by Terry Odell
“What does that have to do with—?” Wait. Grantham. The name rang a bell. Patterson’s secretary. But she was Belinda. An alias? Before he could put the pieces together, Zeke continued.
“I got a hit because it matched someone in Patterson’s office.”
“Right. But—”
“Sisters,” Zeke continued. “Border folks are very interested. She has a string of gift shops in San Diego, LA, and Santa Barbara. Sells cheap Mexican crafts. Apparently they found large quantities of allergy medications in her last batch of pots and baskets.”
Too similar to what was going on in the Bay area. His eye twitched. “You think it could be connected to what I’m doing?”
“Too early to tell,” Zeke said. “Hunter Sanderson works for Patterson. Belinda Grantham works for him, too. No stone unturned, but there are a lot of pebbles in the stream here.”
He stared at Sanderson. No, he’d bet his next field assignment the man wasn’t a drug smuggler. And if he was wrong, after he found Nancy, he’d kill him. But first, they needed to find Nancy.
“I could use some backup here.”
“Figured,” Zeke said. “I talked to the old man about it.”
Dalton nearly dropped the phone. Zeke called Blackie in the middle of the night? He braced himself. He couldn’t get much higher on Blackie’s shit list. “What did he say?”
“He’s mobilizing a team.”
“What?”
“I told him what you told me. And that you had a client. Plus, I gave him some of the stuff I’d been digging out.”
“And somebody was going to tell me this when?”
“Cool your jets. If you’d checked your missed calls, you’d have noticed we’ve been trying to reach you for the last . . . thirty-eight minutes.”
Sanderson tapped on the window. “Right turn up there.”
Sanderson’s words registered. “Right. Right turn. Hang tight, Zeke. Give me a minute.”
He set the phone in the console and made the turn, aware Miri was leaning as far forward as her seatbelt allowed. He inhaled, trying to erase some of the chemical stench with her fresh scent.
“What’s going on?” Miri demanded. “Someone found something, didn’t they?”
They entered a construction area near the sloping base of a range of rocky foothills. Land was bulldozed and graded; dirt roads wove through the complex, but there was only one building at the far end of the development, nestled near the hills. Trees and boulders stood scattered throughout. As if it wasn’t cost-effective to move them. Not because the developer wanted to leave things in their natural state. If they could maneuver their equipment around them, they stayed.
He drove toward it, then slid the car next to a large Dumpster about thirty meters from the structure and shoved the gearshift into Park. “Maybe.”
“God. God. Is she—?” Sanderson’s voice was barely audible.
“Hey, don’t go there.” He unfastened his seatbelt and angled around so he could see both Sanderson and Miri. “Do you know a Wendy Grantham? Belinda’s sister.”
Sanderson gave him a blank stare.
“Belinda is Patterson’s secretary,” Dalton said.
A glimmer of recognition dawned. “We’ve met. Belinda, I mean. Briefly. In Patterson’s office. She brought coffee. Never heard of Wendy. What does this have to do with Nancy?”
Damn, this was not what he did. He dealt with terrorists. Rescued hostages. Interrupted drug deals. Arms deals. He did not find missing wives and deal with terrified relatives. Someone else took care of that part of an op. He almost wished Nancy was inside the building, tied up, blindfolded, and surrounded by tangos. That, he could handle. Go in, clear the room, get her the hell out of there. Turn her over to the people who cared about her and disappear into the wind.
Miri’s hand on his shoulder brought him back. He swallowed. “Sanderson. I don’t know much. We’re working on it. I can’t give you anything else, but reinforcements are on the way.”
“Reinforcements?” Miri asked. “Who? What for?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out.” Blackie wouldn’t have mobilized a team to find Nancy. Yeah, he’d put a number of operatives on it, especially with a wealthy and prominent client, but not covert ops teams. He’d use his investigators. His real investigators.
“What’s your twenty, Cowboy?” Zeke’s voice came through, calm and detached. In total controller mode.
Dalton grabbed the cell. “Halfway between Bumfuck and Buttcrack,” he muttered. “Hang on.” He squinted at the GPS and relayed the coordinates.
“Got it. Let me do some checking. Back at you in fifteen.”
Zeke’s words brought Dalton into his own comfort zone, and for the first time in too long, he felt in control. Never mind he had two civilians with him. Never mind he had no clue what he was doing. Never mind he had nothing but a couple of handguns. The snarl in his gut loosened.
“Roger, Zeke. Line’s open.” Without disconnecting, he put the cell in his shirt pocket. He put buying a handsfree earpiece on his list of things to do when this was done. On the job, they used company gear, and for his private life—well, he really hadn’t gotten around to having much of one and never bothered with frills. Hell, his phone was so old, it didn’t even take pictures.
He swiveled in the seat. Miri’s eyes pierced through him, demanding answers. Sanderson twisted and untwisted the bandana, afraid to voice the questions in his eyes. Afraid of the answers.
Dalton kept his tone light. “Blackthorne is sending some of his men. Probably has something to do with drugs. I should get you back to the house. When Zeke calls, I’ll know more.” He did a lot better charming strangers. These two could hear the lies of omission.
“No way.”
“Absolutely not.” Both voices chimed in unison. He’d expected no less.
“Nancy could be inside,” Sanderson said. “I’m not going anywhere until we’ve looked.”
Dalton checked his watch. Thirteen-and-a-half minutes until Zeke’s update. Plenty of time to make sure Nancy wasn’t in the building. He nodded.
“Before we go in,” he said, “I need to know what to expect.”
They got out of the car and assembled beside the hood. Dalton scraped the dirt into a smooth surface. He aimed his Maglite at the spot. “Show me the floor plan.”
Sanderson pulled his keys from his pocket and dropped to his haunches. Using a key as a pencil, he etched a square in the dirt, then divided it into three sections. “I’m no architect.” He tapped the middle. “This is the general purpose room.” He cleared his throat and continued as if he were giving a real estate tour. Dalton let him continue at his own pace.
Sanderson went on. “Meetings, maybe movies, dances, parties. Furniture’s due in next week.” He divided the right-hand section into three parts. “Two sets of multi-unit restrooms over there, complete with showers, plus some storage closets.” He traced a line to the far end of the room. “Kitchen’s back there.”
“What’s on the other side?” Dalton asked.
Sanderson pointed to the middle of the line. “Door here. Opens into a hallway leading to four smaller rooms, plus two more single bathrooms. Nancy’s been working to turn them into kid-friendly spaces.” His voice choked on the words.
Miri put a hand on Sanderson’s shoulder, but her eyes were on Dalton. “Can we go?”
“The important thing is to be prepared,” he said. “I know this seems to be taking too much time, but walking in blind isn’t worth the risk.”
“He’s right,” Sanderson said. “What’s your plan?”
“Nothing fancy. I go in first. You wait outside until I say it’s okay.” His eyes were on Miri’s face as he spoke, but she seemed to accept the need for structure. “All right, team. Let’s move.”
Like a colt eager to run, Sanderson led the way to the door. “Light?”
Miri shone her flashlight and Sanderson selected a key. His hands trembled and it took two tries to slide it into th
e lock. He twisted the knob, then stepped aside. “Go for it.”
Standing to the side, Dalton eased the door open. Waited. Listened. Nothing but silence. And the smell of paint, although traces of ammonia lingered in his nostrils. He swept his flashlight around the space. Freshly laid industrial carpet covered the expanse of a large room. Dusty boot prints marred its pristine surface, the only traces of another presence. Sanderson’s hand nudged his back.
“Wait here. And get down below window level.” Dalton stepped inside. Despite the barren surroundings, his neck prickled. He wrapped his hand around the grip of the Glock in his pocket.
You’re getting paranoid.
Maybe so, but he withdrew the weapon. How many times had he gone into buildings to yank out hostages? More than he cared to count. Telling himself that was the reason he was on edge, that it was nothing more than the usual unknown-building-in-the-dark syndrome, he moved quietly toward the bathrooms. There was no way he’d surprise anyone. Their arrival hadn’t exactly been stealth. If anyone was there, they’d be waiting for him, not the other way around. He opened the first door, then entered the men’s room, systematically checking the stalls.
Yep. Nothing. The ladies room and supply closet were empty, as was the kitchen. He crossed the room to the door on the other side.
Sanderson’s description was dead on. He stood in a hallway with six doors. One by one, he verified each room was clear. Yet the prickling at the nape of his neck didn’t subside. He stepped into the last room, as empty as the others. He inhaled something more than paint and drywall. Something earthy.
Chapter 27
Miri sat on the ground under the window, hugging her knees to her chest. Hunt paced a short distance away, tossing Nancy’s bracelet from one hand to the other. She motioned him over. “Save your energy.”
“Can’t sit,” he said. “What’s taking him so long?”
“He seems to know what he’s doing.”
“Well, if he’s not out in two minutes, I’m going in. He doesn’t know Nancy. I do, and if there’s any evidence she’s been here, I’ll see it.”
Miri stood and gathered Hunt into an embrace. His entire body quivered, as if an electrical current ran through it. “We’ll find her.”
Looking over his shoulder, she noticed the white logo on the Dumpster. Hobart Construction. She pictured the plans she’d seen on Patterson’s computer file. Coincidence? “You didn’t say anything about a basement. Is there one?”
“What?” He wormed out of her arms.
“I saw some plans for basement renovations done by Hobart Construction in Patterson’s files. Maybe it was for this building.”
“I don’t know. I never saw the plans, and the place was in the finishing stages when I got here.” He shoved the bracelet in his pocket. Although she couldn’t see his expression in the dark, she sensed a change in his body language. When he spoke, confidence filled his tone. “If there is a basement, she might be there. We have to tell Dalton.” He dashed past her and opened the door. “Dalton!”
Miri reached for him, but Hunt was already inside. What the hell. Sitting on her butt wasn’t getting anything done. Besides, it was cold out here. She flipped on her light and followed him in.
“Dalton, where the hell are you?” Hunt said. He waited about three seconds, then strode to the right. The kitchen and locker rooms, Miri recalled. She darted after him, grabbing his elbow.
“Wait. If he’s not answering, something must be wrong. Don’t go barging in like that.”
He shook her off. “I’ve waited around doing nothing long enough. If anything bad was going to happen, we’d have heard it. No gunshots, no explosions. It’s the middle of the night and there’s nobody here. Enough is enough.” He marched toward the back of the room. “Nancy! Nance, it’s me. Hunt.”
Miri stood, rooted, as she tried to decide whether to follow Hunt or search for Dalton. He couldn’t be missing, too, could he?
She had no means to protect Hunt, and if there were problems, no reason for both of them to get caught. Decision made, she crossed the room to the open doorway at the left.
“Dalton?” she called softly, not sure if she should whisper or shout. Hunt had already made enough noise. She raised her voice. “Dalton?”
“Hang on a second.” His voice, muffled, came from somewhere down the hall. “Last room on the right.”
Following the flashlight’s narrow beam, she rushed toward the voice, stopping two paces into the room. It was empty. “Dalton? Damn it, where are you?” She swept her light across the space. Industrial carpet on the floor, a window to her left. Hinged louvered doors open across from her. Seconds later, Dalton emerged, wiping his hands on his pants.
Miri jumped back. “Shit. You scared me to death. Why were you hiding in the closet?”
He motioned her to him, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. “I wasn’t hiding. There’s something in the back wall.”
She pointed her light along the space. “Looks like a wall to me.”
“Here.” He held her hand, guiding her beam to the corner, about six feet up the wall. “See that?”
She ignored the way his touch made her wish this wasn’t happening. That they were tucked away in a motel room, wrapped in each other’s arms. That Nancy and Hunt were home, talking about babies.
Too bad. Those were wishes. This was reality. She stepped into the recess of the closet and followed the beam to an oval indentation. She touched it, feeling cool metal instead of the sheetrock it was painted to match. “What is it?”
Dalton stepped around her and put his fingers into the slot. Slowly, the wall slid to the right. “A pocket door.” He bent forward and waved his light into the opening.
“In a closet?” she asked. “Where does it go?”
“Down.”
She peeked over his shoulder, seeing a ladder-steep staircase leading to a tiny room about six feet square. Too small for the basement plans she’d seen. “You think it’s for storage?”
“If so, it’s in a strange location. Where’s Hunter? He might know more.”
Hunt. She’d forgotten about him. “He’s on the other side.”
“He’s here.” Miri pivoted as Hunt stepped into the room. “Someone going to fill me in, please?” His eyes darted back and forth. His voice held an irritated edge, as if he clung to a razor-thin blade of control.
She stepped back into the room. “There’s a hidden door in the closet. And some kind of storage room below.”
“Is Nancy there?” Hunt asked.
“It’s an empty storeroom,” Dalton said.
“Are we still playing cat burglar?” Hunt asked. “You think anyone who could possibly matter doesn’t know we’re here?”
“Not anymore,” Dalton said. “Anyone wanted us, they’d have made their move.”
“Good.” Hunt slapped his hand against the wall switch and illuminated the room. “I flipped the breakers.” He tore his cap from his head and dropped it on the floor. In two strides, he shoved Dalton aside. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m going down.”
Miri moved toward him, but Dalton took her by the arm. “Let him go. He needs to see for himself.”
Hunt peered down, then reversed and descended.
Dalton moved toward the hall.
“Wait,” Miri called. “Do you think Nancy’s—” She checked to make sure Hunt hadn’t reappeared. “You know, is she—?”
“Ah, darlin’, come here.” Dalton crossed back to her and wrapped her in his arms. “Don’t think that. Positive attitude.”
She melted into him, rested her head on his chest, putting her worries aside for a moment. An altogether too brief moment.
He took her hand and kissed her palm. “You okay?”
She nodded.
Before Dalton released her, Hunt’s voice echoed from below. “Get down here. Bring your lights.”
As one, they bolted. Dalton zipped down the steep staircase as if it were a fireman’s pole. Miri followed, a little les
s gracefully. Dalton’s hands at her waist told her she was near the bottom, and he swung her to the ground.
No lights down here, she noted, switching hers on. Dalton’s washed out her feeble beam, so she flicked it off.
“Over here,” Hunt said. Metal shelving units stood against two of the walls. He stood next to one, shining his flashlight over it. “There’s something behind this.”
* * * * *
“Hang on.” Dalton tried to reach Zeke on his cell. Crap. No reception down here. He shoved Sanderson aside, not all that gently. “Let me.”
“Damn it, man, if my wife is in there—she could be hurt.”
“And if she is, she’ll need a husband to take care of her. In case it’s a trap, I go first. Show me what you found.”
“Here,” Sanderson said. “I heard something. And maybe I’m crazy, but I swear I smelled Nancy’s perfume.”
Dalton ran his hand along the metal frame. He pressed his ear to the wall. “What did you hear?” he whispered to Sanderson.
“A humming sound. Like some kind of machinery.”
He strained, but heard nothing. As far as perfume—well, Sanderson was desperate for any sign of his wife. All Dalton could smell was his own body, which exuded meth lab chemicals.
“Look,” Miri said in a stage whisper. “Over here.”
He crossed to the other side of the shelving unit where her light illuminated the metal supports.
“It’s hinged,” she said, pointing to two hinges almost hidden behind the posts.
Although the shelving unit was fixed to the wall, a barely visible gap ran to the ceiling in line with the post, all but obscured by the shelving framework. “I’ll be damned. Sanderson, give me a hand.”
Together, they pulled on the shelf unit, but nothing happened. Dalton sensed Sanderson’s growing frustration.
“Wait,” Miri said. Instead of pulling, she pressed, and the unit popped forward several inches, bringing the wall with it. “We have a cabinet with a lock like this at Galloway.”
“Way to go, Miri,” Dalton said, giving her a thumbs up. Her grin gave him a quick jolt of energy.