There was an underlying hostility and superiority in Ann’s tone. She’d already killed at least one person—Micah’s mother—and had internally justified murdering a child. Lucy would stake her reputation—and her life—on it.
She pulled her gun, but kept it just behind her thigh, her index finger on the trigger guard. Shooting from the hip was primarily for closed quarters, and Lucy would feel more comfortable with ten feet between them rather than the twenty feet there were now. If Ann saw the gun, she’d immediately take Micah as a hostage. Or shoot Lucy without conversation. Lucy would try first to talk but she suspected Ann was in a panic. She probably had promised her product to someone who would kill if she didn’t deliver, and that threat would put anyone in a dangerous mind-set.
Lucy circled as Micah dug in the dirt. He was quietly crying, but trying to stop. Lucy wanted him to see her, to know that she was there and would protect him. But how could she warn him without Ann spotting her first?
“Here,” Micah said.
He held up a plastic bag with a black ledger inside.
Ann smiled. “Was that so hard, Micah?”
“Why did you kill my mom?”
“She was a liability, kid. And so are you.” Ann pointed the gun at Micah’s head.
Lucy stepped out of her hiding place and said, “Ann!”
Ann whirled around and aimed the gun at Lucy. “You fucking bitch,” she said. “If you’d just stayed put, you probably would have lived.”
“Let Micah go.”
“Of course. I don’t kill kids.” Ann’s snide tone said she was lying.
“Then let Micah walk away.”
“No.”
“Micah, run.”
Ann turned the gun on Micah. “Don’t move.”
“You said you don’t kill kids,” Lucy said, delaying.
“There’s a first for everything. Do you know what a big fucking headache he’s given me for three days? And then you and your boyfriend waltz in, and I have to shut down my operation two weeks early? You cost me a hundred thousand dollars. Then you tell me you’re a fucking fed.”
“I’ve already called my partner. The FBI and DEA are on their way. It would be better to give up now, without anyone else getting hurt.” Lucy focused on Ann’s eyes and hands, trying to interpret Ann’s next move.
Ann’s arm went up and her eyes went to Lucy’s chest.
Lucy fired her gun three times from the hip in rapid succession.
Ann got off a shot. The bullet whizzed by Lucy’s left arm.
Ann fell to her knees. She fired again, but her hand was shaking and the bullet went into the ground.
Lucy ran over and easily disarmed her. She picked up the ledger that Ann had dropped when she fell and handed it to Micah. “Get behind me,” she told him.
He was shaking, but did what she’d told him.
Lucy knelt next to Ann and searched her for additional weapons. She didn’t have any. Ann couldn’t talk. Though she was wearing a thick jacket, Lucy saw that all three bullets had hit her in the chest. She tore open the jacket to see if she could apply pressure. There was a tremendous amount of blood. Micah had the flashlight aimed at them, his whole body shaking. Ann grabbed Lucy’s wrist, tightly at first, then lost strength and went limp.
She was dead in less than a minute.
Lucy turned her head away and closed her eyes. She hadn’t wanted to kill her … could she honestly tell herself that? Had she simply wounded her, Ann would have shot Lucy—or worse, Micah. Her training had taken over and she’d gone for center mass. Three bullets to the chest, two center and one above the sternum, all hitting where Lucy aimed.
“Is … is she d-dead?”
“Yes.” Lucy’s voice was sharper than she intended. This wasn’t the first time she’d killed someone to save herself or someone else, but the same surge of doubt and regret washed over her. Her mind instantly went to all the other possibilities. What she should have said or done. If she could have talked Ann down. If she should have waited longer before showing herself. But every way she sliced it, she couldn’t see it going any other way. The loss of a human life, any human life, hurt Lucy deep inside, in a place she couldn’t see or touch, but it itched. As if with each death, no matter how justified, a piece of her soul darkened.
“L-Lucy?” Micah touched her shoulder.
She let out a deep breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, then turned to the boy and hugged him. His thin arms squeezed her neck, calming her, reminding her why she had to shoot Ann.
“It’s okay. What about you? You okay? You’re not hurt, right?”
“I’m not hurt.” He didn’t let go of her, his little body shaking uncontrollably.
Momentarily, she said, “We have to find Sean.”
“They t-took him to the trailer.”
“I know.”
He stepped back and frowned at her, his brows furrowed. “Why didn’t you help him?”
“Because you were in danger. But,” she added quickly so the boy wouldn’t feel any unwarranted guilt, “we’re going to get him now. I have a plan. I don’t know if it’s going to work, but the FBI is on their way. I don’t know when they’ll get here, but we need to get Tommy to safety. That’s our goal. Can you be brave?” There were a lot of unknown variables, but she didn’t see another alternative.
His eyes flitted toward Ann. Lucy turned his face so he looked directly into Lucy’s eyes. “Micah, I need you to do exactly what I say. Okay?”
He nodded.
“First, rebury the book. We need to keep it safe for the authorities. And then we’ll rescue Sean and Tommy.”
CHAPTER 7
Five distant gun shots echoed from the top of the cliffs. Sean’s heart raced and his gut tightened.
Lucy. Micah.
He’d caught Lucy in his peripheral vision when he was being taken down to the camp, and he knew she’d go after Micah. He was an innocent kid and Ann was a major player in the drug wars. This setup proved it—this was no small mom-and-pop home lab, this was state of the art, as much so as any cartel would set up in a secure location.
Sean had to focus on his own predicament as well as finding Tommy. Five shots. Lucy must have gotten off at least one. She was an excellent shot—better than Sean—she wouldn’t miss.
But his adrenaline was pumping, the blood rushing through his head, and he involuntarily jerked against his restraints.
“Take it easy, buddy.” One of his captors—Jim, his partner had called him—checked Sean’s restraints.
“Your boss said she wouldn’t hurt the kid,” Sean said.
Jim didn’t look happy but he said, “We don’t know what’s going on. Ann’s in charge. She knows what she’s doing. And that kid stole something that we need, or we’ll all be dead. She probably fired in warning.”
“Five times?”
Jim seemed to want to convince himself of that because he nodded emphatically and continued to pack up crystal meth into one-pound bags. There was well over a million dollars in product here. Probably more—Sean didn’t know much about the meth trade. His brothers knew far more, and would probably know exactly how this operation worked and how much money was at stake.
Jeff walked in and glared at Sean. “Bastard.” To Jim, he said, “Carl is getting antsy. We have to pack up now.”
“What d’ya think I’m doing?”
“How long?”
“One hour, tops. But we’ll have to leave the equipment behind.”
“Forget the fucking equipment, we’re blowing the trailer. Don’t want to leave behind any prints.” He stared at Sean. “Or witnesses.”
“You’re going to kill Micah and Tommy, too?” Sean said. “You had me fooled. I thought you actually cared about them.”
Jeff punched Sean in the jaw. Blood filled his mouth. He spit it out. Damn, that hurt. Jeff shook out his hand.
“If it weren’t for you, everything would have been fine. Micah would have come back. I would have explained what
happened, he would have understood!”
“That you killed his mom?”
“I didn’t kill Vicky! She OD’d.”
Sean wasn’t sure what had happened to Micah’s mother, but Micah was certain that Ann had killed her. “So you just buried her in the middle of the woods and thought that her son would be okay with that?”
Jim said, “Jeff, take this box, it’s ready. If you send Paul and Cynthia to help, we might get out of here faster.”
“Cynthia is watching Tommy.”
“I told you Vicky was bad news. A drug addict with kids.”
“She was clean.”
Jim snorted. “Not for long. If you weren’t Ann’s brother, she’d never have let you bring her.”
“Shut the fuck up and do your job.” Jeff ran his hands through his hair. “I’ll send Paul in.” He glared at Sean, then left the trailer.
“He didn’t take the box,” Jim mumbled. “Jerk.”
Sean looked around and assessed the trailer. They’d shut down production, but they still had a lot of chemicals that were not only dangerous to inhale, they were highly combustible. The production line had been functional. The trailer had been gutted and divided in half, with one room—which Sean could only see through the open door—used for cooking the meth, and the other for filtering and packaging. They had a station to make individual doses but that was empty—it appeared that they were in the process of making doses when Ann decided to pack up. They’d have been out of here in a week or two no matter what.
Sean had thought most of the meth superlabs were in Mexico since the US had a tight control on pseudoephedrine. But it looked like Ann had gotten her hands on the raw materials. How? Through Mexico? A local pharmaceutical company? The DEA would have a field day with this lab, and shutting it down would definitely put a crimp in the supply chain.
They’d already distributed some of their product. Why keep it around if they had a great production system? Then they could shut down in winter and pop up back here or another backcountry hideout next spring.
Paul came into the trailer. Jim said, “Take those boxes to the truck. I want to be ready to go when Ann gets back with the book.”
“I gotta talk to you.” He glanced at Sean. “Outside.”
“He can’t do anything to us.”
“Just come.”
Jim swore and left with Paul. This wasn’t good. They’d taken his wallet. The ranger probably ran his ID. They’d know he was a licensed private investigator. They’d assume he was up here on the job, and if they did the bare minimum of homework, they could easily find out about Rogan-Caruso-Kincaid Protective Services. RCK handled personal and cyber security—Sean and his brother Duke focused on the cyber end. The furthest thing from hunting down meth labs as there was, but they wouldn’t know that.
How much time had passed since Lucy made the call to the FBI? Thirty, forty minutes? And Sean had no idea if she’d even gotten through, or how long it would take to mobilize a team. The lab was in the middle of nowhere, so even the closest FBI regional office was more than an hour drive. It would take time to mobilize a SWAT team. Would they be here in an hour? Two? Come in quiet or in helicopters? Sean hoped quiet.
They were on their own, at least for now. Sean had to get Tommy out of harm’s way, then track down Micah and Lucy.
First he had to get out of his restraints.
They’d used zip ties on his wrists, which would be easy to break if he had any maneuverability—unfortunately, they’d also tied each of his ankles to the chair.
He looked around. Lots of corners. The closest to him that might work to sever the restraints was only a foot to his right, but he would have to turn his chair around to put his back to it, then twist in order to saw off the zip tie.
He jumped in the chair and turned it a quarter-turn. Did it again and it was almost in position.
The door opened and the ranger came in. Carl. His name plate read “C. Nelson.”
“Sean Rogan, private investigator. Who hired you?”
“I was up here on a camping trip with my girlfriend. I already told Jeff that. And Ann. And I think I discussed it with Jim and Paul when they were tying me up.”
The ranger backhanded him, then repeated, “Who hired you?”
Sean didn’t answer. Carl Nelson was an ass, and it was clear to Sean that he wasn’t just a bribed official—he was either in charge, or working closely with Ann. The others were hired help or, in Jeff’s case, family. Carl was a leader.
Sean would fare better outside. If they moved him, they would have to untie his ankles. He’d have to time it right.
Or they might just shoot him here and burn the trailer.
Jim stepped in and whispered something to Carl. All Sean heard was “radio,” and Carl scowled.
“Pack everything up, you have fifteen minutes and we’re leaving the rest. I don’t know what the hell’s going on, but if Ann doesn’t find that book she’d better not fucking come back because I’ll shoot her myself. Where’s my brother? I need to talk to him.”
Brother?
The two men left, but Paul and Jim both returned with boxes for the crystal meth. They were loading the material up fast.
If Paul and Jim were here packing up, that meant Jeff was Carl’s brother. Jeff, Ann, and Carl Nelson. Family operation. Which was why Jeff was able to bring in Vicky and her kids.
Sean wanted to believe Jeff wouldn’t hurt the boys but he couldn’t be certain of that, and Jeff might not have a choice. Carl was angry about something. It gave Sean hope that Lucy had overpowered Ann.
Except they hadn’t said anything about Lucy. They hadn’t asked Sean about her. That meant they didn’t know she was here, and assumed she was still tied up in the woods where Ann left her.
Dammit, he didn’t know what was going on, and without being able to communicate with Lucy or know where she was or what the gunshots were, Sean was going in blind.
There was a lot of commotion outside. The trucks had been started, there was the clang of metal on metal. Hooking up the trailers? It would slow them down. Sean heard an ATV roar into life, then fade off into the distance.
Someone was looking for Ann.
One less person. Great, one against four instead of five.
Sean waited until both Jim and Paul had left with two more boxes, then he turned his chair one more time, twisted his body to the side, and used a metal corner on the trailer frame to saw off the zip ties. His wrists were raw from straining, but in less than fifteen seconds the ties broke.
The knots on the ropes around his ankles were simple, and he quickly got one off before he heard voices. He took off the second and slipped into the adjoining room just before the door opened.
“Shit, where is he?”
Sean looked around and all he saw was danger. A tank of ether, ammonia, bottles of hydrochloric acid, butane—he was sitting on a bomb. He grabbed a bottle of hydrochloric acid. Then he saw his knife on the table. He quickly pocketed it.
“Put that away!” Paul said. “You fire a gun in here and we’ll all blow up.” Then, “Rogan, we know you’re in the lab. You couldn’t have gotten out. Step out slowly. Come out now and we’ll let you get some fresh air.”
They’d shoot him as soon as he stepped outside. But he’d have a chance.
“I’m coming out,” he said. He stepped into the doorway between the lab and the packaging room. Jim still had his gun out but it was at his side. Paul stepped forward.
“What’s in your hand?” he demanded.
Sean opened his fist so he could see.
“Put that down!” Paul said through clenched teeth. “Do you want to kill all of us?”
Sean shrugged. “Catch!” He tossed the bottle at Paul, whose eyes grew wide as he tried to catch it.
Sean rushed Jim. He brought his arm up to shoot, but not fast enough. Sean decked him with one fist and disarmed him with his other hand. Paul caught the bottle, then turned to Sean, panicked. “Don’t—”
&n
bsp; Sean jumped out of the trailer. Carl was standing next to his ranger truck, barking orders to a young woman. Cynthia, most likely. Carl saw Sean and drew his gun.
Sean didn’t want a gunfight. He ran behind the meth lab, hoping Carl wouldn’t be stupid enough to fire his gun into it. But he didn’t have much time.
He checked Jim’s gun. It was a nice little 9 mm—the guy had kept his gun well maintained, but it was completely empty. Why carry an unloaded gun?
There was nowhere to go.
The cliff was to the west, open space to the east, and south was the charred remains of woods coming back from a forest fire.
There was no place to run.
He was trapped.
He looked up. He didn’t have the luxury of time. Without hesitating he jumped, and his fingers caught the edge of the trailer. The rush of adrenaline from his escape helped give him the strength to pull himself up and onto the roof. He hoped the shouts and confusion below would mask the sounds as he scrambled up the side of the trailer. He lay flat on the roof and waited.
And prayed they didn’t figure out where he’d gone.
CHAPTER 8
At the sound of the approaching ATV, Lucy pushed Micah flat on the ground, then covered his body with hers. As long as the driver didn’t turn around, his headlights should miss them. She couldn’t tell who the driver was, but the silhouette appeared male.
As soon as it passed them, she helped Micah up.
“He’s going to find Ann.”
“But he won’t find the ledger.” She’d camouflaged the hole with leaves and sticks, blending it into the surrounding area. She’d considered taking it with them, but figured it would be safer hidden. If they got captured with it, Lucy wouldn’t have any leverage to keep them alive.
She looked at her phone and was surprised there was a text message from Noah. The phone had no signal, but the message had come through thirty minutes ago—while she’d been tracking Ann and Micah through the woods.
FBI SWAT + DEA team en route ETA 2015 locked on Rogan’s GPS. Team leader DEA Agent Alex Johnson. Confirm to all when possible. Four male, two female suspects. Two minor hostages.
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