Memories of war flooded Nate. He’d seen a man’s head explode before. Hell, he’d pulled the trigger more than once. But never from this close range and never a suicide.
“Son. Of. A. Bitch,” Wayne drawled out his words calmly as if that shit happened right in front of him every day. “Never had a suspect off himself before.”
Tomas ran in with gun drawn. “Holy shit.” He signed the cross before taking another step. “Nobody checked Walsh for a weapon?”
The young cop standing in the door swallowed a couple of times. The color drained from his face, leaving behind a ghastly pall. “I searched Mr. Walsh’s person before ordering him to sit in that chair. I don’t know where the gun came from.”
Wayne shrugged and held his hand out to end the conversation. “Get out of here before you pass out,” he said to the guard, whose face had paled to a ghastly white “We’ll worry about those details later.” He stepped to the door and spoke to a member of SWAT. “Get the techs in here to go over the computers. And keep those night-shift workers separated from each other until we talk to them. Then get a bus out here. We’ll haul the lot downtown. Those bastards knew what was going on back here.”
Wayne’s calm, all-business demeanor said he’d seen death before. “What the hell was Walsh talking about?” Nate asked nobody in particular.
“Don’t know yet.” Wayne shrugged off his jacket and handed it to one of the cops close by. “Nate, he’ll need your jacket, too. Looks like you’ve got brain matter and bone fragments on your collar.”
Nate removed his coat and carefully handed it over. Damn old man Walsh. They needed him alive. Not fragments of him scattered across the wall.
His best chance of finding Kaycie had taken the coward’s way out. Nate’s lungs seized, wouldn’t pull in a breath. He stormed out of the room and headed outside for fresh air. He turned a corner and spotted a cop at the other end of the hall. The officer’s eyes were wide as saucers, and his jaw hung slack.
Nate forgot needing air. Instead, he hurried to the man. Nate stepped into a doorway. His fingers curled around the facing and squeezed.
Smack in the middle of the room was a small platform with an iron post cemented dead center. His gaze came to rest on a blood smear next to the handcuffs mounted on the post. He swept the room, taking in the camera and computer setup.
Son of a bitch.
Had the last act of old man Walsh’s sorry life been to sell Kaycie? She’d probably been consigned into the hands of some sick bastard with no conscience. One who’d torture and inflict horrible pain without so much as a second thought. How long did they have to find her alive?
“Fuck,” Tomas said from behind Nate. “Officer Ross, get the techs on these computers first. I want to know exactly where the last transmission came from. See if we can get an address.”
Nate’s head was about to explode. “Somebody provided transportation. We need the destination of every truck dispatched from this facility in the last twenty-four hours.”
Tomas’s face was rigid. Did he believe they’d lost her for good? No way was Nate ready to give up hope. He’d spend the rest of his life looking for her and the man who had her.
Before he took his last breath, he’d kill the bastard who bought her.
Chapter 31
Kay jerked awake. The last thing she remembered was Anthony Walsh talking with the two fat slobs who were about to bid on her.
Walsh must have knocked her out cold.
The auction. What had happened?
Her chest seized. She couldn’t force enough air into her lungs. Tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry. She couldn’t muster enough saliva to moisten her lips.
She tried to decipher the noises and motion around her. She was in the sleeper of an eighteen-wheeler being taken somewhere. The odor of stale cigarettes, old sweat, and ashtrays sent her queasy stomach into turmoil. Country music droned in the background.
Darkness surrounded her. Fear crawled through her like a snake through wet grass. Tears slid from the corners of her eyes.
She was going to die.
She wiggled her hands and feet. No bindings?
Gingerly, her hand swept across various throbbing body parts, and she sighed with relief. She still wore her clothes. So far, the pounding in her head was the worst thing that had happened.
She fingered the dried blood caked in her hair. How many blows could her skull take?
A male baritone coughed, hacking like a lung was about to come up. From the sound and the odor, his hacking and spitting were the result of too many cigarettes.
The rumble. The movement. The man.
Kay’s heart rate quickened, climbing out of the stratosphere. Kay had been sold and was being shipped. Some sorry excuse for a human being had bought her.
Light flooded the area. She blinked against the glare. A seed of hope bloomed.
An unshaven, yellow-toothed man, reeking of sweat, grease, and tobacco leered over his shoulder. Kay refused to blink or flinch.
“You’re awake. The drug wore off quicker than I expected.” He patted his denim shirt pocket and focused on the highway. “Got your next dose right here.”
“Please don’t. I won’t cause any trouble,” Kay lied. “Really. I’ll be good.”
He glanced back again. Every muscle in her body tensed when his bloodshot eyes drifted across her body, and his tongue darted across his lips.
He coughed, leaned over to spit in a beer can, and then cleared his throat. “I’ll bet you could be good.”
How far would she go to stay alive?
“What’s in the syringe?” She wanted to know how long she had been out but wouldn’t ask. Her watch was gone, so she scanned the dash for a clock. Twelve-thirty and still dark. They couldn’t have gone too far.
“You’re a fighter. So the boss fixed you a shot. This is more than enough juice to keep you under control.”
Right. Nothing would stop the fire racing through her blood. Or keep her from escaping.
“If you leave the sleeper open, we can talk.”
“You got nothing I need to hear. The boss would have me gutted if you got away.”
“He’s about to be arrested.”
He laughed, lit a cigarette, filling the cab with foul-smelling smoke. “That so? He didn’t come off as too worried to me.”
“His son’s dead, and his head honcho is in custody. Who do you think will be next? I’m glad we won’t be there when the raid goes down.”
“You sound like a cop.” His tone turned edgy and distrustful.
“Not a cop. An officer of the court. I’m a child protective agency investigator.”
His head whipped around. His gaze narrowed. Had she said too much? “Well, you just upped the ante. The price for hauling you just went up.”
Kay had agitated him. Maybe she could get under his skin.
“Now would be a good time to turn state’s evidence. The FBI is involved. The feds come down hard on the interstate transportation of young girls.” She had to bring him to her side. Convince him he could trust her. Or cause him to make a judgment error. Either way, she’d be free.
“Can’t help you. This was my last run anyway. I heard about the killing from another trucker. The world didn’t lose nothing when Hank died.”
“He liked to hurt women,” she said, using a timid tone.
“What he done ain’t none of my business. I do my job and keep my mouth shut.”
She gazed into the darkness. How much longer would she have to work on him? The absence of traffic struck her as odd. Why weren’t they using the freeway?
“What are you hauling?”
“Dishwashers. I gotta drop you off first.” He coughed and spit again. The odor wafted to the back of the cab and in her face.
Kay shivered at the matter-of-fact manner in which he’d delivered that piece of news. How many times had he made this same run? He delivered drugged, helpless, young women to monsters. He turned his head and looked the other way for mo
ney. The jerk was as guilty as one of those sick bastards.
She did a visual scan of the cab, searching for anything to use as a weapon. Other than the beer can, a carton of cigarettes, and paperback book, she found nothing.
“How far are we going?” She held her breath and leaned closer to him. Maybe if she let him think her mind was still dulled because of the drug, he’d be talkative.
“You ain’t going far at all. Soon as I dump you, I’m headed for Ohio.”
“I’m not one of your dishwashers. I’m a caring, feeling person. My name is Kay Taylor. And I can help you.”
“You must think I’m stupid. I’m not fucking with that old man. I’m making my delivery, collecting my money, and then getting lost for a while. Now shut up.”
Anxiety raced through Kay. Her stomach churned. Now was not the time to lose control. She rested her hand over her midsection and scooted as far back in the sleeper as she could get. Forcing her eyes to slits, she pretended to doze.
****
Running on black coffee, hate, and fear, Nate wadded the paper cup and dropped it in the trash. He dragged his hands through his hair, wishing it were still long enough for him to rip it out by the roots. Anything to pull him out of the abyss he’d fallen into.
“It’s taking too long.” Nate scrubbed a hand over his forearm. Shit, had millions of stinging ants burrowed under his skin? He could not stand still. Kaycie needed him, and he was doing nothing.
“We’re doing everything we can.” Wayne spoke, pulling Nate out of his pit.
“Well, it’s not enough,” Nate snapped. If the anger in his voice bothered Wayne, he didn’t show it.
The warehouse had dispatched over twenty trailer loads to all corners of the US before SWAT had busted down the secret door. DPD had pulled out the stops to find Kaycie. The license plate numbers of each truck had been issued across the country.
Tomas had contacted the FBI for their assistance in the search across state lines.
Nothing minimized the guilt riding high in Nate’s chest. He’d failed to protect her.
“I want Holly to talk with Jake again.” Nate hovered over Wayne’s desk.
“Why?”
“He knows more. Maybe he’ll tell her which drivers haul the girls. That alone will narrow down the possibilities.”
“If he tells you the truth.” Wayne lifted a shoulder.
He dashed off a phone number. “Give me thirty minutes to get to Holly’s and then you call us. Put a speakerphone in front of Jake, and I’ll talk her through what to say.”
Wayne called the jail and explained the plan. He ended the call with a hint of a smile.
“Donovan finally broke and gave us a little information. Seems he dated the file clerk in our office. She won’t be supplying him with answers any longer.”
“All the more reason to try and learn more from him.”
“The feds are moving him this morning. You have about an hour before he’s out of DPD’s custody.”
Wayne had a cruiser drop Nate off at his office. He pushed the bike into the alley, slung a leg over, and then turned the key. The big bike roared to life, and Nate sped toward Holly’s apartment.
Tyrell answered on the first knock. Just as Nate had expected, nobody in her apartment was asleep.
“Give us some good news.”
“None to give. The cops and feds put out a BOLO. They’ll stop and search all the trucks recently dispatched from Walsh’s warehouse as they locate them.”
Nate moved into the room and tried to gauge Holly’s mental condition. Red, swollen eyes said she’d been crying. He dropped down on one knee and wrapped her small hand with his.
“This hide and seek with the truck drivers isn’t the way to find Kaycie. Too easy to miss the one rig she’s in. If she’s in one. Jake’s the key, and we have to get him to open up.” Nate was prepared to beg Holly if necessary. “I won’t ask you to face him again, but will you talk to him over the phone?”
“Absolutely,” she answered without hesitation. “I want to help.”
Nate understood why she and Kaycie were such good friends. Loyalty had always been important to her. When he got her to safety, if she’d give him the chance, he’d prove just how faithful he could be.
****
Kay’s bladder was about to pop. She’d waited a long time to mention it, giving the truck driver time to cool down. He was smarter than she’d anticipated, and she’d insulted him with small talk. She’d be more careful this time.
The driver changed gears. The big rig lurched and slowed down. The methodical click-click-click said he’d turned on his blinkers.
She slowly slid to the side of the bed. “I need to use the bathroom.”
“I don’t know what to tell you.” He turned his head toward her and chuckled.
“Can I ask where we are?”
“You can.” The cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth filled the sleeper compartment full of smoke. “Don’t mean you’re gonna get an answer.”
Kay fanned the air. “Really, I have to pee.”
“Your timing couldn’t be better.” He downshifted, changing gears again. The truck slowed to a crawl.
Judging from what she could see, they were on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere. This time of the year, the weeds and trees were dead, but it was pitch black, and she couldn’t even tell if they were still in Texas.
The air brakes groaned, and the rig came to a complete stop. The driver reached down to the floor and came up with a rope. He tossed the end with a loop back to her.
“This goes around your neck.”
“What? Like a leash?” Kay’s jaw dropped. He thought to walk her as if she were a dog. No way. She’d pee right there in his truck first. So what if he killed her? At least her death would be on her terms.
“Where you’re going the least of your worries will be getting treated like an animal. Put it on, get out, and meet your master.”
“No,” she screamed.
The driver grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her into the front of the cab. She fell, sprawled on the seat. Something hard pressed against her side. The syringe! She wrapped her fingers around what could be her freedom.
The truck’s passenger-side door opened and hands gripped her ankles. Who had joined the struggle? Within seconds, Kay was facedown in the dirt.
“What’s the hell’s going on here?” a male voice demanded. He sounded angry.
“Help me!” She struggled to sit up.
“Shut up,” the voice said. He shoved her flat on the ground with his foot.
“She wanted to pee but refused to put on the rope.”
“Then she can hold it.”
Damn, she’d dropped the syringe. Her chances of escape faded more with each second.
“Get her up. Let’s get a good look at her.”
Yeah. Get her up on her feet. They’d made a mistake by not binding her ankles.
Chapter 32
“Jake had better be right.” Nate accepted the earbud from Marcus. Staying in contact would be critical. “I need a gun.”
“Where’s yours?” Tyrell’s fingers stopped pounding the keyboard on Holly’s computer. He slid a knife from his boot and passed it to Nate. “Take care of this.”
“Thanks. The cops made me surrender my weapon before I went into Walsh’s warehouse. All hell broke loose, and I didn’t get it back,” Nate grumbled. “They were afraid I’d kill the bastard.”
“Would you?” Holly picked up her purse, making Nate nervous that she might want to go with them. He couldn’t allow her to put herself in jeopardy. “Would you have killed him?”
“Without blinking an eye.” He left out the part where he’d have been happy to do it.
“Then take mine.” She hauled a 45-caliber Glock from her purse and handed it to him.
The sight of this short, barefoot blond holding a weapon of that size would’ve been comical under different circumstances. Tonight, he was grateful.
&nb
sp; “Shit, that’s a cannon,” Marcus commented after he pulled his chin off his chest. “Is it legal?”
“Like I told Kay, God and Texas know I carry.”
The medallion on Nate’s chest grew heavy. He absentmindedly removed the chain from under his shirt and rubbed the medal between his fingers. Marcus moved next to him, studying the Saint Jude.
“You’ve really got it bad. Don’t you?” Marcus stated, a smile creeping across his face.
“No,” Nate snapped.
“So why do you still wear it?” Marcus’s eyebrows rose, punctuating his question.
“Don’t make something out of nothing,” Nate answered. “Where’s yours?”
“Who knows?”
“Where’s what?” Tyrell growled, apparently not happy with the chatter.
“Nate’s still wearing the Saint Jude medal Kay gave us.”
“Ain’t that sweet?” Tyrell made a sound like a muffed chuckle. “Although it doesn’t surprise me.”
Ready to change the subject, Nate stood behind Tyrell, checking if he’d found locations and pictures of the men Jake had suggested they look up. According to him, the two guys were long-standing customers of Anthony Walsh’s. They’d eagerly taken problem girls off the old man’s hands in the past.
It made sense Walsh would have wanted to get her out of sight fast. Maybe he had sold her to somebody out of state. These two men were in Texas and close by. This was one hell of a long shot, but Nate couldn’t wait while all those big rigs were hunted down, stopped, and then searched.
The printer kicked into high gear, and Nate hovered until the documents rolled onto the tray. He retrieved and read carefully, committing the information to memory. The coffee in his belly rebelled just looking at the pictures of the sick sons of bitches.
Both men were masquerading as upstanding citizens. Stephens was a veterinarian. His home and office were in the country outside of Fort Worth, and the other twisted bastard owned Duncan’s used car lot in a small town fifteen miles east of Dallas.
“Jake had better be right,” Tyrell grumbled, handing copies to Marcus.
Hell Or High Water (Lost and Found, Inc.) Page 22
