The idea hit her somewhere in her chest. While she knew she should protest that she was an agent and could handle it, the knowledge that he wanted to protect her from seeing something this horrific touched her. He was right. No matter how much she tried, if she saw what was inside those crates, it would be with her to her dying day.
She nodded. “Okay. I’ll observe this room. Make my mental pictures for later. Will there be any way to know if any of them are Brianna?”
“I don’t know.”
She stepped out of the doorway, turning her back on what she knew must be a gruesome sight and focused her attention on the area around the furniture. Looking from the outside in, Abigail let her mind catalogue everything she saw. The dust and footprints, cigarette butts, small pieces of trash and round, red paper tabs.
Definitely a blood splatter lay beneath the overturned chair. But was it Brianna’s? She slipped a cotton swab from the few she’d loaded into her purse and dabbed it over the site, then slipped it into the one of the plastic bags she’d also brought along. It might help to prove Brianna had been here.
The ropes on the floor were tied in odd spots to the chair as if someone had been restrained, probably tortured. But who and what for? Was it Brianna? Her phone had been here, so she assumed Brie had too. What information did they think her friend had? And had Brianna given in and submitted to the interrogation? Because the more she studied the scene, the more Abigail was convinced it was an interrogation.
“Abby, how tall is your friend?” Luke said from the doorway behind her.
She looked over her shoulder at him. His face was drawn tight and she’d swear he was a shade paler than his usual tan. “I’m five-eleven, Brianna is about three inches shorter. Why?”
“There were three bodies in there, burned beyond recognition, but none of them were that tall.”
She sagged with relief. “Were they all women?”
“That or really small men. Let’s get out of here,” he said, grabbing her by the elbow and nearly dragging her back the way they’d come.
She dug in her heels, trying to pull free. “Wait, we have to let the police know. Those women have families.”
“Abigail. I need to get you out of here first.” His use of her real name got her attention.
“Why?”
“Whoever did this could come back at any moment. They have no fear of getting caught, or any qualms about torturing and murdering women. I don’t want to risk you falling into their hands.” He gripped her elbow a little tighter and she let him lead her to the exit.
Once they were safely on the road away from the crime scene, he pulled out his phone.
“Who are you calling?”
“Detective Jeffers.”
CHAPTER NINE
“I lost the prey, Snake. Tracked ’em a few miles, then the guy started doubling back, like a fox trying to hide his scent from the hounds. Figured I’d best back off ’fore he made me, then poof, they gone.”
Fuck! Snake kicked the side of the alley dumpster with his steel-toed, shit-kicker boots. He’d followed the cop back from the Hollister-Klein building to the police station. Whoever he’d met with inside the company, the meeting hadn’t lasted too long. He’d make sure to tell the bossman when he reported in again.
“Followed his Beemer from the hotel. I can try doubling back to the last place I saw the car. Works in the hills when I’m huntin’, but a little trickier with cars ’steada animals.”
If Tracker couldn’t stay with them, the guy must have special skills to lose his tail. Special skills—as in highly trained and therefore extremely dangerous. With the detective locked down for the night and the couple off the grid, it might be time to regroup.
“Nah, leave it for now. Bossman has some merchandise he wants us to move, so head back over to the warehouse. I’ll meet you there. Gonna need you to get the big truck.”
“You’re the boss. I’m ’bout twenty minutes out.”
“Don’t take any chances. The merchandise isn’t going anywhere. Just be sure no cops tail you back there.” He hung up, climbed in his car and eased it out of the alley. The cops were so busy coming in and out for their shift change, no one noticed him watching from the alley. Looked like the detective was planning to work all night. Time to get back and get his men busy moving the new shipment that came in last week. Should be primed and ready.
A smile split his lips.
Yeah, gonna hafta sample some of this.
* * * * *
Down the alley from the precinct, the black sedan pulled out, letting the brown Cutlass make its first right turn before speeding up and turning on his lights. It had been a while since Aaron had done surveillance work, but it was just like riding a bike. Once you learned how, the skills came back quick when you needed them.
This afternoon, when Edgars informed him he had a tail, he hadn’t liked the idea that not only was someone interested in what he might be investigating, but that he hadn’t a clue he was being followed. Given he hadn’t noticed a tail before today, he’d suspected it had to be involved with the missing Mathews woman. However, he’d been so wrapped up in the side case of the other missing women, there was always a possibility he’d tipped his hand to the perps in that case, too. Who knows how long he’d been under surveillance?
Of course he hadn’t been surprised when Mary Jo texted him that the plates and car didn’t match. He’d bet if he could get the VIN number off the vehicle odds were it had been reported stolen, too.
Time to turn the tables.
He might not have a clue as to who was so curious about his cases, but he was sure going to find out where his tail was headed. Then he might just get a hold of his new best friend, Luke Edgars, and find out exactly why he and Abigail Whitson were in town. The guy’s story about simply visiting a friend was just a line of fancy-dressed bullshit. Tired of the questions bouncing around in his head, he wanted answers.
As the Cutlass moved through the late-night traffic Aaron kept a good three-car distance between them, following him from one neighborhood to another. They crossed the Cuyahoga River, finally ending up in the old riverfront industrial area, west of the remodeled Flats along the river.
Tingling crawled up his spine like a poisonous centipede looking for a place to strike. Never a good feeling.
Lots of empty or abandoned warehouses dotted this area. Good place to hide women—or bodies.
The Cutlass pulled into the parking lot of a turn-of-the-century warehouse and parked in the rear of the building next to two other equally non-descript cars. Lights were on in the lower part of the building. The driver climbed out of his car as Aaron drove down the street past the building. The guy had a grey hoodie pulled up over his head, preventing Aaron from getting a good look as he drove past. He’d go a few blocks before doubling back.
Once parked up the street from the warehouse, but close enough to see anyone coming or going, he pulled out his notebook to make notes. A lot of the other detectives, especially those just moving up the ranks from patrolman, liked to use their cell phones to take notes, but he’d always liked the feel of holding a pad and pen in his hand. It let his brain connect facts better than trying to concentrate on typing in words with his big fingers on the small keyboard, and forget texting. It was okay for someone to send him a message, but when he tried to return one, it ended up mostly gibberish full of typos. He copied down the warehouse’s address and a note to look up the property owner later. Lifting the binoculars he’d brought with him, he tried to get the plates off the other vehicles, but doubted he’d get any better information than he had from the ones on the Cutlass.
Headlights up ahead caught his attention.
A large moving truck rumbled down the street towards the warehouse. It slowed at the entrance to the parking lot and made a Y-turn, backing into the lot towards the ancient loading dock at the back of the building.
Shit.
Were they moving something in or out of the warehouse? Probably not the Ma
thews woman. They wouldn’t need a truck that big for just one woman. However, if her case were connected to the other missing women, maybe they were moving more than one body.
Lifting the binoculars once more, he tried to get a look at the driver. Long, lanky, light-skinned. Probably some half-drugged-out Caucasian kid. Dressed in the same grungy jeans, dark hoodie sweatshirt as the first guy. This one also had a baseball hat blocking out any good description. Dammit. He needed to get closer.
He set the binoculars aside then pulled out his phone and opened the camera app—one of the few good uses he’d found for the thing in detective work, then slipped out of the car. Keeping to the darkest shadowed areas between his car and the warehouse, he climbed through overgrown bushes and piles of trash, dumped old car parts and worn tires until only open space remained. With a prayer that no one walked outside, he dashed to the side of the building. Taking refuge behind an old dumpster, he tried to ignore the smell emanating from behind it. Apparently the gang using the warehouse considered this the place to take a piss.
Most of the windows on the lower floor were covered in black paint, but light shone through a few with cracks in the paint. He eased his way down to one and peeked inside. Couldn’t see much, but put his camera up to take some shots. Who knows what they’d find once he enlarged the images.
A huge garage door opened back where the truck sat and voices sounded. He scooted back towards the dumpster to see if he could get pictures of his tail and the truck driver.
The two walked outside and Aaron quickly took pictures of them.
“Let’s get the merchandise loaded and on the road.”
“Yeah, man. Gonna take mosta the night to deliver it down south,” Baseball Cap Guy said, climbing back in the truck.
“Hope not, man. I got plans on samplin’ me some.” Grey Hoodie Guy said as he stepped back and directed his friend to maneuver the back of the truck farther into the warehouse.
Great. Now they’d blocked any hopes of him getting a look at whatever kind of merchandise they were transporting tonight. And how far south were they going? He ground his teeth and leaned back against the brick wall, mentally counting to ten and taking account of the situation.
First, he was on his own. No backup. So he couldn’t go charging in. Quick death wish there.
Secondly, no warrant and no probable cause. He had no business here, except to discover who and why someone was following him.
Third, did he follow this truck and find out what they were delivering or to where? His gut told him whatever they were doing was illegal, but with no evidence, his visceral response wouldn’t hold up in a court of law.
A rumbling sounded as the driver pulled away from the loading dock.
Aaron peeked around the corner of the building just in time to see several other men exit the building, closing the garage-type door behind them. One of the other men climbed into the passenger side of the truck, while the others—including Grey Hoodie Guy—got into the other cars. Then, like a caravan, they started out of the parking lot, quickly picking up speed.
Damn, even if he sprinted back to where he’d left his vehicle, no way was he catching up to follow them. He felt like he was chasing his own tail on this case and he didn’t like it. Making sure no one saw him, he returned to his car and was just reaching for his phone when the ring tone sounded.
“Jeffers,” he said, not recognizing the number.
“Detective, I have some information for you.”
“Edgars. Something to do with the case?”
“I think so. There’s a warehouse you need to check out.”
“Oh? Where?”
Edgars gave him the address and he plugged it into his phone’s GPS. It was in the old industrial area several miles away. “And what am I going to find in there?”
“Three crates in the back room.” The fed paused a moment. “Bring your crime scene people and the coroner. You’re going to find three charred bodies, probably women, inside.”
Aw, crap, his night just went to hell in a hand basket. “And you know this how?”
“Abby and I were following a lead and stumbled across this.”
“You two still there?” he asked, although he already knew the answer and didn’t like it.
“Not anymore. I need to ask the same favor as before.”
“Keep your and Ms. Whitson’s names out of the official reports, I get it. Is one of these women her friend, Ms. Mathews?” Aaron put the car in gear and headed in the direction of the other warehouse.
“According to Abby, her friend was tall for a woman. All three corpses are petite.”
“Where are you staying?”
“Someplace secure.”
He gripped the wheel harder as he turned the corner. He was done being jerked around by the federal agent and his girlfriend. Time to get some friggin’ answers.
“Tell you what, you tell me where I can find you later and I’ll keep you out of this for now. I’ll call it an anonymous tip.” He paused for his own effect. “Otherwise I paste your names not only all over my reports but the news, too.”
Edgars cursed on the other end of the line, but eventually gave him an address. “It’s a federal safe house, so guard that information with your life.”
“I’ll call you when I’m near,” Aaron said, then disconnected. Now he had one hell of a problem. How was he going to explain this tip to his boss?
* * * * *
Luke followed Abby into the condo once more, his jaw hurting from all the clenching he’d been doing on the silent drive home. Good thing Abby wasn’t overly talkative and smart enough to realize he barely had a leash on his anger. The stench that had hit him when he opened those crates nearly made him hurl and his stomach still roiled from the lingering odor in his nose.
Once inside, he checked all the doors and set the alarm, then snagged his duffle bag from the couch and a bottle of whiskey from the dry bar. Thank God Castello kept it fully loaded. “I need a shower.”
“Okay. Do you want anything to eat?”
He swallowed hard, trying to keep his stomach contents in place. “No,” he said, heading to the bedroom. “And don’t open the door for anyone. Jeffers said he’d call before he gets here.”
Before she could ask any questions, he closed the door and leaned back against it, dropping his bag on the floor with a thud. For a moment he closed his eyes, the vision of those three burned bodies floating in front of him like images from some old horror movie. The idea that anyone could do that to those women…
Damn. He couldn’t decide what he wanted to do more—go to a bar and get in a fight just so he could punch out his frustration or get drunk enough to obliterate the images from his mind. He pulled his holster off and looped it over the bedpost. Walking into the bathroom, he opened the whiskey and drank a long pull, letting the liquor burn a path down his throat.
Problem was, he didn’t have the luxury to really do either and the reason stood on the other side of the door.
Abby.
What if he hadn’t met her at her friend’s condo? What if she’d been early and walked in while they were grabbing Brianna? What if one of those bodies had been Abby?
His legs wobbled, then gave out and he sank to his knees.
Abby could’ve been in one of those boxes.
He took another long drink of the whiskey, waiting for his nerves to settle. Then with a reserve he pulled deep from inside, he capped the bottle. It was his responsibility to keep Abby safe. Drunk wasn’t going to get the job done.
But he could wash the smell away.
For the first time he noticed the upgraded bathroom with the walk-in shower tiled from floor to ceiling in tumbled granite, with a bench to sit on and six showerheads, including the state-of-the-art rain shower one overhead. No curtain or sliding-glass door. No, this was the kind that had glass blocks on one side of the entrance and all the tiles drained toward the drain near the back.
Impressive. Whoever Castello reserved this co
ndo for, it must’ve been someone very important for the amenities to be so high-end. He turned on the shower and stripped out of all the odorous clothing.
Stepping into the shower, he adjusted the side jets to hit his back hard, almost like a liquid massage.
“Ah,” he said, giving into the pleasure, even enjoying the steady fall of warm water from overhead. This time, when he closed his eyes, he focused on the image that had been bothering him before they’d walked into that warehouse—Abby dressed in nothing but black lace bra and panties. The angry tension drained from his body, to be replaced by a more pleasurable one as the blood rushed to his cock, thickening it into a hard erection.
He reached for the soap and lathered it in his hands, scrubbing his face and neck first, then down his chest and abdomen until he cupped his balls to lather them with one hand, the other stroking the length of his cock, sliding slickly up and down the shaft, imagining the dark lingerie against all of Abby’s wonderful creamy skin.
Abby stood outside the bathroom staring at the closed door, popping a chocolate drop into her mouth to still her own anxiety. Chocolate usually helped, but this time she wasn’t worried about herself or the case. She was worried about Luke.
All the way back from the warehouse, he’d been silent, his barely restrained anger rolling off him like earthquake aftershocks. She’d wanted to say something to help him, only imagining the horror he’d had to see inside those crates, but the hard set of his jaw and the way he’d gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles blanched white in the darkness warned her how bad the idea was.
Instead, she’d kept quiet, hoping he’d open up once they’d gotten home.
No such luck.
She knew he was hurting. In all the time she’d known Luke, he’d never once been this silent and she’d never once seen him intentionally get drunk. But wasn’t that what he was doing? Trying to dull the images in his mind with alcohol? Images he’d seen just to save her from having them locked permanently in her head.
The urge to help him gnawed at her. But how?
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