen it before? He didn’t think so. That angry looking wasp on the side was the kind of thing that stuck in the memory…

  Angry wasp. Felipe.

  Could this be the same van Felipe saw the day of Jessie’s murder? It fit the description the kid had given him.

  What were the odds that it wasn’t?

  Screw protocol. He was going in. If it cost him his job, so be it. At least it wouldn’t cost Elly her life.

  He stepped forward.

  Morgan grabbed his arm and jerked him back. “Car’s comin’.”

  Sure enough. A red SUV careened up the block like the world was coming to an end behind it.

  It ground to a halt beside the black SUV.

  A man got out. White guy, scrawny. He looked up and down the street.

  Zander pulled further back into the shadows behind the dumpster. If he could see that guy, the guy should be able to see him.

  After a few seconds, the man circled to the passenger side of the SUV and yanked open the back door.

  Someone tumbled out.

  A flash of turquoise. Copper curls.

  Elly!

  She stumbled to her feet, her hands not leaving the armrest built into the door.

  The man did something by her hands, then grabbed her bound wrists and pulled her toward the delivery door.

  Seeing them coming, the smoking man pushed the door wide open.

  Boxes were stacked along the walls, but other than the smoking man, the shifty white guy, and Elly, no one was in sight.

  Good. He and Morgan could easily take down those two goons.

  The smoking man slid the door most of the way closed, leaving it open a few inches and setting his cigarette on the ground. Probably planned to return to finish his smoke once he helped his amigo with the captive.

  “I’m calling for backup, then we’re going in.” Morgan’s whispered words came close to his ear.

  It was a good thing they got here in time to see Elly being forced inside. Gave them a reason to enter.

  If you hurry. Zeke’s words from earlier replayed.

  Yet another instance where God was right.

  As Morgan finished the call, Zander pulled his weapon and shot a glance up the street.

  Empty.

  At Morgan’s nod, he jumped up, racing across the street toward the red SUV in which Elly had arrived. He stopped beside it, using it to shield him from the door’s line of sight.

  No shouts or gunshots. That was a good sign.

  Morgan stopped beside him, breathing heavily.

  They slipped down the side of the vehicle. Peeking around the back, Zander saw no sign of the Alma member and darted across the open space to put his back against the building.

  They eased toward the door. Almost there…

  The man reappeared at the opening and stooped to pick up his cigarette.

  Zander rushed him.

  Dropping the cigarette, the man brought his gun up just as Zander launched himself.

  The tackle caught the man at his core and they went down, the rifle clattering across the concrete.

  Zander shoved himself up, pushing his knee into the man’s chest and aiming his gun at the man’s head. “Stay down.”

  The glare could have frozen a snowman, but the man complied.

  Handcuffs clinked as Morgan approached.

  Keeping his gun trained on the man, Zander stood and slowly backed away. “Get up. Slowly. Hands on your head.”

  The man obeyed.

  Morgan wrestled his arms behind his back, snapped on one cuff, then fed the cuffs through the handle on the door before securing the second one around the man’s other wrist.

  “Where’d he take the girl?”

  The smoking man muttered in Spanish, too low for Zander to hear.

  Not that he necessarily wanted to. If the look on the man’s face was any indicator, the words had been anything but helpful.

  Zander stepped inside the warehouse and scanned the ceiling.

  No sign of cameras. Maybe the back areas weren’t watched as closely as the captives held upstairs.

  Boxes, stacked about four feet high, lined the wall in front of him. Some wooden crates were stacked to his right. To his left, a freight elevator sat silently.

  No numbers above the elevator, so he didn’t know what floor it had stopped on.

  The penthouse.

  So far everything else that Zeke had told him had proven true. He was going on faith that the trend would continue.

  A closed door next to the elevator contained a plaque with a picture of stairs.

  That was the better option.

  The elevator not only trapped them, it announced their approach. At least with the stairs, they could maybe retain the element of surprise.

  Although honestly, they may have lost that already. Just because he didn’t see cameras didn’t mean they weren’t hidden somewhere.

  Which meant they better hurry. Discovery could be only a gunshot away.

  Twenty Three

  Rafe jerked at the sound of someone at the door.

  Was this it? Were they here to kill him?

  Muffled voices drifted through the door, which had yet to open. He wished he could hear what they were saying.

  Maybe they weren’t coming for him. Maybe they were after her.

  His gaze flicked to the little black haired chica quivering only a few feet away. She hadn’t tried to make conversation and he hadn’t pushed it. Honestly, the pounding in his head made the silence a small blessing.

  Although once these guys killed him, he’d have plenty of silence. There was no talking from the grave.

  Maybe he should’ve tried talking to her, though.

  While he was bound, she wasn’t. Evidently the Almas didn’t expect much trouble out of her.

  Although looking at her, he wasn’t sure she was in any mental condition to help. She sat against the wall, arms wrapped tightly around her knees, which she had pulled against her chest. Blotchy cheeks and moist eyes evidenced spent tears, although nothing flowed right now. Instead, she stared at the wall.

  Not a thing there that he could see, so he didn’t know what she was looking at.

  He looked around the room. It looked like some kind of apartment. A sofa, a few chairs, a little kitchen space, and tall windows that overlooked the city. Two closed
doors watched like oversized eyes from across the living room.

  Bedroom and bathroom, no doubt.

  Not that it mattered. This was likely to be the last room he’d ever see.

  The door jerked open.

  A woman stumbled inside. Red curls…

  Hey! Wasn’t that Zander’s chick? What was her name again?

  A small sob broke from the dark haired girl, who didn’t move.

  A white guy shoved the woman in further. “Sit down!” The barked order echoed seconds before he slammed the door closed.

  “Elly!” The dark haired girl wailed.

  Elly. Yeah, that sounded right. What was she doin’ here anyway?

  “It’s okay.” Peace lined Elly’s words.

  What the heck? Did she not realize that they were all as good as dead?

  Honestly, he didn’t know why any of them were still alive right now.

  The Almas must need information from them. That was the only explanation. Once they got it… goodbye life, hello afterlife.

  If there was such a thing.

  The woman crossed the room to kneel in front of the girl. “Monica, did they hurt you?”

  Monica. He made a mental note of the girl’s name. Why, he wasn’t sure. Not like he’d need the information after today.

  Monica sniffled. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left.”

  “It’s okay. God’s got this, too.” A gentle smile curled her lips.

  Must be nice to be able to believe that, but he wasn’t that stupid. None of them were leaving this building alive.

  Monica wiped tears. “You know if we’re gonna get out of this?”

  “God hasn’t told me that yet, but even if we don’t, we get to see Him. It’s a win either way.” Elly’s smile dimmed a shade. “Can you untie me?”

  Monica nodded and Elly turned, her attention landing on him. “Rafe, right?”

  Dang. She had a good memory. “Yeah.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “I asked the wrong questions.” Stupid thing was that he’d known better. He’d known that asking about a Montoya was suicide.

  “I can’t get it.” Monica whimpered. “It’s some kinda plastic thing.”

  Probably a zip tie. Fast and effective.

  Not something that could be broken by hand. They’d need scissors. Or a knife.

  Wait! Had Montoya and her thugs searched him? Had they found the pocketknife?

  He stretched his bound hands downward, patting his rear pockets. Was it there?

  Yes! He stretched his fingers into his pockets, his fingers brushing the edge. Twisting, he reached further. Got it!

  A glance at the door found it closed. No sound came through. It was now or never.

  “I’ve got a knife.”

  The ladies both looked at him, then Monica scurried across the room.

  He pulled it out and twisted around to place the knife in her hands. “Cut me loose, too.”

  The knife clicked as she flicked it open, he felt a tug at his wrists, and then the plastic fell free.

  Tingling spread through his hands as he pulled them in front of him and shook them out.

  Monica scuttled back to Elly and cut her hands free, too.

  Time to get outta here. Or at least try.

  They might only have seconds before someone came through that door.

  “Let’s look around. See if we can find–”

  The door opened. A man stepped inside, his presence filling the small living area. Brown spiky hair, a hard face void of any emotion, and the gun held loosely in his hand all spelled out one thing.

  Trouble.

  Monica sobbed.

  So she knew this guy. And wasn’t happy to see him.

  Executioner. Likely the one Celestine Montoya had do her dirty work.

  Executioner’s flat eyes traveled across them. If he was surprised that they’d cut themselves free, he didn’t show it.

  Rafe cursed silently.

  His knife was still in Monica’s hands. It was useless there. She’d never attack this guy.

  “So.” Executioner spoke slowly, his tone low and menacing. “Answer my questions and this will be over quickly. Refuse and you will suffer. Your choice.”

  Elly rose and took a step forward, placing herself between Executioner and Monica. “The police are coming. Let us go.”

  The man laughed. “You think I’ve never heard that one before?”

  “This time it’s true, Ray.”

  Executioner’s eyes narrowed. “How’d you know my name?”

  She’d been right? Weird.

  “God told me.”

  Even weirder. Rafe scrutinized her.

  There might be more to this chick than he originally thought.

  Not only was she gutsy, there was something about her, a confidence, even in a situation like this…

  If they lived through this, he’d have to tell Zander this one might be worth keeping around.

  Ray snorted. “Right. Then I hope He also told you that I’m not messing around.”

  Elly remained silent.

  Shifting his attention, Ray’s eyes speared Monica to the wall. “How much do the police know?”

  “Enough–”

  Ray brought his gun up and sighted on Elly’s face. “I was asking her.”

  “I told them everything!” Monica blurted. “Everything I know.”

  Ray’s eyebrows dropped. “Then I guess we better hurry and finish here.”

  Swiveling, Ray turned the gun on him.

  Rafe swallowed the dry log in his throat. He’d never looked down the barrel of a gun before. Not a pleasant sight.

  “And you. Why were you asking about Celestine?”

  Rafe tried to smile. Exude confidence.

  Right. Not a chance that was going to happen. “Like I told her, a friend of mine–”

  “Stop. You were talking to that cop. The same one I caught Javier talking to. You a snitch?”

  Like he’d admit that. If he admitted it, he was dead for sure. If he lied, there was a toothpick sized chance he’d make it out of this alive. “No way. Zander’s an old friend from the ‘hood. Look into it, man. You’ll see. We grew up together.”

  “You tell him anything about Celestine?”

  “Didn’t know anything to tell him. Besides, I didn’t have to. She’d already gone and talked to him herself.”

  “Don’t lie to me!”

  “I’m not. Ask her.”

  Ray stared at him. Weighed him. Then shook his head. “Doesn’t matter either way. My job is to protect this family. I protected her from Javier and now I’ll protect her from you.”

  “You what?” A woman’s voice came from the doorway. “Ray? What did you do?”

  Rafe turned his head. Celestine stood in the doorway, a gun clutched in her shaking hand. Beneath her makeup, her skin had paled and her eyes swallowed her face.

  Ray didn’t turn. “My job.”

  “Your job? You killed the man I loved!”

  “He was talking to the cops! He was a traitor who was going to sell you out.”

  “That cop was his brother!” The words lashed like a whip.

  At least Ray had the good sense to wince slightly.

  “Celestine.” Ray’s voice softened, as did his expression. “You pay me to protect you.”

  “Not from my fiancé.”

  Ray shifted so he could see Celestine, too. “I stand by my decision.”

  “So do I.”

  Before Rafe could blink, her gun came up. The explosion echoed in the room.

  Ray dropped, but not before Rafe saw chunks fly from one side of the man’s head. Blood spattered the wall beyond him and pooled on the beige carpet.

  Celestine didn’t even wait for the body to hit the floor before moving toward it.

  Time seemed to slow. His mind screamed at him to get up, run, tackle her, something, but his limbs refused to move.

  Scooping up Ray’s gun, Celestine swung toward Monica and squee
zed off a shot.

  “No!” Elly lunged toward Monica.

  While he didn’t know who had been hit, he knew one of them had. No way would Celestine miss at this close range.

  It was now or never.

  He lunged to his feet.

  Footsteps pounded nearby.

  The gun swung his direction.

  Move!

  His leaden limbs felt like they belonged to someone else, yet slowly responded to his brain’s command. He lurched to his right.

  The explosion seemed louder than the first two. Pain ripped through his torso.

  “SFPD! Drop the weapon!”

  The pain dulled, the noises faded, and blackness leached in.

  ₪ ₪ ₪

  Elly watched the gun swing around.

  “No!” She launched herself toward Monica.

  Fiery pain seared her skin, stealing her breath. Was this what it felt like to be hurt?

  Her hand went to her arm, where the pain resided, and came back smeared with blood. Her blood. She stared at it for a second before looking at her arm.

  The bullet had only grazed her.

  Monica.

  She whirled toward the black haired girl, who was slumped against the wall, eyes wide, blood flowing from a dark spot on her chest.

  ₪ ₪ ₪

  The gunshot pierced Zander’s soul.

  Not Elly. Please God, not her.

  When he’d crossed the line to fully believing God was listening, he wasn’t sure, but now seemed like as good a time as any to give this prayer thing a try.

  He and Morgan glanced around the penthouse floor. No sign of anyone. No guards or girls or anyone who might sound an alarm.

  At least one thing was going right.

  Toward the end of the hall, a shadow spilled out of an open doorway. That had to be it.

  He raced down the hallway, which seemed to stretch for miles.

  A second gunshot propelled his feet faster. A woman screamed.

  Elly.

  The third gunshot almost launched him into the room.

  He reached the doorway. Celestine Montoya stood in the center of the room, gun extended in her hands. A man’s body lay facedown at her feet.

  Following Celestine’s gun, he saw Rafe, his body twisted, face aimed at the ceiling.

  Rafe? How?

  Across the room, he could see Elly kneeling beside Monica. Blood surrounded them. It looked like Elly was okay, which left Monica.