by L. T. Ryan
She bit down hard. Not against the cold, rather what she was about to hear from the man. Before he had reached the truck, she was in her seat, buckled in. She continued to scan the sidewalk behind him. Where was the boy? Where was Robbie?
The silence in the cab squeezed her lungs, as though a weight had been placed on her chest. Cal pulled his door open. Cold air flooded the space again. He stared at her as he got in. His gaze was still on her as he started the truck. A tear slipped down her cheek right where he could see it. Cal chuckled.
“Guess you know what’s coming.”
She fought to choke back a sob. That would further encourage him to mentally torture her. She’d found it was best to get straight to the physical part. Sure, it hurt just as bad, but the anxiety from the build-up wouldn’t be there.
He shook his head, redirected his attention to the road, and pulled out of the spot. The road was slick, iced-over. Cal didn’t seem to care. He pushed the gas pedal, causing the tail-end of the truck to fishtail.
Was this how he planned on torturing her?
He turned his face toward her and laughed. Then she realized. He wasn’t playing some mind game. No, that was 151 on his breath.
“Where’s Robbie?” she asked.
“Not sure what you mean.”
“The boy?”
“Boy?” Cal glanced at her and the space between them. His eyes were dark. Face tight. “Don’t see no boy here.”
“What have you done with him, Cal?”
“What’d I say about using my name outside the compound?”
“I don’t care, Cal.”
In an instant, pain flooded her face, her eyes watered, warm blood poured from her nose. The backhand caused her head to snap and slam against the side window. More pain spread across the side of her head and neck. Her vision darkened.
“Stay with me, Molly.” He sang the words, then laughed. “Stay with me.”
It felt as though the truck had slowed in the last thirty seconds. Molly pinched her nose and tilted her head back while wiping tears away with her other hand. Their headlights cut a swathe in the darkness that surrounded them. She searched for a landmark, any landmark, that would show where they were and where they were going. But all she saw were the ghostly shadows of trees.
Her head cleared and she weighed the facts. They had gone to town and Cal took Robbie with him, leaving Molly behind. A few hours passed before Cal returned. The map in her head expanded. But how far could he have gotten in a few hours? An hour there, an hour back, give or take twenty minutes. She had lost track while battling the cold. Walking with a child wouldn’t allow anyone to get far in that amount of time. Unless…
Unless he had a car. Or what if he had dropped Robbie off somewhere? She committed everything to memory during the rest of the drive.
Cal turned the radio up and settled into a zone, leaving her alone until they pulled into the compound. She figured he’d drop her off at the front, but he continued to the house. Turning to her to tell her to fix him a steak the moment they got inside.
But getting inside wasn’t going to be easy.
Marissa stood on the front step, her jacket pulled tight across her body, the hood enveloping her head. Her nose was bright red. Eyes, too. And they pled with Molly to tell her something. Anything.
Marissa went to speak, but sobs came out. She blocked Molly’s path. Held up a finger. Mouthed the word, “Please.”
Molly shook her head. “I… I don’t know what to tell you.”
Marissa collapsed forward. She felt like a bag of wet sand, nearly toppling Molly over.
“You go inside,” Cal said. “I’ll deal with her.”
Molly steadied the other woman and unlocked the front door. Heat rushed out and her iced-over nose melted onto her upper lip. She wiped it away as she opened the door. She stripped off her jacket and hung it up while listening in on the conversation outside. The wind made it difficult to hear, and after she took a few steps closer, the door slammed shut.
Wanting to avoid further wrath from Cal, she pulled out two defrosted steaks and placed them on a broiling pan. After tossing them in the oven, she poured a glass of wine and downed it in three gulps. Then she did it again. The front door opened. Marissa’s sobbing carried through the house. Molly hid the bottle and glass and remained in the kitchen.
“Just sit there,” Cal told the other woman.
She fell back into the chair, then buried her face in her hands.
Molly couldn’t fight the knot that formed in her stomach. The wine turned on her. She rushed to the bathroom, turning her back on Cal.
“The hell you doing, Molly?” His boots slapped the floor as he rushed after her.
She felt his hand on her arm and the next thing she knew, she was spinning. The mix of alcohol and acid in her stomach threatened to come up at any moment. She put her hand over her mouth as reflexes kicked in. Cal shoved her toward the bathroom, cursed at her, then walked away.
Molly returned a few minutes later after cleaning herself up. The oven was beeping, indicating the steaks needed to be turned. She hurried into the kitchen. There’d be hell to pay if she overcooked his steak.
She could hear the conversation taking place in the other room.
Marissa, who had calmed down, sniffled as she spoke. “He’s okay, right?”
Cal had a way of smiling that most people took as sincere, but Molly knew was demeaning and manipulative. “Of course. Robbie’s not far from here. There're some things going down that might pose a risk to him. I figured it was better to take him where he’s protected.”
“And you’re going to take me to him?”
Cal nodded. “Sure am.”
“Tonight?”
He placed his hand on her thigh. “Well, it’s cold out there now. And it’s a country drive. The roads are icing over. Might be a little dangerous to go tonight.”
Marissa’s face scrunched as she tried to hold back another outburst. She held her hand over her face, but nothing could stop those tears. Cal glanced over at Molly, rolled his eyes, sighed, then turned his attention back to the distraught mother. He stroked her hair, pulling it back from her face and tucking it behind her ears.
Molly noted the other woman’s face. For the first time since she’d met her at the compound, she looked real. Before, Marissa had an almost glazed-over look on her face. Frankly, most people in the group did. This wasn’t real life. It was escapism, playing one man’s game. Cal’s. But now, it appeared Marissa might just realize her mistake.
After another minute of crying, Cal stood up. “Ok let’s reunite you two tonight.”
Marissa absorbed the words slowly. She straightened, looked up at Cal with a pleading look still in her eyes. “Really?”
“Really.” He walked across the room. She got up to follow. He waved her down. “Just grabbing our coats.”
“But don’t we need to go through the front door?”
“I’ve got a secret way out of here.” He helped her with her jacket. Before exiting through the back, he grabbed a flashlight and rifle from the closet.
“What’s that for?” Marissa asked, fear in her eyes.
“Coyotes. We’ve got a bit of a walk.”
She didn’t seem to want to go anymore.
“Trust me,” he said. “This is the safe way out. Tell her Molly.”
Molly froze with fear. All she could do was nod in agreement, knowing that the place Cal was taking Marissa was anything but the safe way out. In that moment, her jealousy over the woman taking Molly’s place faded.
And her anger at every man who had ever wronged her began to boil.
30
A few hours had passed since the attack at the Liliana’s house. I had tried to get up, keep up with the guy, but by the time I got my footing and made it outside, his taillights were fading. I had stumbled to the car, but there was no point. So I made a call to the one person I could trust. My partner, Sam. He took the plate info and went to work on it for me.
Bridget was still out with Braxton, and I needed answers. I knew a guy who might provide some.
I drove to the hospital. Saw my favorite receptionist. She lit up when I approached.
“Who you here to see now?” she asked me as she flicked her monitor to life.
“Same person,” I said. “The Delgado kid.”
“Um, I don’t think so.” She furrowed her brow and started typing.
“What do you mean?”
“He’s gone, my friend.”
“Gone as in…?”
“Discharged.”
As a detective, I was a master of hiding emotion. This time I couldn’t. Did Bridget know about this? Did she keep it from me?
“When did he leave?” I asked.
“Oh, a few hours back.” She looked up at me and offered a smile. “It’s okay. Says his stepdad checked him out.”
If there had ever been news that drained the color from my face, this was it. The man who had put Manny in the hospital checked him out? What the hell was going on here?
“Sears? Is that who checked him out?”
She shrugged. “Note just says stepfather.”
I reached into my pocket and fished out a card to hand her. “Anyone comes around looking for Delgado, let me know. Okay?”
“Sure, you got it.”
I walked out into the cold air with my phone to my ear.
“What’s up, Mitch?”
“Anything on that plate yet, Sam?”
“Hold on a sec. I’m checking.”
Sounded like he had Al Greene on in the background.
“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” I asked.
“Nah, no ladies around. Just chilling to the sweet sounds of Mr. Greene.” He hummed a few bars. “All righty, let’s see. We’ve got a match on this plate. Looks corporate. 2012 Dodge Durango?”
“Not sure of the year, but that’s the correct make and model. What’s the company name and address?”
“Hold on, there’s some sort of conflicting record here. I’ll get clarification. Want me to send this in the meantime, though?”
“Yeah, I’ll take whatever you got.”
“Sure thing, my man. Anything else tonight?”
“I think I’m good.” I looked over my shoulder at the receptionist. She’d moved on from our conversation and was sipping iced tea. “Wait, can I get you to run a couple of names and see if you get any addresses back?”
“Anything for you, sweetie.”
“I know it’s been a few weeks, but you’re gonna need to keep it in your pants, Sam.”
He laughed. “What’s those names?”
“Anton Moore and Jordan Sears.”
Sam went back to humming as his fingers rattled along the keyboard. “Got two searches running. Gonna take a few.”
“All right, no problem.”
“How’s things going out there otherwise?”
“You mean with Bridget?”
“Yup.”
“Appreciate the subtlety.”
“You know I’m the master.”
“Sho’nuff.”
He laughed at the movie reference. Maybe one of a handful of people I run into anymore who would get it.
“Come on, Mitch. You can’t hide your feelings from me. What’s going on with Bridget?”
I reviewed the whirlwind trip to Denver in my head. “A lot of this trip has been spent working, which, I knew coming in we’d be investigating leads on Robbie. I just never figured I’d stumble into something else.”
“So, nothing’s happened? Or you tried, and she shut you down?”
“We had a few moments. Felt like things were progressing. But something’s come up every time.”
“That’s the way it works. Why you think I’m still single?”
“Because you’re ugly as a pit bull’s asshole.”
“Then what’s that make you? Shoot, your own momma says I’m the better looking one.”
“That’s ‘cause you compliment her cooking.”
“It’s good.”
“Whatever.”
“Seriously, though, Mitch. How’s it been seeing her? Was what you felt out here real, or just a reaction to the moment?”
I sighed. “If I’m being truthful, what I felt back in Philly was real. But what’s it matter? Nothing can come of it.”
“You know as well as I do, never say never.”
“Yeah, enough with the motivation. Get any hits back?”
“Sure did.” There was a brief pause as Sam read through the results. “Your boy Sears has quite a history.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Combat Control? You know he was Air Force Special Forces?”
“I heard. Security Forces, too, right?”
“Definitely Combat Control. And… yeah, did some time as an MP. Looks like you know something about the guy.”
“What about addresses? Home, work, anything.”
“Multiple for home.” He read a few off, and they sounded familiar from before. “Let me look this one up.” He tapped on his keys for a few seconds. “Not sure what’s going on, but this one sounds interesting. Small warehouse further from the city. Owned by a company registered to Sears. And get this…”
“If you tell me what I think you’re going to.”
“What do I get?”
“An ass kicking if you don’t speed this up.”
“Your Durango? Yeah, it’s owned by this company.”
The small warehouse was located off a deserted road some distance outside of the city. Without traffic, it took me a good forty minutes to get there. I called Bridget on the way, but she sent me to voicemail. Guess she and Braxton were on to something.
The Durango was parked in front of the building. The one vehicle there. Half the parking lot lights were out, leaving swaths of darkness amid the sparse pools of light. There didn’t appear to be any security cameras facing the lot.
I had left my car a hundred feet down the road. Using the darkness as camouflage, I worked my way to the front door and waited for a few moments. If someone was going to attack, it would better to have it happen out here where I could run in almost any direction. Inside, I’d be a sitting duck.
I checked the handle. Locked. Figured. Why wouldn’t it be? I kept a lock pick in my wallet. Pretty basic tool, but it should work on this door. I almost had it unlocked when an exterior flood light came on. Half the lot was lit up. I pressed against the building to remain hidden.
After a click, the door handle turned. A patch of light formed on the ground from inside. I held my breath. All I had on me was a small flashlight and my cell phone. I’d have killed for a baton at that moment. If someone came out wielding a handgun, I was good as gone, unless I could close the distance before they fired.
It felt like the door had been open for ten minutes. In reality, a few seconds had passed. A puff of smoke appeared, followed by the distinct smell of marijuana. A joint flew out. Sparks scattered about as it hit the sidewalk. The door fell shut and the flood light switched off and the smell of pot faded.
I waited for five minutes. Long enough for whoever that was to be good and high, which also meant slow and non-reactive.
I checked the handle. It turned with no resistance. Pulling the door open, warm air rushed out, slapping in me in the face and smelling like pizza. It’d been some time since I’d last eaten and my stomach revolted against the smell. I shook it off. This wasn’t the time.
Once inside, I let the door close softly, then proceeded toward the sound of voices. A conversation? Television? Along the way, I spotted a heavy cardboard tube, the kind my kids might use as a telescope, or a sword. The latter felt more appropriate in the current environment.
The dark hallway was bathed in soft light toward the end. It shifted from blue to yellow to white. A television. But the laughter I heard was from a human in the building. Probably the one who was smoking the joint.
“Fuck that guy.”
I stopped in my
tracks and waited and listened. The voice sounded familiar.
“He owes me money.”
Definitely Anton.
“Then go get it boy.”
And Sears.
A two-for-one special.
Each step I took was careful and deliberate. I needed to avoid making any sound and sending echoes down the hall. The men continued to carry on, their conversation taking a turn toward the stupid, as it often did when one or more parties were high.
I had no plans other than bursting in and taking one man out instantly. Surprise would be my weapon tonight. Fear my backup. If I struck fast and hard and made a mess of one of them, the other might hold off and listen to me. It was a no brainer who to go after first. While Anton had the youth, Sears had the experience and Special Forces training. I had to disorient him and take him down.
“What was that?” Anton said. Chairs groaned as the men got up. “You hear it?”
“Haven’t heard nothing,” Sears said. “You stay here. I’ll go check it out. Put that stuff about the compound away.”
I was a few feet from the entrance. Not close enough to burst through the opening, but it would only take a step or two to knock Sears out of the park.
His shadow blocked the light leaking out onto the floor. He hesitated there for a few moments. I brought the tube up like a samurai sword, ready to slice through the man. Then I heard the sound I dreaded.
Chunk-chunk.
Sears racked his pistol’s slide.
I had one chance to take the guy out now, and the first thing I had to do was knock that handgun free.
The man did everything he could to help me by leading with the pistol through the doorway. I counted down silently, three, two, one. Enough of his arm had appeared for me to make my strike.
The tube made a deep whistle as it traveled through the air. It collided with Sears’ thick forearm with a crack that echoed down the hallway. He yelled out, released the gun, grabbed his arm with his hand. I cocked the tube back for round two. As I did, Sears came through the doorway, eyes locked on his gun at first. He caught sight of the tube coming down on him again, brought his arm up to shield his head. Another crack. Another grunt. He stumbled back a few steps.