Trent shook his head, making his sandy, near-to-shoulder length hair, shake. “What?”
“Underwood Stables. It’s a large horse farm. The map says it’s about—”
Trent straightened, planting his hands on his hips and looked up at the ceiling. “I know the farm, Pete. I can spit on it from here. Who purchased it from Bill?”
Pete’s voice quieted from its usual exuberance to an uncharacteristic muted drawl. “Richard Frederick Evans purchased it, almost a month ago.”
Holloway stood, his chair legs scooting across the floor. “Son of a bitch.”
Noah asked, “Do you think that’s where he went?”
Joe spoke up for the first time since they’d gathered at Trent’s home, their usual, if unconventional mission planning headquarters. “He’s planned his own rescue op without us. He’s going after my sister alone. I haven’t known Rick as long as you all have. I’ve only known him long enough to learn two things. One, he shoulders enough responsibility for ten men. And two, he’s ridiculously stubborn. It’s an honorable, but potentially deadly, combination. I don’t like this.” And he really didn’t. Dread sat low and heavy in his gut.
Pete’s voice came through the phone connection. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come home? My wife and girls will understand. Crystal would do anything for Rick. If I leave now, I can be home in about six hours. Quicker if I can find a flight.”
Trent answered. “It’s best if you stay put and connected at all times. Just keep your phone on you and dig up anything and everything you can on L and S Consulting and Marcus Sutton. I need every grain of intel, Pete. That’ll keep you occupied for a while.” Trent ran a hand over his exhaustion stamped face.
“Got it, boss. I’ll call the moment I find anything. Stay cool, man.”
Trent shook his head and disconnected.
Everyone stood, looking to Trent and waiting for his next command, even though every person in the room knew where they were going.
Leigh took a slow breath and exhaled, testing her ribs for pain. She’d been drugged and tossed around like a bag of trash and had the aches and pains to show for it. They hurt, but considering the shape the rest of her body was in, she considered herself lucky.
Closing her eyes, she listened intently. With nothing to keep her company except the thunder of her heartbeat in her ears, time crept by. Everything was quiet, except for a few muffled voices.
A door slammed open and her captor barked one last order, dashing any hopes she had of escape. “Boys, you’re working over tonight. No one leaves until I return. Keep your eyes and ears open for trouble.”
Why, she didn’t know, but she counted the replies as the men spoke.
“Sure thing, boss.” One.
“No sweat. We’re nearly finished loading this shipment, but we’ll find something else to do.” Two.
“No problem.” Three.
“We expecting trouble?” Four.
“I don’t know, stay alert just in case. I’ve got something important stashed in the old office. I’ll be back for it as soon as I take care of something. Don’t leave.”
“Got it, boss man.” Five. There were at least five men out there. Even if, by some miracle, she managed to untie her wrists and legs, she’d never be able to sneak past five men unnoticed, especially not ones who’d been instructed to watch for trouble.
A door slammed in the distance, and the voices continued dimly.
“Can you believe what happened out at the Riley Creek operation? What a mess.”
“I heard, but didn’t want to believe it. I asked the boss if he wanted us to make a second trip out the quarry to retrieve the rest of the supplies, but he said no.”
She stared at the dull, yellow light shining through a small widow near the ceiling behind the desk.
“Yeah, the place is probably crawling with cops by now. Can you imagine how much product he lost out there? It’s unreal.”
“He didn’t even blink over the loss. The man has more money than God. He doesn’t take shit from anyone, but he’s fuckin’ smart as hell. He’s always saying to never keep all your eggs in one basket. Always thinkin’ two steps ahead of everyone else.”
“Yeah, forget plan B, he’s already got plans C, D, E, and F mapped out.”
“I only wish he’d let us in on the scoop. He’s as secretive as he is smart.”
Leigh closed her eyes in despair. This was her fault. Her kidnapping. Rick.
God, I hope he’s okay.
Cara would have seen to his injuries as soon as Joe took care of Sheriff Hawkins.
And Addie? So far, the girl had been beyond difficult to find. For once, Leigh hoped that she stayed that way for a little longer. Safe and hidden from harm. If only she hadn’t pushed Rick into doing something he’d known was a bad idea.
“No, shit. All I know is that I never want to end up on that man’s bad side.”
Music that had been playing dimly in the background rose in volume until she could no longer hear their conversation. She couldn’t say that she minded, other than the voices had offered her a distraction, something to focus on besides her miserable situation.
Tears ran down her cheeks. What could she do? Wait patiently for him to come back for her? No. Absolutely not. She opened her eyes and looked around the dim room. God, she hated being helpless.
As a social worker, she watched people in difficult situations try to climb their way out of despair and into something brighter nearly every day. She offered every bit of help that she was able and encouraged them to keep trying. Never give up.
She’d be a hypocrite if she didn’t do the same.
She tamped down her helplessness and focused on the dark room. The only light shone through a small window in the wall behind the desk. She assumed the artificial source to be a streetlight or lamppost from the lot outside the warehouse. She arched her back and craned her head to get a better looked at the old desk. It didn’t look like much, but maybe she could find something to cut the ties around her ankles. She refused to lay in the floor, like a damsel tied to the train tracks.
Carefully, on her side, she inched her toward the desk and hoped for a miracle.
Rick stared out the window at the monstrous stone home surrounded by a six-foot fence that, at a first glance, defined subtlety and grace. Rick wasn’t fooled. Before he even shifted into park at the curb across the street, he’d counted six security cameras. All in all, Marcus Sutton’s home didn’t look any different from the other homes on this side of town. Sure, the color and style was a hair different than the one beside it, but it appeared no more sinister than other homes in the neighborhood full of McMansions.
Rick would bet his last dollar that the place had more security than most banks, not that it would matter. One way or another, he was getting Leigh back, but over-the-top security aside, something was off.
The scene was just too normal. To think the house hid a wealth of crime, including kidnapping, just didn’t feel right. Aware that evil often lurked in the most unlikely places, he fought to clear his unease. He placed his hand on the key to turn off the ignition and stopped cold.
It wasn’t the seemingly normal house that nagged at him. His gut, the very instinct that had kept him and his friends alive time and time again, beat at him. The only other time it failed him had been the day Justin died. The reason they’d been attacked? Rick hadn’t listened to the instinct telling him to turn their convoy around. He’d squashed it and listened to their orders and common sense.
A good man died because of Rick’s mistake.
He sure as hell wouldn’t take a chance at repeating history with Leigh’s life at stake.
He shifted into drive and pulled away from the curb. Shifting in his seat, he carefully adjusted his leg as he raced through the silent dawn. He’d wasted strength and precious time.
Breaking speed limits, he flew through the quiet early hours, oblivious to the empty world around him. When the looming brown brick warehouse came
into view, he weighed his options. How could he approach without detection? Where did he make his entrance?
On his first pass, he drove down the main street running through the industrial park and by the warehouse. Observing the lot, he counted five vehicles, all parked near a door on the building’s east side. Two large, truck-sized doors marked the shipping and receiving bay at the building’s north end. Following the road around, he noted that the building’s west and south walls were similar to the others, except that the lot was a little more polished on the west side. Landscaping sprinkled with small trees and flowerbeds bordered the entrance. The door was glass and marked with a Beating Hearts Industries logo. He assumed that the business offices and reception area waited through this door. At this early hour, the parking spaces sat empty and the lights inside were off.
He’d found his entrance.
He parked behind a building a block away. He locked his truck and half jogged, half limped through the eerily quiet industrial park.
He made his way through the shadows and, assuming the people who worked there parked closest to where they worked inside the building, around to the west entrance. He pulled on the handle and wasn’t surprised to find it locked. He pulled his B&E kit from a pocket on his cargo pants and made short work of the surprisingly challenging lock.
But then again, if he was a heroin smuggling criminal, posing as a legitimate business owner, he wouldn’t skimp on security. Not only did you have to keep out authorities, but also competing criminals.
He held his breath and pulled the door open. Thankful for diligent maintenance workers and silent hinges, he eased inside the reception area and shut the door. He scanned the dim surroundings. He gripped his weapon in one hand and quickly made his way through the generic reception area and down the hallway. The passage came to a head at an oak framed painting of a little girl in a wheelchair reaching up to hold a doctor’s hand. On the left wall was a door with the word Meeting Room etched on a glass panel in the door’s upper half. A quick look inside revealed a large conference room and a framed map on the far wall. On the room’s opposite side was a framed poster of the Beating Hearts logo with its slogan, Charity makes the world turn.
No windows. No exits.
He closed the door and turned to the door labeled Office on the right. Inside sat a large, elegant desk that spoke of leadership. The room was so generic it could have been used for an office furniture catalogue. The only thing out of place was a potted plant that someone had set haphazardly on the desk.
One closed door was on the left wall and another on the wall to his right. Silence hung heavy in the darkness. He walked lightly on his feet, senses alert.
The injury to his thigh throbbed with each step, but he refused to give it any of his time or attention. Each painful jar brought him one step closer to finding Leigh. When this was finished, and he had her safe, he could curl up and die. Until then, his needs meant nothing. Opening door number one, he was rewarded with the view of a bathroom. Behind door number two?
He pulled out a penlight and looked into a short, pitch black hallway that ended in a metal door, complete with locks that would make the most experienced locksmith quake in his boots. Rick put his ear to the door and heard the faintest hint of music.
Perfect.
He tried the door and, surprisingly, found it unlocked. The knob turned and when he pulled, the door opened silently. Light barged into the hallway making him squint against the artificial glow.
He quickly looked around the door’s edge. The cavernous warehouse sat silent and mostly empty. He let the door shut softly behind him and scanned shipping and receiving area. A few scattered pallets holding plastic wrapped equipment waited to be serviced or shipped.
Ages ago, Rick had suspected that the business was a front for smuggling opium out of Afghanistan, but they had never found any evidence. Even though they’d had assignments with their unit, they’d tried keeping a watch when they’d been able. No question, Marcus was a sly bastard and covered his tracks, but he often popped up in locales not far from Rick. It happened far too often for it to be a coincidence.
Making his way through the equipment, he worked his way back to a heavy door. It opened easily, revealing a wealthy supply of cleaning chemicals. Judging by the names on some of the containers, he had to wonder if they might be used for something far more sinister.
Like cutting or manufacturing heroin.
He closed the door and moved onto the next. Marked Utility, this one was locked. He quickly unlocked it and found what he was looking for. He went straight for the electrical panel and building’s main power switch. When the large lever took both hands for him to flip, he knew he was in trouble.
His strength was flagging.
The moment the breaker tripped with a loud thunk, the room went dark.
Without missing a beat, he pulled his night vision goggles out and continued on his path. He exited the utility room, quickly locked the door behind him and made his way toward the sounds of confusion. With the music silenced, male voices could be heard.
“What the hell, man?”
“Did someone forget to pay the bill?”
“I can’t even see my own hand. You think we should call the boss?”
Go ahead and call him. Please.
Rick smiled into the darkness as he moved closer.
After what felt like hours of inching her way across the floor, Leigh made her way to the backside of the desk. She rolled over onto her belly, bent her legs beneath herself and used her forehead to push against the floor. She rose awkwardly to her knees. The old desk had four drawers, three down the side and one centered beneath the desktop. Cursing her captor for tying her wrists behind her back, she inched her way around until her backside was facing the center drawer. Leaning forward to lower her shoulders and raise her hands, she fumbled around until a couple of fingertips grazed the handle.
She lost her balance and fell. She turned her head and just missed smashing her face on the concrete as her shoulder broke her fall. The rough floor, cold and stinging against her temple reinforced her determination to find a way out of hell.
She braced herself with a couple of deep breaths. She fought the urge to gag on the stale and dusty air. Spreading her legs the bare few inches her bindings allowed, she rose to her knees. Slowly, testing her balance, she tried again. She found the drawer, and bypassing the small knob, she extended her hands, tucked her fingertips under the bottom edge and snapped her hands closed, pulling the drawer with them.
A shockingly loud screech stopped her in her tracks. Holding her breath and listening, she hoped for all she was worth that somehow, against the odds, no one heard the noise. She counted to twenty and when she heard no change in the distant sounds coming from outside, she released her breath. Reminding herself that in the tomb quiet room, every sound seemed magnified, she took another breath and reset her hands for another pull of the drawer.
Her heart thundered. Air rasped in and out of her lungs. Her knees shushed over the ground. To her ears, each sounded as though she’d been hooked up to the world’s largest microphone.
She worked her yoga-magic and was rewarded with another scoot of the drawer, thankfully, with a quieter squeak. She wriggled her hips and knees, moving a couple of inches forward, this time pulling the drawer with her fingers hooked under the drawer’s bottom as she moved.
Her shoulders throbbed and burned, begging to be free of their uncomfortable position.
But her only hope lay within the mysteries of the desk.
She couldn’t allow herself to contemplate the challenges she’d face if she somehow miraculously found something sharp inside the desk.
One step at a time. I have to focus on the here and now. Nothing else matters.
No matter how much faith she had in Joe’s abilities and determination, she’d be naïve to think that if she waited, help would magically find her. It was possible, maybe even likely, that he didn’t know who’d taken her. Even if he d
id know, that didn’t mean a blinking neon beacon would appear over her location. After finding her, he’d have to get a search warrant, wouldn’t he? With all that had happened in the Riley Creek Sheriff’s Department, everything would likely be a mess for some time.
I am well and truly screwed. If only I could get my hands and feet free.
The faint sounds of music abruptly died, as if the radio’s cord had been yanked from the wall. The men complained about the darkness with assorted curses.
She turned and looked into the shadowed drawer.
Nothing. The only things inside were two paperclips and an old gum wrapper. She sank to the floor. In the yawning silence, everything, even slightest movement, seemed magnified until each breath sounded like a windstorm.
“Shit. Where’s my phone? I can’t even see it.” She heard scrambling sounds as the men looked for some way to provide light.
“Hang on. I got a lighter somewhere. Yeah. Here.”
“Got it, thanks.”
“Use the flashlight app. Light this place up, man.”
Filled with a sudden sense that time was wasting, but not knowing what else to do, she decided to try and open the desk’s side drawers. If nothing else, it might give her something to concentrate on.
She stopped when the general confusion in the outer room abruptly changed to alarm. “What the fuck! Did you see that?”
“No. You’re just freaked.”
“Yeah, Jim. You’re just seeing shadows.”
“Screw that. I saw something.”
“Man, put your gun away. Pussy.”
“I know I saw something moving over there.”
“Put the gun away, Jim. If you blow your toe off, boss man won’t be happy. If anyone hears gunfire and calls the cops, he’ll be supremely pissed.”
“Whatever, man. How much longer do you think we gotta wait around here?”
Finding Leigh: Dark Horse Inc. Book 3 Page 3
