Cheyenne McCray - Point Blank (Lawmen Book 4)

by Unknown

  Even though he was leaving, the last thing he was going to do was let her go out with no one keeping an eye on her to make sure she was safe.

  He un-holstered his cell phone and located Jase’s number. “I need someone to watch over Natasha,” Brooks said as soon as Jase answered.

  “I’ll head on over,” Jase said. “Her home or business?”

  Brooks glanced at the door he’d just closed. Natasha was inside, hurt and alone, and it made him sick to his stomach knowing he’d caused her to feel that way. “She’s home. You have her address?”

  “I’ve got it right here. It’s in her file on my tablet.” Jase had a frown in his voice. “What’s going on?”

  Brooks started down the steps. “I’ve just got a bad feeling.”

  “Trust your gut.” Sirens were in the background and Jase spoke louder. “I’m in Douglas. I can make it to her house in thirty minutes.”

  Brooks reached the concrete pad at the bottom of the old staircase. “I’ll stay until you get here.”

  After Brooks ended the call, he made his way to his truck, going the same route he’d been taking every day since he’d started staying at Natasha’s. This was the first time he’d left feeling like something was desperately wrong.

  Something was wrong. He’d hurt the woman he loved.

  He reached his truck, unlocked it, and climbed in after tossing his hat on the passenger seat. With the narrow streets, it was difficult to park where he could get a good vantage point to watch Natasha’s home and the man Okle had on her today. He drove the truck down the hill and pulled to the side the best he could to allow vehicles to pass.

  Twenty minutes passed, and Natasha hadn’t left her home.

  His phone vibrated in its holster, and he pulled it out and checked the screen. Sofia.

  “Get your ass to Okle’s home.” Sofia said as soon as Brooks answered. “We have reports of activity and we need you there with the rest of the team.”

  As she spoke, the man watching Natasha’s home started his car and pulled into the area where Natasha parked. He used the area to turn his vehicle around and was back on the street and headed away from her house.

  Brooks blew out a breath. She’d be fine now that the bastard wasn’t watching her. Likely it had something to do with whatever was going on at Okle’s.

  “How close are you to Okle’s?” Sofia was asking.

  Brooks started his truck and drove down the hill. “Fifteen minutes.”

  “Make it ten.” Sofia disconnected the call.

  Brooks couldn’t get himself to leave Natasha alone. He called Jase.

  “ETA?” he asked when Jase answered.

  “Five minutes,” Jase said. “Just passed the Lavender Pit.”

  Five minutes. She’d be fine for the few minutes difference between the time Brooks left to when Jase would arrive.

  Brooks thanked Jase before he disconnected the call. He switched on his flashers and siren, and headed away from Natasha’s home, hell bent for leather to get to Okle’s and take the man down once and for all.

  CHAPTER 23

  When the back door closed, Brooks took a part of her with him.

  Natasha left her bathroom, walked across the floor nude, and searched for something to wear in her lingerie drawer. Her entire body ached, as if everything was broken and not just her heart.

  He’s been using me.

  No matter how many times the thought came to her, she still couldn’t quite comprehend it. Everything that had happened between them had been a lie. Or, at the very least, built on a foundation of lies.

  She grabbed a set of undergarments and sat on the bed instead of putting them on. She had to think of this logically. Maybe he really did care for her now, but maybe not. Was his getting close to her for his job something that was forgivable? They’d gone to bed together not long after they’d met. Had he just been fucking her because it was part of his job?

  Was he such a good actor that he could fake the emotion she was certain she’d seen in his eyes? She supposed he didn’t have to be an actor. Undercover agents faked everything they did when they infiltrated gangs, cartels, mafias, or other shady organizations. Had the Feds thought she was a threat because she had associated with Mark?

  She could see how she looked guilty by association and because she had been selling Mark’s illegal drugs. They wouldn’t know it was without her knowledge, and her fingerprints were likely all over a great deal of what had been sold. Could she forgive Brooks’s suspicions?

  Maybe. What she couldn’t forgive was the fact that Brooks had taken things to this point not only sexually but also emotionally—and he’d done it without telling her the truth.

  It hurt so much that she felt like her chest was being crushed and she could hardly breathe. What he’d done—it wasn’t something she could easily let go of.

  Her throat felt as if something hard and large was lodged inside, and she held her hand to her bare chest, over her heart. She took a deep breath, let it out, and then grabbed the underwear sitting on the bed beside her.

  Over the past week, she’d thought that just maybe he would help her out of this mess. She had grown to count on him. Now she didn’t know what to think.

  She paused for a moment and her skin prickled.

  Maybe it was time to take care of things herself.

  It was time for all of this to end before someone she loved died.

  She slipped on the bright pink panties and matching bra she’d taken out of her lingerie drawer. She wasn’t in a bright mood, but everything she owned was colorful and cheerful. Black lingerie had never been on her shopping list, but she wished it had. It would better go with her mood.

  Everything that had happened whirled around in her mind and she had a hard time focusing on this one important thing that had happened. There were too many important things happening.

  She walked to her dresser with the big vanity mirror. She didn’t look at her reflection, certain her face would be pale with black circles under her eyes.

  Her heart ached as she reached for the crystal butterfly Brooks had given her. She held it up and turned it around, watching sparkles dance from each facet. Would he have given her the butterfly if he didn’t care? It had been so touching—he had noticed her love for butterflies and the gift had tugged at her heart.

  She clenched her hand around the butterfly and gritted her teeth, tempted to throw it across the room so it smashed against the wall and shattered into a thousand pieces.

  Like her heart.

  For a moment she gripped the butterfly before placing it hard enough on her dresser for it to make a loud thunk, but not break.

  As she stood there, what she needed to do now became crystal clear. Everything came into sharp focus and the question she had asked herself over and over again had been the right question. Desperation had given her the only possible answer.

  She picked out a pair of worn, comfortable jeans, along with royal blue Keds. A plain top was harder to find, and she had to dig in a drawer of old T-shirts until she found a black one with Zombie Apocalypse First Responder Team in red lettering on the front. She’d had it for years—Uncle Dexter had given it to her as a joke when she started working as a dispatcher for the police department. She couldn’t bear to part with anything he’d given her, so it had been with the rest of her T-shirts since he passed away.

  Her hair had dried and she brushed it out and braided it tightly to keep it out of her face. She didn’t need any distractions.

  The small Sig Sauer that Brooks had given her, before she worked the tradeshow in L.A., rested in the top drawer of her nightstand. She’d felt safe with him there, so she hadn’t left it out. She took the Sig and checked the magazine, not fully trusting Brooks. For all she knew he could have emptied it since he hadn’t wanted to let her use it in the first place.

  The magazine was full and she shoved it back in place. She chambered a round before making sure the safety was on. She intended to be ready.

&n
bsp; Since she didn’t have a holster, she found a small cross-body purse and slipped it over her head and shoulder before sliding the gun inside. She dropped her car and house keys inside the purse, along with her driver’s license—if this went bad, they might need it to identify her body.

  Yes, she would die for her family and friends.

  And if she was successful, she was prepared to face the consequences of premeditated murder. She would go to jail for the rest of her life to save the lives of so many others.

  It would be worth it.

  She didn’t bother with a jacket because she didn’t want to wear anything cumbersome. She shivered from the cold air that swirled over the threshold when she opened the kitchen door. Goose bumps rolled over her bare arms.

  She looked at the parking lot above the steep concrete stairs and saw the front bumper of her Beetle. Was someone parked on the street above, watching her? If someone was still keeping an eye on her, likely he would follow her to Okle’s warehouse.

  Let him.

  For a moment she wished Brooks was with her and she felt the traitorous ache of her love for him. Was it possible to get past the lies?

  She closed the kitchen door behind her and locked it. She ground her teeth, forcing herself to remember her anger and the fact that he’d used her.

  Those thoughts calmed her desire to forgive him considerably. Thinking about it also pissed her off all over again and she rolled her shoulders to try to relieve some of the tension that instantly gripped her.

  The stairs had never concerned her, but as she climbed them, it felt like there were twice as many steps and it was twice as steep. She made it to the top and scanned the area. No cars on the street. The only other vehicle belonged to Mr. McMahon, the old man who lived in the house next door.

  She hurried to climb into her car, but didn’t take the purse off before she buckled in. The Beetle didn’t make much sound when she started it, and then she drove it out of the parking lot and onto the street.

  The warehouse would be the first place to start—it was where she had met with Mark on a few previous occasions. She had never been to his home, but didn’t think she’d have a problem locating his address if she needed to.

  Her intuition told her he was at the warehouse, and she always trusted her intuition.

  That was when she listened to it and didn’t ignore what her senses were trying to tell her. The times she ignored it tended to be the times she’d end up in one mishap or another.

  She didn’t see any vehicles parked where there shouldn’t be any as she guided the Beetle down the hill. Once she felt comfortable that no one was following her, she drove toward Okle’s warehouse. It was on the south side of the sprawling town of Bisbee that was broken up into smaller satellite communities. His warehouse was in an area farther south of the community of San Jose.

  The time it took to drive from Old Bisbee to San Jose gave Natasha enough time to prepare mentally, to think through what she was about to do. As far as she was concerned, she had set the course and nothing would stop her. Going back and changing her mind was not an option.

  She reached the warehouse, but passed it and parked a ways down the road where it couldn’t be easily seen. She climbed out, stuffed the keys into her purse, and headed back to the warehouse.

  Even if someone did spot her, Mark had no idea what she planned to do, so she still had the element of surprise.

  Gravel crunched under her shoes as she walked into nearly empty parking lot. Why wasn’t it as full as it had been on previous visits? It was Monday. Shouldn’t his employees be here?

  She ignored the chill in the air. She settled her palm on her purse for a moment, feeling the comfortable bulk of the Sig Sauer. She hoped she wasn’t too rusty—she hadn’t been able to practice like she’d wanted to. Mark would have suspected something if she had been followed to a shooting range or a place in the desert where she could set up cans and shoot them. She unzipped the purse so that she could easily grab the weapon.

  Her heart beat faster as she climbed a set of concrete steps with crude handrails made of partially rusted pipes. From outside appearances, the warehouse might as well have been abandoned. It was obvious Mark didn’t put any effort or money into its appearance.

  When she reached the side door of the warehouse, she saw an older model car and a rusted truck parked in back. On the other side of those two vehicles was Mark’s silver Mercedes. Her stomach flipped as she wondered just who was in the building besides Mark.

  It didn’t matter. As long as she killed Mark, anything that happened to her was meaningless.

  No doubt Mark had been operating under the orders of the cartel. But with Mark gone, they wouldn’t have the same links to the chain. They wouldn’t have Mark’s contacts or his suppliers. This part of their operation would be completely exposed and they would have to shut it down.

  God, she hoped she wasn’t being naïve. She remembered he conversation in Denver that she’d had with Brooks.

  The though of him made her stomach twist and her resolve to harden.

  She reached for the side door’s knob. It squeaked when she turned it and she winced. The loud creak that followed when she opened the door was even worse. She rested her hand on the opening of her purse, the gun within a fingertip’s length. She held her breath, waiting for someone to investigate the noise, but the warehouse remained quiet. She let her breath out slowly.

  Tables and tools filled the area where employees normally worked on the damned items she sold for Mark. She’d thought the employees just painted the statuettes and framed the prints, but this must be the place they stuffed the resin pieces with cocaine and padded the backsides of the prints with marijuana.

  Two forklifts were in the back of the warehouse. Crates were stacked two-high down the center of the warehouse, dividing it into two parts. The employees worked in two-thirds of the warehouse, and the other third, normally visible, was usually a mostly clear area in front of a walled-in office in the corner.

  Maybe whoever was here was in the other section and she just couldn’t hear them.

  Her Keds were silent as she crossed the floor. Her heart beat like crazy as adrenaline pumped through her veins. She slid her Sig out of her purse and wrapped her fingers around the grip before holding it in front of her with both hands like her uncle had taught her.

  When she reached the crates, she eased along, her back to the wood. She peered around the corner and into the second part of the warehouse that had been hidden by the crates.

  Nothing more than some scattered boxes and a row of tools.

  A faint inhuman scream tore her attention to her right, in the direction of the office. A chill rolled over her skin. Had that been a man? It almost sounded like a wounded animal.

  She clenched her Sig’s grip even tighter as she moved to the office. It had big picture windows and she could see no one was there.

  Another scream and prickles scrabbled down her spine. It was still distant, but the scream came from the empty office.

  One step then another. She reached the doorway and slipped inside.

  A third scream and loud sobs had her gut clenching. She followed the sounds to a closet with a partially open door. Through the foot-wide opening, she saw a paneled door, slightly ajar. If it had been closed, it was likely the door would have been invisible as it blended with the paneling around it.

  But it was open. And the sobs were louder.

  She held her breath as she touched the door and slowly pulled it open. The hinges didn’t make a sound, and she let out her breath in a moment’s relief.

  On the other side of the door was a concrete landing with steps leading down into a dimly lit underground room. She eased onto the landing after checking to make sure no one was looking in her direction in case people were in the room. Immediately a smell like urine and filth wafted toward her and she came close to gagging.

  Staying in the shadows, she crouched on the landing and surveyed the room.

 
Directly in front of her, she saw the large area was mostly filled with ancient black pipes and strange-looking black metal things like furnaces and boilers. It was probably some kind of old boiler room. One light hung from the high ceiling, illuminating a scene below.

  She barely held back a gasp at the next thing that registered, and she almost lost hold of her gun.

  A filthy, bloody, naked man hung from a rope, dangling above a fifty-gallon drum that was filled with fluid. The man’s body was covered in long welts and cuts, some fresh and some starting to scab over. A whip had clearly been taken to him many times. He shook and terror was obvious on his dirty, swollen and tearstained face that was dark purple from all the blood that had rushed to his head from hanging upside down.

  The horror that filled Natasha was unlike anything she had ever felt before. Never in her most frightening dreams had she imagined seeing anything like this happening in front of her. Seeing something like this on TV and or in movies was one thing, but this was real.

  “I’ve told you everything.” The man’s voice was so low and harsh that it sounded as if he had been screaming for days. “Kill me… Just kill…me.”

  She wondered who he was talking to until Mark’s chuckle echoed in the boiler room.

  Natasha’s skin went ice-cold the moment she heard him.

  “I haven’t decided exactly how I’m going to kill you,” Mark said to the man. “The acid might be too simple.”

  Acid? Natasha’s heart slammed against her chest as she almost said the word aloud. That must be what the fluid was in the barrel beneath the man.

  “Francis, you know you’re on the verge of being finished off.” Mark nodded to a burning candle and Natasha saw a thick rope above the flame was burned most of the way through. The rope was strung over a pulley and Francis hung from the opposite end of the rope. Once the fire ate through the rope, the man would fall into the acid and die a horrible death.

  Rage burned through Natasha and she raised her gun and sighted it on Mark’s chest, aiming for his heart. She was going to kill him now.