Jake stared at the Monday-morning headline held between Nicole’s hands and hit dial. So far the number associated with the messages had turned up nothing more than a burner phone.
“Do you have a present for me?” Diego asked through the line.
“Do you have a place to make the exchange?” Jake stared into the eyes of Manzo as he spoke.
Diego rattled off a location and time, then the line went dead.
“Did you get a trace?” Manzo asked the tech, who shook his head. There wasn’t enough time for that, but it didn’t mean they couldn’t hope. “Damn.”
“We’ve got an hour. Is the truck in position?” Jake asked.
“Loaded and waiting,” Manzo replied.
Jake nodded and turned away. He needed to move, to pace. He walked out of the fishbowl office and headed for the coffeepot. The officers were quiet as they went about their business or waited for the action to start.
He appreciated the show of solidarity, especially from his team, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Nicole.
Why had they wasted this last year? Why hadn’t they fixed things sooner? Was she okay? Had she been injured?
The questions kept coming but there were no answers, just the roaring silence in his head.
One of the girls who worked in evidence and another officer rounded the corner. She glanced at him and her pitying smile raked over him like hot coals. He was fucking sick of people feeling sorry for him. It wasn’t him they should be thinking about. It was Nicole who was really suffering. He still got to go home if he wanted to and have a meal. For all he knew she was in a hole in the ground with no food or water.
“Vant. It’s all you,” Manzo called from behind him.
He wheeled around and paced back to the office, ignoring the evidence girl. “Sir?”
“The money.” Manzo took a briefcase the girl had carried and handed it to Jake. “Ready to go get her back?”
Jake blew out a breath. “More than ready.”
“Let’s make this happen,” O’Neil chimed in from behind Manzo. He edged around the other man and handed over a black device no bigger than his wallet. “I’ve put together all the dummy files on this hard drive.”
Jake glanced down at the sleek silver briefcase and wondered if he should count it. A million dollars didn’t look like a lot when it was all in large bills. It didn’t even weigh enough to be worth lifting. This was what Nicole’s life amounted to? What it was worth?
He knew it had taken a lot of pressure to get the money released. It was technically on loan from Evidence. Chances were it was money seized in one of the recent drug stings they’d thrown together at the last minute and needed to be included in an investigation. He was grateful for the support, but the red tape pissed him off.
“Come on, man. I’ll ride with you to the staging area.” Cole slapped him on the shoulder.
Jake followed Cole out to the parking lot. He’d opted to drive Nicole’s convertible, both because it had decent horsepower and because driving his police-issue vehicle seemed like a red flag that the department was in on the whole operation.
They drove twenty minutes in silence to the staging area, which had been selected for its proximity to the drop location for the drugs. Jake’s meet point was actually a ten-minute drive.
He used that ten minutes to clear his head, inhale Nicole’s lingering scent, and promised himself this wasn’t the end. It couldn’t be.
The meet location was the loading dock of a run-down, boarded-up grocery store. Jake hadn’t even come to a complete stop before an agitated-looking Diego appeared on the loading dock and jumped to the ground.
Jake opened the door and stood.
“Do you have it?” Diego stomped toward him.
“I have the cash and the information.”
“What about my drugs?” Diego stopped at the nose of the car.
“I’ve got them in a truck but I couldn’t drive it here.”
“What?” Diego pushed his hand through his hair and whirled.
Something was up. Jake glanced around them, wishing for backup, a lookout, something. He was completely alone here with the man who’d kidnapped his wife.
“Where’s Nicole?”
“What?” Diego pivoted to face him.
“My wife. Where is my wife?”
“She’s fine. For now.”
Jake didn’t miss the edge of threat in his voice. She was fine so long as Jake did what Diego wanted.
“Give me the money.” Diego held out his hand.
“This is a trade. Maybe you’ve forgotten how this works?”
“Give me the fucking money or you won’t see her.”
“I won’t see her if I give you the money right now. I know how this works. I’m not stupid.”
“Then let me spell this out for you, pig. Give me the money. Tell me where my stuff is at, then I meet you there with the girl and we both get what we want.” He was too aggressive, completely on edge and ready to snap. Jake had seen this from him before during interrogation.
If he didn’t hand over the money, he would never see Nicole. If he did what Diego wanted, he had a bad gut feeling it was signing her death warrant. But there was a third option. One he could do.
“All right. Here. The information’s in there too on a hard drive, just like you asked.” Jake held out the briefcase and Diego snatched it.
He set the briefcase on the hood of the car and popped the top. With practiced ease, he flipped through the cash, ensuring the bundles weren’t fake money.
“All hundred dollar bills?” Diego scowled.
Jake glared back. He had to play his role of the now-dirty cop right. “You didn’t give me much time to work with. Besides, how the hell am I supposed to take cash out of lockup and exchange it? I go anywhere with that, we both don’t get what we want.”
Diego narrowed his gaze but didn’t reply. He snapped the lid closed and began to turn away. “Fine. It had better all be here when I count it.”
“Diego, don’t you want to know where the stuff is at?”
“Are you going to tell me or are we going to stare at our dicks all day?”
Jake knew in that moment Diego had no intention of coming for the drugs. Now that he had the cash he’d split, leaving Nicole in whatever hole he’d dumped her in. Jake could only hope she was still alive.
He rattled off the location.
“Great.” Diego continued walking toward the grocery store.
“Meet you there in twenty minutes? Is that enough time?” Jake called after him.
“See you there, pig!”
Jake watched Diego disappear into the store. There wasn’t time for Diego to count a mil in cash, get Nicole and be at the second exchange site.
Diego didn’t intend to see this through for one reason or another.
Jake jumped in the red convertible and gunned the engine. Tires squealed as he pulled around the building. He pulled his phone out and dialed Cole.
“How’d it go?” Cole asked.
“Sarge, he’s not going to show up. He’s about to run. Pick me up a block west of the store, and please tell me you followed me.”
“I’m north of your location.”
“Changing direction, headed to you. We need a dark car, follow him. Something has him spooked and it isn’t us.”
“Gotcha. Leave the keys in the car. Becca and Aaron are headed this way.”
“I see you.”
Jake threw the car in park and left it idling. He had the best fucking team. Even when they weren’t supposed to be on this, they still were. Cole pulled up next to him and Jake sprinted around the SUV.
“I have eyes on him,” Cole announced as Jake closed the door and accelerated.
“And?”
“He just left, headed west on Patterson.”
Jake grabbed the radio mounted to the dash and brought Manzo and O’Neil up to speed on the exchange. “We’re tailing him now. He’s not circling the block, he doesn’t even se
em to be watching for a tail. I got a bad feeling about this.”
“Something’s got him spooked,” O’Neil replied. “We’re sending a tactical team to you, just tell us where to go.”
“I will when I know.” Jake placed the radio on the console and leaned forward in his seat.
They were a good six car lengths behind Diego. There were textbook things a person did to detect a tail, like taking indirect routes that included circling back on yourself, driving slowly and occasionally erratically to figure out who was watching you. Diego was driving fast, down one street.
“Chemical plant,” Cole said. “Blue barrels, it’s seven miles from the paper’s printing facility and I bet it’s a fucking labyrinth.” He pulled out his phone and dialed. “Aaron, chem plant.”
Jake relayed the same information to O’Neil, his heart pounding. There were many awful ways to die when it came to chemicals. Sometimes it wasn’t the dying that was the worst part.
“There, he’s turning into that employee lot.” Jake pointed.
“Fuck.”
Cole turned the wheel hard as a car came from the opposite direction with a man wearing a ski mask and carrying an automatic rifle hanging out the back window. The rat-a-tat-tat of gunfire ripped open the peaceful morning.
Chapter Eleven
Jake pulled his handgun out of his belt and kicked his door open. He took aim and fired, hitting the shooter on the first shot. He exhaled and fired again, targeting the driver.
One shot—the windshield shattered.
Two more shots—center mass on the driver.
The car swerved erratically before running into a telephone pole.
Gunfire peppered the back of the SUV. Jake and Cole both ducked and Cole accelerated forward, but two vehicles were already blocking the other end of the street.
“Vant, Westling, what’s going on?” was yelled over the radio.
Jake scrambled for the radio. “We’re hemmed in. I think they were going for Diego and we got caught up.”
The windows above them shattered. Both men ducked even lower. Jake even slid into the floorboard.
“Backup is on the way. Hold on,” O’Neil replied.
“I don’t know how long we can hold on,” Cole bit back.
Jake fired back at the shooters at the front of the SUV. They were outgunned and outnumbered.
The blast of a high-powered rifle split through the din. As a sniper there was no mistaking the unique sound signature of his rifle, even in this situation. A scream, another blast and another scream.
Becca.
“We’re going out the back,” Jake yelled. He yanked on the lever, laying the seat down, and crawled onto the middle section. For whatever reason, the back bench seat was gone and Jake slithered in amidst Cole’s gear stacked in bins and bags in the back of the truck.
There were fewer gunshots aimed at them, or maybe just a couple fewer shooters.
Cole shoved his gear to the side, crouching below the busted-out windows, and yanked his phone out of his pocket.
“Hello?” Cole’s gaze flicked to Jake. “We’re good… Okay.” He hung up and said to Jake, “Becca and Aaron are going to cover us out the back, we’ll hang a left at the building and wait for them there. They’ll meet up with us and we’ll fall back—”
“I’m not falling back. Nicole is in there,” Jake yelled.
A bullet whizzed over their heads and a couple of others hit the top of the truck. They instinctively lowered until they were lying on their stomachs, faces pressed to the rubber mat over the upholstery.
“Go, go, go,” someone yelled in the distance. Someone who sounded an awful lot like Aaron.
Jake and Cole pushed the back doors open. Cole grabbed two bags of gear while Jake kept his eyes open for anything that moved. There were already plenty of bodies he could see, but they were no longer of the mobile variety. He and Cole sprinted for the cover of the brick wall around the plant. Thirty yards of heart-pounding adrenaline.
Gunfire peppered their trail. Cole yelled in pain. Jake didn’t think, he whirled around, aimed, fired and grabbed his friend’s arm, hauling both of them the last fifteen feet to safety.
“How bad?” Jake asked.
“Shit.” Cole leaned against the wall and dropped the two bags.
Jake went to a knee and pulled the other man’s pant leg up. The tightness in his chest loosened.
“You got grazed,” Jake said.
“I’m fine. Hand me a bandage in the small bag?”
“How about you cover us?”
Jake pushed his gun into Cole’s hand, letting him do his part while he unzipped the bag. It held a few basic first aid supplies and a hell of a lot of ammo with a few other items. He used the bandage to wrap the calf. The wound wasn’t even bleeding much, but it would.
The little red convertible zipped down the street and came to a stop next to them. Becca jumped out of the passenger-side seat.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
Though they weren’t on duty, both Becca and Aaron were in full gear. Smart.
“It’s just a flesh wound,” Cole bit out. “I’m fine.”
“Backup is on their way. We called it in.” Aaron went to the corner and peeked around. The street had grown quiet.
“What’s going on?” Jake demanded.
“Looks like they followed Diego into the plant,” Aaron replied.
“I’m going in.” Jake grabbed extra ammunition from Cole’s bag and reached for his gun, but Cole jerked it away.
“No, you aren’t going in there,” Cole said.
“You would if it was Tanya,” Jake roared back.
They all froze as he stared his sergeant in the eye.
Despite all the rules, Cole had led their team into the hostage situation to save his wife and other hostages. There was no fucking way Cole could look at him and tell him no.
“You aren’t doing this alone,” Cole said. “How close is backup?”
“Not close enough,” Aaron replied.
Cole slowly lowered his arm and extended the handgun toward Jake, who took it.
“Becca, is there another way in down there?” Cole asked, gesturing farther down the wall.
“Let me look.” She jogged down the sidewalk.
“We do this together,” Cole said. “I didn’t go in alone. You won’t either. We’re a team.”
Jake nodded.
“Here,” Becca yelled.
Aaron and Jake picked up the bags. Cole walked with them, only a minor bob to his stride.
They entered through an emergency exit standing open. Judging by the lack of employees, Jake figured the smart ones had made a fast exit.
The interior of the plant was all machinery, silver and gray metal cylinders with pipes between them.
“This place is huge,” Aaron said as they moved forward in formation with him at point.
“Backup is almost here,” Becca said, her voice pitched low.
Blasts echoed through the plant, pinging off metal, distorting the sound. Jake strained to locate the sound.
“That’s from below us,” Becca said.
“Let’s go,” Aaron replied.
They moved forward as one, adrenaline making sights sharper, everything, even the sensation of cool air across skin, more stimulating. Aaron took them down a metal staircase, through an open portion that looked down into what appeared to be some sort of vat storage.
People yelled and more guns discharged.
Jake wanted to sprint ahead, break someone’s jaw and get his wife.
From their vantage point halfway down, Becca leaned over the railing.
“There.” She pointed to the far corner of the space. Muzzle fire blossomed like fireworks between the vats.
“SWAT is outside, there’re more of these guys behind us. I guess we slipped in between waves,” Aaron said.
They descended the stairs swiftly and hit the ground moving as one entity through the vats. Jake couldn’t help but wonder what m
ight be in the containers. Were they flammable? Could they be looking at a situation where things exploded around them? It made him all the more anxious to get out.
“What’s the plan?” Aaron asked, pitching his voice low as he peered around another corner before their little team moved onward.
“What’s backup saying?” Cole asked. His pace hadn’t faltered, but neither was Jake paying him much attention.
“To leave,” Becca replied.
“Fat chance of that,” Jake retorted.
Becca continued, “Seems there’s some disagreement about whether we should pull out or stay put. There isn’t a way for us to exit now that these guys got their backup.”
“We keep going forward,” Cole said. As sergeant, his decision absolved Jake of the primary responsibility for getting them into the situation, but it still weighed heavily on his shoulders.
Their communication went to hand signals, leaving Jake and Cole at a disadvantage. The voices became almost intelligible, most of it was in Spanish.
“Aaron, go to the wall and follow it,” Jake said.
They hit the wall and began slithering along it, eyes peeled.
“It sounds like we’re dealing with two gangs here, both trying to get Diego,” Becca whispered, keeping them abreast of the details.
“Great.” Jake didn’t like this one bit. Nicole caught in the crossfire was not his ideal of a rescue.
Yelling and a fresh wave of gunfire some distance away heralded what he could only assume were the new additions of other gang members.
The vats gave way to an underground loading dock area where pallets and barrels were stacked, ready for delivery. The team hunkered down behind a stack of what appeared to be sacks of cement and surveyed the situation.
Across from their location was an office, probably the dockmaster’s office. The windows and exterior were riddled with bullet holes. To their right and left, men hid behind whatever cover they could find.
“Watch our back,” Cole said.
Becca and Aaron turned. Aaron took a knee while Becca lay on her stomach where she could see the feet of anyone approaching. Aaron’s lips moved as he spoke, not to them, but to the command center.
“Get them to come down to the loading docks. They’ll pinch these guys and they won’t be able to do anything but give up,” Cole said.
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