“You need to calm down, Mason.”
“Don’t tell me to fucking calm down!” he ground out. “This is insane! He could be . . . .she could be injured or worse or even—”
“Mason, we tracked the location of the man she called last night. We have him in an interview room right now. We’ll find her.”
Mason stopped pacing. “That David guy? He’s here now?”
“Yes, and we’re holding him on potential conspiracy to kidnap charges.”
His feet stopped dead. “Kidnapping charges?”
“He told Sloane he was nowhere near the area, but as it turns out, we found him in a motel room in the next county over.”
“Is he the kidnapper?”
“We don’t know, Mason,” Bascom said. He leaned back in his chair and shook his head. “But he could be involved in some way. Unless we find direct involvement with someone in the perpetration of such a crime, we can’t hold him on that alone. I just told him that to rattle his cage a little, to get him talking.”
“And is he? Talking?”
“Like I said, so far we’ve nailed him on one lie, but he wasn’t anywhere in the specific area when Sloane went missing. Let us do our job. We’ll find out if and who he made contact with. One of our techs is looking into that right now.”
“He has to have something to do with Sloane’s disappearance.” Sloane’s disappearance. It sounded unreal. Stuff like this didn’t happen in towns like Monroe. It was like watching a TV show. So cliché. “Can I talk to him?”
Bascom heaved a growl. “We’re not sure if he has anything at all to do with Sloane’s disappearance. We do know that a substantial amount of money showed up in his account in the middle of the night, and that chances are he still maintains contact with Sakkas. Whether knowingly or unknowingly, we’re convinced that he reported the conversation to Sakkas, told him where Sloane was, and . . . and no, you cannot talk to him! He’s down in interrogation with Detective Williams.”
Mason started pacing again, trying to calm his jangled nerves with little success. His heart pounded; every muscle in his body tensed. He forced himself to sit in a chair across from the detective’s desk but tension kept him perched on the edge of the chair. He had to be rational. To think. If he had any hope of offering help at all, he needed to stay calm.
“Think, Mason. Did Sloane gave any other hints as to what she was remembering?” Bascom urged quietly. “We’re working hard to find her, I promise. I’ll be honest. I didn’t get the impression that Sloane . . . Miss Maxwell was a flight risk—”
He half rose. “Flight risk?”
Bascom waived him back into his chair. “You know what I mean, Mason. She seemed to be okay here, at least for the time being, trying to get her memory back. Sloane was even relatively calm, considering the circumstances. Besides, she has no money, no transportation.” He glanced at Mason. “Does she . . . did she remember anything about her finances? Does she have any access to money?”
“No,” Mason frowned. At least he didn’t think so. Sloane wouldn’t keep anything important from him, would she? But then there was David. He shook his head. No, he wasn’t going there. What he felt between them was real, wasn’t it? It had to be. But apart from the last few weeks, he didn’t know anything about her, about what had happened to her over the past decade. As much as his body vehemently denied it, a little voice in his ear whispered that the Sloane of the past was not necessarily the Sloane of today. Before today, he wouldn’t have listened, wouldn’t have believed it for a second. But now? Had she been taking them for a ride? Had she just been using him as a convenient—
A knock on the door interrupted his train of thought. It opened and Detective Williams stood in the doorway, gesturing for Bascom’s attention.
“What?” Bascom asked impatiently.
“David Conroy coughed up some information. He claims he had nothing to do with Sloane Maxwell’s disappearance. I asked him about the money that showed up in his account and he finally caved. Said that Sakkas had reached out to him a couple of weeks ago, asked him to keep tabs on Sloane’s whereabouts.”
Why did Sakkas need to keep Sloane under watch? She’d been honest with him the entire time about where she was. Mason leaned forward in his chair, watching Detective Williams as he leaned casually against the doorway. How could the man be so damned casual when Sloane was still missing? “Does he know where she is? Did he say that Sakkas has her?”
Both detectives frowned at him.
“Mason,” Bascom said, again waving him down into the chair. “Let us do our job. Let us ask the questions, okay? I know what I need to ask.” He turned toward his partner. “What did Conroy have to say about that?”
“Upon threat of being charged with conspiracy to commit kidnapping and any other charge I could make stick, he told me that Sakkas does own a couple of properties on the east end of town.”
“In Monroe?” Bascom asked, surprised.
“Yeah, and guess what?” Without waiting for an answer he pressed on. “One of them’s not far from the scene of the abandoned auto-repair shop. It’s down by the river at the far side of the industrial complex, you know, the one that was built way back when we actually had a halfway decent timber business going on?”
Mason knew what he was talking about. Between the 1920s and 1950s, Monroe had been a hub of activity for local timber companies. Not as big as the operations in the Northwest, but one of the biggest in this region, anyway. His heart thumped faster as he rose from the chair. “Is there—”
“Mason, please!”
“Anyway,” Williams darted an annoyed glance toward Mason and then he focused on his partner. “He confessed.”
“Confessed to what?” Mason demanded.
The two detectives ignored him as Williams continued speaking. “He admitted that he still does occasional jobs for Sakkas. Arranging for transportation, mainly. As it turns out, the Feds were right about him . . . Sakkas. He is involved in some underhanded dealings, some of which reek of smuggling.”
Mason tried to still his pounding heart to keep his head from exploding, from causing him to blurt out questions that likely had no answers. Yet. Patience, Mason, patience!
“Mason, did Sloane ever say anything to you about any proof she had of Sakkas engaging in any illegal activities?”
Mason glanced up to find Detective Williams staring at him. “Don’t you think that would’ve been one of the first things out of my mouth? And could it be that the video that we think was taken by Sloane was exactly that? Proof? What the hell?” He paused, sighed heavily. “Sorry. I’m just on the edge.” He took a deep breath. “Like I told your partner, Sloane told me that she was beginning to regain bits and pieces of her memory. Nothing concrete. Nothing that designated a specific location or what brought her here, or how she ended up in that abandoned auto shop!” He stood, pacing the room again. “I’ve never heard of David.”
“David Conroy admitted that Sakkas’ corporation owns a couple of the buildings in the deserted industrial complex. Has for the past five years. There was talk by the town council a few years back about renovating the place, but as of now, it only has a few last tenants.” He glanced at Mason and then continued. “From what Conroy said, Sloane stuck her nose somewhere it didn’t belong. Sakkas said he was going to get rid of her, for good this time.”
“We’ll go check out the complex,” Bascom said, rising from his chair and grabbing for his suit jacket hanging off the back of it. He slid one arm into the sleeve, quickly heading out of the room.
Mason strode toward the door. “I’m going with you.”
“The hell you are!”
“I know those buildings, Detective. My cousins and I used to play down there all the time when we were growing up, and I’ve been to more than one call in the place. I know how to wind through the whole area without going near anywhere occupied.”
Bascom stared at him and finally nodded. He looked at his partner. “Do we know which building down there
he owns?”
Williams smile grimly. “We do.”
In less than thirty minutes, the low-slung and abandoned buildings of the formerly bustling industrial complex were surrounded. Bascom had called in the state police to block entrances into and out of the complex, as well as the roads in the area that led to it. Mason waited behind three squad cars parked bumper to bumper, red and blue lights silently rotating and sending psychedelic shadows onto the side of one of the buildings on the outskirts.
A map of the complex was laid out on the trunk of one of the squad cars. A member of the SWAT team had confirmed that a black Mercedes had been discovered parked between two of the buildings in a corner of the complex. Bascom, Williams, and the SWAT team commander focused on the map. Mason stared at the buildings, the layout, something niggling at his brain. Then he remembered. He had been there before, a couple of years ago. Adrenaline racing through his veins, he approached Bascom. “Detective, do you know exactly which building—”
“Not now, Rawlings! We’re trying to find a way in so that no one gets hurt.”
“Bear with me, Detective. Please.” The lieutenant eyed him and finally nodded. The SWAT team commander took a slight step back so that Mason had a good view of the map. “Tell me which building you believe Sakkas is in.”
Bascom heaved a sigh and stuck a stubby finger onto one of the buildings at the far northeast corner of the complex. “That one, on the corner. The adjoining shop on the left is some kind of a silkscreen printing place. It’s been leased and there could be employees in there. We’re getting them out quietly from a back door.” He pointed to the building next door to the one they believed Sakkas was in. “There’s a narrow alleyway in between these two buildings. That one was damaged by fire a couple of years ago.” He tapped his finger on the building on the adjacent side of the alley.
“I was at that fire. I know that building.” He glanced at Bascom, excitement bubbling inside him. Did he dare hope this could still all turn out okay?
“Okay, thanks, Mason. Now let us do our job.”
“Listen! Down in the basement there’s a door and a very small underground hallway that connects those two buildings,” he said, pointing to the building that Sakkas owned. “We found it making sure the scene was secure after we put out the fire.”
Bascom eyed the map and then nodded toward the SWAT team commander. Mason glanced at the man, dressed in black pants and a black T-shirt, over which hung a dark blue Kevlar vest with clear gold letters designating SWAT. He wore a helmet and throat mic. Mason’s heart pounded as he watched the SWAT team commander turn, walk over to his team, and began issuing quiet orders.
“Is no one even going to attempt to make contact with Sakkas?”
“Mason, I appreciate your concern, really, I do,” Bascom said, placing a hand on Mason’s shoulder. “But let us do our jobs. We have to—”
“You’re going to breach from a second location, aren’t you?” He pointed to the map. “From the building next door.” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I want to go in with you.”
“No. Absolutely not. You’re a civilian, for fuck’s sake.”
“I’m more than that, and you damn well know it. I’ll follow your guys and the SWAT team.” Mason forced himself to tamp down his emotions, or they’d never let him leave the spot behind the squad cars. His pulse throbbed in his neck and he probably looked like a wild man as far as Bascom was concerned, his hands balled into tight fists of anxiety, his chest heaving with harsh breaths. “I’ll stay in the back, but Detective, you have to let me go in.”
“Oh, the hell with it,” Williams groaned. “Slap a vest on him, Bascom, and let’s go.”
Bascom eyed Mason a moment, then stepped to the open trunk of one of the squad cars and pulled out a ballistic vest. He shoved it in Mason’s direction. “All right, you can come, only because I know you’re going to ignore any order I make and follow anyway. But I’m warning you, Mason, you stay the hell out of the way. You got that?”
Mason nodded and reached for the vest, quickly pulling it over his head and fastening the Velcro strips on the side. Within a matter of minutes, the cops, SWAT team, and Mason had entered the scorched hulk of the building on the other side of the narrow alleyway next to the building Sakkas was in. He hoped to God they were in time and that Sloane was alive. As promised, he hung back, as much as every muscle in his body vibrated, pushing him forward. The four members of the SWAT team went in first, followed by the Monroe detectives and two Georgia State Patrol officers. He brought up the rear.
They entered the darkened main room of the structure and were surrounded by soot-blackened walls, a few fallen timbers, and more debris left by two- and four-legged scavengers. Bascom turned to look back at him, eyebrows lifted in question. Mason pointed to the door barely visible on the opposite wall. The team members quickly made their way toward it, the SWAT team with their Glocks and red or green laser-sight beams flashing around the walls. He could only hope that none of them were particularly trigger-happy. Was Sloane in there? What if she wasn’t? Where would she be?
“Stay back!”
The hushed whisper came from the state patrol officer. Mason looked over his shoulder and saw the first member of the SWAT team grasping a metal tool used to pry locked doors open. This was it. He swallowed, every muscle in his body tense. Then he heard the sound of a muffled gunshot, from somewhere on the other side of that metal door.
Everything happened at once. The door was breached. The SWAT team rushed through, shouting. A loud explosion . . . no, not an explosion, a flash-bang. A brief but brilliant flash of light followed by gunshots.
A scream. Sloane? Before he could take a step, he heard more gunshots. A large boom followed by two others.
Then, nothing but silence.
24
Sloane
Sloane pressed her back into the wall, chin tucked against her chest, arms over her head as she tried to make herself disappear. Her heart pounded so hard she honestly thought it was going to explode.
Mason! She wouldn’t ever see Mason again. And her memory . . . she would die without regaining her memory! She remembered something, but it had come too late. The image of her boss, snarling down at her, his face filled with hatred. She wasn’t ever going to find out what she had done to generate such an emotion from him, or find out why he wanted her dead. She choked back a sob, waiting for a bullet to hit her. To end her life.
A loud noise boomed out from the room beyond the storeroom. She risked a peek, her eyes wide, fear pulsing through her body. She saw fear on Sakkas’ face as he too turned to look. What the hell?!
And then Sakkas fully turned, raising his arm and pointing his gun at something outside the room. An ear-shattering bang. It had a concussive affect, leaving her ears ringing and her entire body shaking. A bright light extinguished as fast as it had illuminated every object in the room into stark light and shadow. Shouting. She stared in horror as Sakkas fired two shots from his revolver. Darkness once again took over much of the room. Muzzle flashes. The acrid stench of gunpowder in the air. Then two more shots. Sakkas flew backward and landed hard on the floor, then quickly rolled onto his side. His revolver skidded across the room in Sloane’s direction. She stared at it, the metallic sheen of the barrel pointed directly at her. The wood handle, smooth and glossy.
She tore her gaze from the revolver to stare at Sakkas, desperately trying to roll over, looking for his gun, his eyes wide with surprise as his gaze locked with hers.
“You bitch! You—”
And then the room was crowded with black-garbed figures. Sloane screamed, then saw the initials on their vests, reflecting in the half darkness. SWAT! Her entire body trembled with relief and cold shivers of fear and pain all wrapped up into one.
“Clear!” One of the SWAT members stood over Sakkas, his red laser centered directly at Sakkas’ forehead.
Another man rushed into the room, also wearing a police vest. Monroe Police. She recognized Detective Basc
om at the same moment he spotted her hunched against the wall.
“Sloane! Are you all right? Are you hurt?”
“No . . . no, I don’t think so,” she mumbled, wincing at the tremor in her voice. She’d never been so scared, not even when she’d woken up on the ground after the warehouse fire. Now, with Sakkas wounded and in custody, the fear inexplicably grew. She stared at the bustle of activity going on around her, stunned, unable to move. And then she felt a warm hand grasp hers, urging her up.
“Come on, Sloane, let’s get you out of here. Mason’s waiting for you out there.”
Her heart skipped a beat and she found her voice again. “Mason’s here? He’s here?”
Bascom nodded and offered a small smile. “Stubborn bastard refused to have it any other way. He’s in the other room back there.” He gestured with his thumb over his shoulder.
Everything else passed in a blur. Her ears ringing, her adrenaline pumping, Sloane quickly rose, tested her balance, and then, nodding shakily to Bascom, indicated that she could make it on her own. Bascom hustled her past the shouting, cursing Sakkas and led her through the narrow, darkened hallway. They emerged into another room. At the far side, standing near the doorway that led outside, stood Mason. The moment she laid eyes on him, she broke away from Bascom’s grasp and rushed toward him. He stepped forward and swept her into his arms as she uttered garbled cries of relief. Mason held her close, his grip tight, but she wouldn’t have it any other way. Her arms wrapped around his narrow waist and she pressed her cheek into his chest, listening to the sound of his racing heart.
“I thought I’d never see you again!”
“Likewise,” he said, burying his face in her hair. “Are you all right? You’re bleeding!”
She pulled away long enough to glance down at her arm. A trickle of blood ran down from under the now-stained bandage. “I’m okay. Must have just been the plaster, or a ricochet.”
Mason’s hands cradled her cheeks and lifted her face upward. His lips pressed down on hers. Passionately. A kiss born of fear, relief, and God only knew what else. She returned his kiss with just as much desperation. Her fingers clenched the edges of his bulletproof vest at the base of his neck as she uttered a low laugh, half disbelieving. She wasn’t dead. She had another chance. Another chance with Mason. His kiss replaced her fear, at least momentarily, and caused a flood of new sensations throughout her body.
From the Ashes (Southern Heat Book 1) Page 16
