Cold Snap

by Allison Brennan

  “If he can take out their security without alerting them, we can approach and circle the warehouse before they’re aware of it,” Tucker said. “Wait until they reopen the doors. They won’t do that until the girls are in the trucks, and that gives us a modest degree of security that the hostages are at least marginally safe.”

  Bullets could penetrate the trucks, but it would take both force and time. If the traffickers turned on the girls, Tucker and his team could take them out before they could do much damage. Minimize losses. But both Tucker and Jack knew that at the first opportunity, the traffickers would target whoever was shooting at them. They wanted to make the trade work, and without the girls, they had nothing.

  One of Tucker’s men came over with an iPad. “Here’s the map of the area. There’s a drainage system that goes out to the Bay for runoff, and there’s a sewer lid just behind the building. We can access it here”—he pointed—“and it’ll take three minutes to get to the warehouse if we book it.”

  “Good.”

  “We have eyes on the building. There’s security cameras at each corner. There’s also a generator next to the sewer access panel.”

  Jack said, “If we take out the generator, they’ll know we’re here.”

  “We have to time this to the second,” Tucker said. “Grant, take your team into the sewer and let me know when you’re in position. Greene!” He snapped his fingers. Another team leader approached. “I want your men here and here.” He pointed to the two best sniper positions. “On my command take out the generator and keep eyes on the building and surrounding area. Go.”

  To Jack, he said, “We don’t know how many are inside, but there’s a minimum of five, more likely eight to ten. There could have been reinforcements in the trucks. I want as many taken alive as possible. If Soldare is smart—and she is—I’m sure she left the city immediately after her meeting with Lee last night. I have everyone who’s free checking leads. But I know where she’s going—and I’ll catch up with her. I will nail her, Kincaid. But first things first.”

  He pointed to Jack and Young. “The three of us will go in on foot as soon as we know security is down. How many more minutes?”

  Jack looked at the timer he’d started when Patrick told him he was inside. “Four minutes, twenty seconds.”

  “We’re cutting it close. Can he do this?”

  “Yes,” Jack said. He hoped. Patrick used to be ahead of the curve on security systems, until his coma set him far back. RCK relied on Sean for computer security issues, but Patrick was still one of the smartest guys Jack knew.

  “Let’s get in position.”

  * * *

  As quietly as possibly, Patrick slid off the top of the truck and fell to the ground. It was a much longer drop than he expected, and his shoes echoed in the large chamber. He slid under the truck to assess how many people were inside.

  The doors rolled up on the back of the trucks, and suddenly, the cries of women broke through.

  From Patrick’s hiding place underneath the big rig on the far side of the warehouse, he could see dozens of bare feet walk behind the trucks. The girls were tied with nylon rope around their right ankles, some so tight he could see bruising and blood. A male voice barked orders in Chinese, and Patrick saw two pairs of black boots flanking the captives.

  It appeared that the girls were being loaded into the truck farthest from him, which made it difficult for Patrick to get to that side, where he could see unfinished Sheetrock walls and at least one closed door. Security panels would be near the truck bay door or in an office.

  He glanced at his watch. Less than five minutes before Jack expected security to be disabled. Patrick couldn’t let him down—too many people were counting on him.

  He looked west—the outer wall. The truck was close to the edge, which might give him a shield. Except he would be too exposed making his way to the makeshift office. There was really only one viable option.

  Patrick rolled under all three trucks, stopping under each to check if anyone could see him. Only one driver had exited the truck cab. Other than the two pairs of boots with the girls, he only saw two more hostiles. Finally, he reached the last truck.

  Three and a half minutes.

  He waited for a man to pass who, based on his loafers, might have been Clark Grayson. That meant Elle was likely on-site.

  If she wasn’t already dead.

  He pushed the thought from his mind and focused on the job at hand.

  When it was clear, he took out his gun and left the protection of the truck. He crawled to the office door and slipped in, hoping the room was empty.

  It wasn’t.

  A blond girl was lying on the dirty concrete floor, seemingly unconscious, her face pale. Patrick tried to lock the door, but there was no lock. Instead, he went to her side and checked her pulse. She cried out when he touched her.

  “Shh,” he whispered. “I’m here to help.”

  She moaned, and Patrick knew she was in a bad way. He couldn’t see any visible injuries other than cuts on her hands and bare feet.

  “Are you Ashley?”

  Her eyes fluttered open, blue and far too bright. Her skin was cool to the touch.

  He put his finger to his lips.

  There was a computer on the desk hooked up to a small box with red blinking lights on the wall. Patrick opened his phone to text Sean, then realized it would take too long to bring Sean in to help. He had less than two minutes to disable the cameras.

  He drew in a deep breath and assessed the system. It was simple. Outside movement would launch a program in the computer that would turn on each camera and trigger an alarm. Four cables. He almost pulled them out, but considered there might be a fail-safe that would set off an alarm.

  He typed on the keyboard. A basic program ran the security system, and it was simply a matter of shutting it down. He almost smiled as he exited the system, powered down the computer, then pulled out the cables.

  No alarms.

  He was about to send Jack a message that it was done when the door opened. Patrick dropped behind the desk and squatted there. Two men were arguing. If anyone came around the desk, he was trapped. He glanced over at where Ashley lay, half conscious. If they went for her, they’d see him.

  He had his gun in hand. He could take them both, but the sound of gunfire would bring in the others he’d heard in the main warehouse. He prayed it didn’t come to that.

  “What the fuck are we going to do with her?” a voice said. “She won’t survive the trip.”

  Ashley moaned and Patrick froze.

  “Leave her.” It was Clark Grayson’s voice. “We have two dozen blondes, they’re not going to miss one. Are we ready? We need to roll fast. I’ll take the decoy truck.”

  “No,” a third voice said, “you’re going to Los Angeles, Grayson.”

  Great, Patrick thought. Now there were three, and time was running out.

  “Like hell I am.”

  “Your cover’s been blown.”

  “I’ll take care of Santana, and no one will know.”

  “Her boyfriend knows, and Lee said he’s connected to the feds. They’re not going to let you walk. It’s L.A. or I kill you now, because no way am I allowing you to be arrested. The second truck is almost loaded, then we’re out of here.”

  Grayson didn’t argue, and they left the office talking about bypassing checkpoints, the door still open.

  Elle was here, somewhere.

  Ashley moaned, “Help.”

  Patrick crawled over to her. “Shh,” he whispered. “Stay here for—”

  He was cut off when the main doors rumbled open. The trucks started their engines, one by one.

  Patrick heard a pop-pop! outside, then the lights went out. A second later, shouts and more gunfire.

  He dragged Ashley behind the desk where he hoped she would be safe, then he flattened his body against the wall and looked out into the truck bays. The trucks blocked his visibility, but one of Lee’s people saw him
and fired. The girls were screaming from the backs of the big rigs, but it was clear that the middle rig was empty. The decoy.

  Patrick leaned back, waited a beat, then, using the doorjamb as a shield, leaned out and fired three rounds. The guy who’d been aiming at him went down.

  Where was Elle? He searched the other two offices. In the last, he found ropes, but no one was there. Had she escaped? Had they packed her up in the trucks?

  The door burst open and Jack was there, in full SWAT gear. He motioned for Patrick to follow him.

  “There’s an injured girl in the third room,” Patrick said. “Elle’s here somewhere.”

  Jack didn’t say anything. He was listening to something in his earpiece, and then opened the cab of one of the trucks and held his gun on the driver. “Turn off the truck,” Jack ordered. “Hands where I can see them.”

  The driver complied. Patrick covered Jack while the driver stepped out of the vehicle. Jack searched him and then escorted him outside. Two ICE agents brought out the other two drivers. An FBI SWAT unit took custody of the three.

  “Two down inside,” Jack told Tucker.

  “Three,” Patrick said. “I don’t see Grayson or Soldare’s right hand, Jonny.”

  “Or Lee,” Jack said.

  “He wasn’t here,” Patrick said. “Jonny’s giving orders. And they have Elle.” But where?

  More cops and FBI showed up, but it was clear Tucker was in charge. He motioned for two three-man teams to take each side of the warehouse. They searched, found no one else, and Tucker ordered Jack to open one of the trucks.

  This one had the blondes inside, all young runaways like Ashley. Tucker called in an FBI team to escort them to safety. They opened the middle big rig. Empty.

  The last was full of more than a hundred Chinese girls. They were sobbing and hysterical and started pouring out of the truck. Tucker fired a round into the ceiling to catch their attention, then he spoke to them in Chinese. Patrick had no idea what he said, but they calmed down and moved single file out of the big rig. ICE and FBI agents, all in full gear with automatic weapons, flanked them. As the young women reached the open door, they cringed at the sunlight. More cops led them away from the warehouse and out of sight.

  “Where the fuck did they go?” Tucker said.

  Patrick tapped Jack on the shoulder and motioned to the room the girls had been kept in. “We searched it,” Jack said.

  “They have to be in there. It’s the only place.”

  Tucker nodded. He used hand signals that Jack understood, and the two entered cautiously, shining flashlights all around.

  Patrick hit the wall. “They have to be here!”

  Jack knocked on the wall and frowned. He then looked at the trucks. Patrick followed his gaze. He didn’t know what his brother was thinking, but he definitely had an idea.

  Jack put a finger to his lips and motioned toward the trucks. Tucker nodded, and Patrick wished he could read the minds of these former military guys, because he didn’t know what they were communicating.

  Patrick glanced at the plywood wall. It had sounded hollow. Was Jack thinking there was a false bottom or wall in the trucks?

  Jack and Tucker walked around the trucks, inspecting the exteriors. Then Tucker motioned to the truck in the middle. The decoy.

  “PK,” Tucker said to Patrick, “watch the cab.” Then he motioned to Jack and they shined their lights in the back.

  Patrick walked around to the cab and stepped up on the running board. He had his gun trained toward the back. He heard knocking inside, but didn’t know if it was Tucker checking the interior, or if it was someone inside the walls.

  A large panel behind the passenger seat opened up and Patrick saw Grayson’s face. He was stunned to see Patrick pointing a gun at him. He quickly disappeared from view and Patrick called out to Jack and Tucker.

  Then Elle came out of the panel. Grayson held a gun at her temple as he pushed her through, holding her tightly. “I want a driver or she dies.”

  “You’re not getting out of here, Clark,” Patrick said.

  “If I don’t, she doesn’t, either. Bring me one of my drivers. When I’m clear, I’ll let her go.”

  “Don’t make this worse.”

  “How can it get any fucking worse?” Grayson screamed.

  Where were Jack and Tucker? Why hadn’t they come around? There was a whole slew of FBI SWAT with their guns trained on the windshield, and Patrick was between them and Grayson. Great. But if he moved, that could put Elle in greater danger.

  She was terrified. Her eyes were too bright, she had blood on her face and scalp. Her shirt was filthy and bloody. Patrick swallowed the rage that filled him. He closed off his emotions. When Elle caught his eye, she flinched.

  “Get them out of here,” Grayson demanded. “Now.”

  Patrick motioned to the SWAT team leader to go. He didn’t budge. These guys didn’t know who Patrick was from Adam, and they certainly didn’t take orders from him.

  “Tucker!” Patrick called out the door without taking his eyes off Grayson. “I need you to call off the FBI.”

  A moment later, Tucker walked past where Patrick was standing on the running board. He immediately called off the SWAT team, and they backed away.

  Grayson nodded, excited that one of his demands had been met. “Good. Good. Now, a driver.”

  “Tucker, he wants a driver,” Patrick called out.

  “And put down your gun.”

  “I’ll put my gun down if you put yours down,” Patrick said.

  Elle’s eyes were focused on Patrick, and he was trying not to let her fear distract him. He glanced down. Her wrists were raw and bleeding and she couldn’t stop shaking.

  He wanted to shoot Grayson.

  It had been a long time since Patrick had worked hostage negotiation. And he’d never had a personal connection with the gunman, or the victim, like he did now.

  “I will kill her,” Grayson said, his voice shaky.

  “You’ll be dead.”

  “So will she.”

  “Tell me what you want.”

  “Put the fucking gun down!”

  Patrick slowly put the gun on the driver’s seat in front of him. He glanced out the window and saw Tucker with a gun trained on Grayson. Where was Jack?

  “Good,” Grayson said. “Now tell that black guy to get me a car.”

  Patrick called out to Tucker, “He wants a car.”

  Tucker didn’t say anything, nor did he move.

  Patrick shrugged. “They don’t take orders from me. I’m not a cop.”

  “Then get me someone in here who can make decisions!”

  Patrick glanced at Tucker. He averted his eyes briefly, toward the back of the truck, then looked squarely at Patrick.

  Patrick hoped he read him right. Now he had to figure out how to communicate with Jack.

  Or maybe he really needed to communicate with Elle.

  The most important thing was to get the barrel of the gun away from Elle’s head.

  “Okay, Clark, I’m going to be honest with you. That man over there?” He gestured toward Tucker. “He’s not going to let you leave. He’s kind of a hard-ass that way. He saw what you left behind at the food processing plant. Four dead girls. He has a daughter. He wants blood.”

  Patrick had no idea if Tucker had kids, but he just rolled with the story.

  “If I get out of this truck, he’ll kill you. Notice, he’s the only one around here with a gun.”

  “I have a gun,” Grayson said, his eyes darting from Tucker to Patrick.

  “Yes, you do. But I’m between you and Tucker. I leave, he’ll kill you. No witnesses.”

  “Then she dies,” Grayson said. “He’s not going to shoot me. Not as long as I have her.”

  Grayson shifted his body and Elle’s so that she was clearly between him and Tucker’s rifle. That brought him closer to Patrick by several inches.

  And gave Jack a clear shot. As soon as Patrick could get Grayson to lower
his damn gun.

  “Elle,” Patrick said, “do you remember that kid in high school, Garrett something … he was in my graduating class.”

  “Garrett Brown,” she whispered. She stared at him with a confused expression.

  “Right. Garrett Brown. Remember that thing he used to do, freaked everyone out.”

  “Y-yeah.” But she didn’t. She looked more confused than ever. And terrified.

  “What the hell are you two talking about?” Grayson demanded.

  “I’m just trying to calm her down. Can’t you see she’s scared? She’s shaking.”

  When he said “shaking,” the realization of what Patrick meant showed in her eyes. Patrick nodded, just a fraction.

  “It’s about time. I’ve never seen her scared of anything—”

  Elle started wildly shaking as if she were having a seizure, just like Garrett Brown used to do with regularity at their high school.

  Immediately, Patrick grabbed Grayson’s gun hand at the same time Jack put a gun on the back of his head and his arm around Grayson’s neck. How Jack came that fast and quiet out of the back of the truck, through the same panel Grayson had used, Patrick didn’t know, but the timing was perfect.

  Patrick disarmed Grayson and pulled Elle away from him. He picked her up and carried her from the cab of the truck.

  Her arms were tight around his neck and she was still shaking violently.

  He said to Tucker, “The girl in the office. Ashley.”

  “We got her. She’s on her way to the hospital. Looks like a broken rib and internal bleeding.” He patted Patrick on the shoulder. “Good job, Kincaid. Ever want to go legit, let me know.”

  “RCK is legit.”

  Tucker snorted and went to cuff Grayson.

  Patrick sat Elle down at the back of the SWAT truck. One of the guys brought her a water bottle. She drank greedily, then coughed.

  “How—”

  “Shh. I’ll explain everything later.” He looked her over. “Are you okay? Where are you hurt?” He touched the bruises on her face. Brushed away her dark hair, sticky with blood.

  “I’m okay.”

  “You need to get checked out.”