Hit 'N' Run (Under Suspicion #1)

by Lori Power

  “Yeah,” Hank said with an impatient gesture, nodding his head at Mitch’s raised eyebrows. “It wasn’t a great secret, as you said. Go on.”

  “We came up here one weekend. Just the two of us,” he said, indicating a spot on the map. “Snuck away, really. A bit of a rustic cabin in the woods; a river just down the embankment. Picturesque is what some would call it.”

  “So did ol’ Uncle Chuck know you were there?”

  “Not that I know of.” Mitch kept his finger on the map, scared to lose the place, sure in his gut he was right. “In fact, it was a pretty big deal to Vonnie we be very discreet. Mum’s the word and all. No one—absolutely no one—could know where we were going. It was a weekend she knew her dad and Chuck were away together.”

  “Describe it to us in as much detail as you can,” Avery commanded from the front seat after relaying coordinates to the other two cruisers in their caravan.

  Mitch closed his eyes, pulling up the images of the compound in his mind. “It’s about four or five kilometers off the main highway. A dirt road.”

  “Be mud now,” Hank said with a sweep of his hand towards the windows.

  “And it was a rutted path then. So it won’t be easy going at all. Any chance of the chopper getting up?”

  “I’m radioing through,” Avery confirmed, holding up his satellite phone. “He’s on standby for as soon as the weather settles down enough for him to fly. Go on.”

  “It’s a fairly secluded place. Trees all around the compound. There’s the main cabin, fully decked out–bedroom, kitchen, bathroom, and living room. No basement. Just a crawl space underneath.”

  “That’s good intel,” Hank commented, taking some notes. “What else? Any other buildings?”

  “A small cabin or shed. I wasn’t inside. I can’t tell you much about it. It really was about the size of a small shack. I can’t imagine it being used for anything other than a guest bedroom.” Mitch opened his eyes to squint into the darkness. The pane of glass reflected back a haggard image. “And an outhouse. That’s all I can recall right now.”

  “It’s a start,” Avery said, turning back to face the front and focus on the road ahead.

  Chapter Twenty

  “The sun will be up soon,” Hank said, checking his weapon before sliding it back into the holster. The trio of police vehicles was parked on the side of the highway, just shy of the entrance to the Fong compound. “What are your thoughts on this, Mitch? You know the place. Should we wait for the light or blaze in through the dark and muck now? Either way though, there’s no element of surprise.”

  “If we wait for the dawn, they’ll see and hear us.” Mitch looked up at the sky, gauging just how much time they had before the sun rose. “If we go now, sure they’ll hear us, but visibility is still limited. That road’s gonna be a bastard any which way you shake it out. How long before the chopper’s here?”

  A young constable looked up from his phone, pad of paper in his hand. Moving the phone slightly away from his face, he said, “They’re prepping it now, but the storm is hovering over Prince George now—moving south.”

  The officer in charge, Rick Avery, stepped from a small group of men to stride towards Mitch. “I’m not prepared to go into an ambush. We’ll leave the two cruisers here.” He pointed up and down the highway. “One for each direction. They may already know we’re here. Because we have nothing to go on, we have to assume the worst and that they would know.”

  “Agreed,” Mitch responded. His hands automatically linked at his back as he stood listening to a superior officer.

  “I suggest we send the four-wheel drive down that mud fest. It’s made for that, after all. Hopefully, it won’t get stuck; Trevor’s used to the terrain,” Avery continued as he nodded his squared chin towards the officer in question. “He grew up around here.”

  Mitch joined Hank to glance over to Trevor who stood with the driver’s door open, one foot on the wet pavement, the other lifted just inside the door while leaning his elbows on the roof waiting. “Okay,” Trevor agreed with a slight bend of his head.

  “We’ve twelve guys in total. If we leave four, two for each cruiser here at the road,” Avery’s fingers and hands were pointing and moving in illustration, “put four in with Trevor, the rest of us can hike in. Cover the tree line. You said it’s not far from the highway?”

  “No, not far. We can do it easily and I like your strategy.” He turned to peer down the highway through the gloom. “Hank?”

  “I like it.” The big man bent to retie his boots. “Let’s get at ’er.”

  ***

  Under different circumstances, this would be the time of day Mitch cherished most. The dusky blue sky was clear, smudging the line between his meager existence and the universe beyond, yet light enough to showcase the Earth’s individuality from the rest of the solar system. Though it was a moonless night, he loved watching the last of the starlight’s shimmering fingers tracing goodbye as the sun’s filtering rays announced the birth of a new day.

  Let this be the day I bring Lorna home.

  He and Hank skirted the swamp-like trail leading into the compound out of sight, keeping to the bush up the small embankment from the muddy path. Theirs was a recon position. The police four-by-four noisily made its way, about a half kilometer behind them. Mitch cringed, hearing the wheels lead the tossing vehicle forward. The general idea was for the partners to reach the camp first. Once the perps became alerted to the approach of the SUV, the partners were to radio those behind on what to expect. How many people were at the camp? What kind of weaponry? Far behind, two more officers followed, bringing up the rear.

  Mitch strove to focus, but his mind swam with images of Lorna trussed up, injured, or perhaps worse. His grip tightened on his weapon, aching to beat the crap out of Charles and Tim Fong for instrumenting this situation. A situation where an innocent woman gets tangled in a quagmire between cops and a crime family. So many—too many—lives lost already. Perhaps not so innocent, but lost nonetheless. And for what? He had no easy answer.

  The two men reached the edge of the clearing. Mitch squatted, pulling out palm-sized binoculars to scope the buildings. Nothing. Did he have it wrong? He swung his vision from the main cabin towards the river. No, this is the right spot. Did they take Lorna elsewhere? Fuck, they were wasting time.

  Pausing under the camouflage of leaves, Hank radioed back. “Compound seems deserted.”

  Pushing on the transmitter attached to his ear, Mitch added, “Three buildings in view. Will do visual check to confirm.”

  He had to follow his gut. His instincts told him this was the right spot. Moving as a unit, he and Hank bent low and ran towards the small shed. Backs against the outer wall, they maneuvered around to the lone window. Glass crunched under his boot. Mitch stood to look in through the windowless hole in the wall.

  “Shattered?” Relief that his instincts were correct was followed closely by a tremor of fear they were too late. Covering his rising emotions, he bent to examine the logs released from the pile, pointing the way towards the waiting forest. “She was here, Hank. This is where they were holding her. This was the crash I heard over the phone—her breaking through the glass and making a run for it.”

  Listening, confident no one was left inside, Mitch pulled out the small penlight. Leaning in through the window, he quickly shone the light around before tucking it back into his pocket. Back to the wall, he assessed the scene in his mind’s eye. The broken chair, the debris and smoking stove, he now had the visual to match what he had heard.

  “She’s gone?” Hank questioned from his elbow.

  “I hope,” he said, pointing towards the shadowed cover of the trees. “In there.”

  Hank’s heavy arm blocked his path, seeming to read his intention to follow where he imagined Lorna had run. “We have to check the other building first, man.”

  Hank’s voice was barely a whisper but held the reminder Mitch was on the job.

  Taking one of his hands
from the grip of his gun handle, the big man fanned his fingers in a downward flap indicating the return to a crouch, he hissed. “We’re too close. Don’t fuck up now.”

  Mitch met his partner’s eyes in agreement. Sliding silently along the wall, he took the lead to peer around the side of the shed towards the other cabin.

  The slamming of a door made the men flatten back against the building, facing the forest, listening. “Fuck. Not so empty,” Hank said, close to Mitch’s side.

  Pressing his fingers to the transmitter that ran from his ear down to his throat, to the main battery pack strapped to his torso, Hank whispered, “Hold up.” The last thing anyone in this operation needed was to be heard. They may have expected it, talked about it, but now they were in the fray, and any element of surprise was required.

  Positioning his gun close to his thigh, Mitch again peered around the side of the small building. A hulk of a man hesitated only once as he stomped towards the outhouse. Splattered with mud, he looked less than impressed, mumbling as he crossed the open area of the compound. Mitch couldn’t discern the words but was inordinately pleased. If this man was unhappy, that likely meant they hadn’t found Lorna.

  The man’s great girth filled the door of the outbuilding. They’d have to watch for his return. Slithering down low along the wall, Mitch crawled forward to see the main cabin and get a lay of the land before ducking back behind the wall to report to the others.

  “Three vehicles present. All trucks. Confirmed one person so far.”

  “Take the vehicles out,” came the slashed response from Avery. “We need a head count.”

  “We’re on it,” Hank responded.

  Using the cover of limited light from the impending dawn to run in a stooped position, the officers ran to the back of the larger cabin. Their bowed forms then moved in opposite directions towards the front to peer in through the windows to take a head count.

  Mitch stood to peer in through what he knew to be the living room window. A black-haired girl lounged lazily by the only exit, the front door, while a meaty-looking man, squatter than the other he had seen, drank from a water bottle close by. That was it for this room. Raised voices penetrating the thin glass alerted Mitch to more people in the lone bedroom. Easing himself carefully forward, he used a hook mirror, similar to what dentists use to see the back of teeth to glimpse the activity in the cabin.

  “What good are your fucking goons if they can’t find a lone woman running around the forest?” The words were a snarl of intense anger.

  Mitch recognized Tim Fong from pictures. Startled to see the two brothers together, Mitch pulled the mirror back quickly, holding it to his chest. Tim Fong—here? He had expected Charles. He was the one to call Mitch after all, but Tim? Holding his gun low in his right hand, he ducked, level with the weeds growing beneath the window to move to the other side. Sweat from his brow dripped on the small mirror, and he swiped the instrument along the leg of his pants, rubbing the sleeve of his shirt across his eyes. With the small mirror held in his left hand, he lifted it to the window, eager to glean their conversation.

  “Did you see my fucking back?” Charles hissed, lifting his shirt to show rising red blisters and his charred pants. “How about my legs? I could have burnt to death when that bitch pushed me into the fucking stove.”

  “You’ve only yourself to blame. Had you heeded my words that she was smart, she’d never have got the jump on you.”

  “Hacking your precious main frame is smart; getting out of that fucking chair was luck.”

  “Incompetence, more like.”

  Charles limped away to the other side of the room. “We’ll find the fucking bitch. She was dead anyway, but at least now I’ll enjoy it. Maybe I’ll set her feet to the flames and see how she enjoys it.”

  “We have to find her first.” Tim stormed around the room, swiping a lamp from the bedside table, watching it shatter against the wall close to the window. The older man kicked the shattered porcelain out of his way as he continued to move about the room.

  “It was your idea to bring her here.”

  “Stop your whining. You’ve been whining since you learned to talk,” Tim growled, whirling on his brother. Tim was easily a head taller than the more effeminate Charles. “Do you think I particularly enjoy cleaning up your mess all the time.”

  “Well, good brother,” Chuck sneered. “She’s all yours. Your mess.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Tim’s face was puce with rage. “She wouldn’t be my problem had you not allowed a goddamned cop into your ranks and lost all my money.”

  “You’ll get your goddamned money,” the younger brother shot back, small hands fisted to his sides.

  Tim raised fingers to his temples as though to lift off the top of his head and his hands flung towards the empty air. “The money won’t matter if the woman isn’t found. She hacked the database just before coming here. We need to know what she did with the information and make sure she hasn’t told anyone what she found out. We need to know if she made the connection. You’re such a moron sometimes.”

  Charles’s face had the wounded look of a child used to being bullied by an older sibling. “I’ve got my men covering her home, ready to move in whenever we give the word.”

  “I can only hope they’re better than the lot you brought here.” Tim turned his back. “They can’t go in now at any rate. The cops will be all over that place now.”

  “How do you know she hasn’t already given the cops the information?”

  Tim paused, staring hard at his brother, seeming to contemplate the answer. “I don’t.”

  “There,” Charles responded, turning his own back to slump on the bed. “You don’t.”

  “However,” Tim continued, placing a palm flat to the wall. “If they did know, I would think I would have had some questions flung my way, especially after the fiasco in Seattle yesterday. Then there’s the fact the hack occurred around two in the morning, and she was on a flight here within a few hours. I would guess unless her cop friend slept over, she hadn’t time to give it to him.”

  Tim strode to stand in front of his brother, bending at the waist to be at eye level. “And,” Tim stretched the word, “your men, as you like to call the ruffians under your employ, report the two seemed to have had a falling out, and he wasn’t at her house. So I am concluding,” he finished, as though speaking to a simpleton, “our cop friend doesn’t know.”

  Tim straightened and marched towards the bedroom door, turning with his hand on the knob clearly illustrating which of the brothers was actually in charge of the family operation. “Now, break time is over for this trio of fools. It’ll be light soon. I’ll call for the chopper.” He stared intently at his brother, his orders projected like bullets. “Find her.”

  Though he couldn’t be sure she was safe, the conversation confirmed his suspicions Lorna had not yet been found. Hustling back to meet Hank, he paused, wondering what was holding up his partner.

  Skimming along the cabin in the other direction, he dropped to his stomach to crawl under the small veranda. Footfalls reverberated overhead, and Mitch saw Hank was exposed as he slashed the tires of the Ford F150. Obviously, he had waited until the hulking man returned to the main cabin before going out to the vehicles to disable them in the easiest manner possible. But now he had seconds before the door opened and the goon squad was on the loose again.

  Eyes fixed on Hank, with his ears trained on the approaching steps, Mitch pushed the transmitter at his throat. “Move in,” he hissed across the airways. “Move in NOW.”

  The police four-by-four was minutes out of sight. A shuffle above his head indicated someone moving to the window. Indistinct voices tipped Mitch their time was up. It was now or never.

  Rolling out from under the stoop in a ready crouch, pistol and badge poised for action as soon the door opened. A muscle-bound ape ran out, hand reaching for the balustrade as he peered towards the dirt road.

  “Freeze! Police!” Mitch shouted above
the noise of the wind and the clambering from within the cabin, keeping his gun and badge clearly visible.

  As the big man raised his weapon, Hank stood from his position. “Don’t do it,” he warned.

  Wheels spinning in mud announced the arrival of the other officers while the sound of glass shattering caused all three to turn in the direction of the back of the cabin. The big man made to run when Mitch leaped up on the veranda, grabbing the giant and toppling him to the ground. Hank was right there with the cuffs to hook the meaty wrists behind his back.

  “The others,” Hank breathed. “I’ve got the big fella here.”

  Mitch ran the two paces across the small porch to burst through the closed cabin door, gun raised in a protective position. “Freeze,” he yelled, halting Charles and another of his minions in their tracks.

  With the speed of a cheetah, Charles whirled on him, releasing a knife midmotion. The blade reflected the lamplight as he hurled it towards Mitch’s chest. Dropping to his knees, Mitch narrowly avoided impalement by the long blade. Still, its razor edge grazed his cheek before landing with a quivering thud in the wood panel of the wall behind him. Charles didn’t wait to see if his blade stopped Mitch. He spun towards the bedroom, slamming the door behind him, even blocking his own people from escape.

  “Jesus Christ,” Mitch roared, firing one shot aimed at Charles’ shoulder, but it lodged in the heavy wooden door instead.

  A blow to the kidney threw him sideways, announcing the presence of Charles’ squat bodyguard. Within a second of Mitch gaining his footing, the hulking man field tackled him, toppling them both backwards. Grunting as the wind left his body, he rolled, losing hold of his weapon. His left hand lashed out to land a hard blow against his opponent’s temple.

  The man sneered, revealing a wide gap between his front teeth. Unfazed by the blow, he crashed his hammer-like fist into Mitch’s jaw, causing his head to snap back. Curling one hand in the bodyguard’s shirtfront, Mitch continued to crash the side of his fist against the other’s face, knowing he was losing valuable time for apprehending the others.