by R. T. Wolfe
"Anything?" she asked Duncan. He would know she referred to the FBI police scanner feed he had coming through his earbud.
He shook his head and time carried on. The car's digital clock seemed stuck.
"You have your jammer thing?" she asked for the tenth time.
"Yes. If anyone is watching, they might be confused for a few moments, but they won't see that we've broken in. Are you going to call Strong and Lewis?"
That meant he hadn't heard anything. But she hadn't seen anything definitive either. This could all be about adult prostitutes like what happened the weekend prior at Madison Square. "Not yet."
And then it came.
Chapter 28
A large, white box truck turned down the road. Nickie craned her head away from it. More because she could hardly bear to see it, knowing what was inside than to hide from the view of the driver. She had been in a truck like it, time after time after time. It would be empty on the inside. Empty other than nearly a dozen young girls and a few men with guns.
Maybe a single bed to threaten the girls in case one of them got out of hand. The walls would be lined with handcuffs, but they were rarely needed. Many of the girls would be drugged.
"Are you going to call Strong and Lewis?" Duncan's tone was turning impatient. He knew as well as she did that on their own, they would be lucky to get out alive, let alone rescue any girls.
"And tell them what? A box truck went onto Moody's property? They can't know we have access to the feed from the bugs you placed. I have to wait for the first john to show up. We can't be seen. How long does that jammer thing of yours work?"
"I adjusted it to thirty seconds. It's the best I could get."
She smiled now, as ready for this as she would ever be. "How fast does this car go?"
His returning smile was like a shot of adrenaline.
They watched his tablet while slouched in the buckets of his SUV. The anticipation scratched the surface of her will like an animal caught in a trap, digging its way out. To see the truck park in the lot, the girls tumbling out like herded cattle. They were cleaned and showered similarly to washing a dog before an AKC show. Images, memories flooded her mind. The smells. Duncan always told her the sense of smell was the one that brought back memories and sensations more than any other sense. At that moment, she smelled bodies, metal, and fear.
She hadn't realized her hand had drifted to cover her mouth. The sensation of Duncan's long fingers around her wrist shook her awake. A canary yellow Porsche Panamera turned the corner at the end of the street. She nudged Duncan and gestured her head toward it.
He turned to look, then moved his jammer device to his lap and said, "My aunt's sister calls these 'sorry-about-your-penis' cars."
She was completely taken off guard by him, something that rarely happened anymore. Her shoulders started shaking in laughter. She laughed all the way through the gate. Then, hung on as Duncan floored it. They didn't go south. Not toward the white house. Not yet. Patience, she reminded herself. First, they had to deal with the cameras. And they needed to get to the manor before the jam on the surveillance cameras unfroze.
"Are you sure you know where you're going?" she asked as she hung on to the dash. Fifteen seconds. He took the weaving road with one hand and grinned as he tapped the side of his head with the other. The roads were clear and dry on the way to Moody's house.
The place was ridiculous. And she thought Duncan liked big. It was like a hotel. He drove to the south of the building. Twenty seconds. He backed into a spot next to a garage door that was tucked into a lower level.
His chest rose and fell. His fingers gripped the steering wheel at ten and two, but he was smiling. "The cameras don't reach down here."
She checked the feed streaming through the tablet one more time. The box truck was gone, and the only cars in the lot were the black Expedition and the yellow Porsche. If just one more 'sorry-about-your-penis' car showed up, she would make the call.
"Here." She handed him a pair of thin, plastic gloves and noticed he was checking the pockets of his jacket. Did she want to know what he had in there? It made her check her own pockets, which was ridiculous. She'd already done that a dozen times. Ignoring the gun at her belt, she pulled the one from her ankle holster.
"Are you going to tell me not to touch anything?" he asked sarcastically.
Damn, how could he make her smile at a time like this? She'd told him those exact words before. More than once. "Let's go, smart ass." Nice ass.
Guns drawn, safeties off, they slinked tightly along the side of the house. He held up a fist and signaled for her to stop. She guessed hand signals in war were much the same as ones in a bust. He pointed up. She saw it.
Lucky for her, she had a guy who could memorize the locations of each security camera. He was like a human GPS. The one in question rotated toward the door they were going for. He had explained in their planning that the ones on the roads were still shots taken in five-second intervals. The ones around the house were constant feed. They waited for it to begin its rotation away and then took off. No dogs in sight. They must all be at the white house, but she was ready regardless.
The door was a service entry. Duncan jiggled the knob with his gloved hand. It was too big to kick in.
He dug in the inside pocket of his coat.
If they shot at it, they would bring attention to themselves. She was ready to try another door when she saw him shake something over the bolt. Curious as hell, she peered around his shoulder only to have him push her back as a small, 'poof,' sounded, followed by a billow of smoke. Holy shit, he brought explosives. The door cracked open, and after checking the camera once more, he held out his arm in a ladies first gesture.
Eyes wide, she rounded him and entered. It was a wide stairwell with a landing big enough to fit a small car. Gun close to her face, she checked both sides before motioning for him to lead. They pulled off their leather gloves and pocketed them, replacing them with the thin plastic ones she brought.
They stayed close to the wall as he led them up the stairs. At the top, he checked around the corner and ducked back, placing his hand up, fingers out. She imagined him in desert fatigues executing a similar mission.
After a moment, he checked again, and they hurried down a long hall that led to a plush burgundy-carpeted hallway. Thick, red-tinted wood lined the floors and ceiling. They passed occasional doors as they went. All were closed.
Waving her forward, he ducked around a corner and stopped at a door. He pointed. She motioned to him that she was going first. He dug his brows but backed away, giving her the lead.
She placed her hand on the knob. It moved. Slowly, she turned it completely before swinging the door open. A blond man that looked to be in his mid-twenties spun in a swivel desk chair. One look at the end of her gun, and a large, wet spot appeared between his legs.
She lowered her gun to his shoulder and pulled the trigger.
A hard grip circled her upper arm and jerked her out of the way. Duncan looked at the tranq stuck in the boy's arm. It flopped around as the boy turned his eyes down at it.
"I thought you shot him! You said those were for the dogs."
She shrugged as the blond slinked to the floor. Behind him were four rows of flat screens, at least a dozen in each row. The first two were the security feeds, the top row the still shots and the next the stream from around the manor.
Below were constant video streams, each a room. She knew where these were, and they weren't inside the manor. One room was painted and decorated in deep reds, another in royal blues. Hunter green, pearl white, each a color as the room would be named.
A few of the rooms had two-by-fours hammered to the walls with chains or leather straps dangling in wait. Normal people who noticed the rudimentary two-bys slapped up with a handful of nails would think there was a mistake, placed in such an exquisite room. But she knew. Some liked it that way.
She turned to find Duncan, his lips pursed as he scanned the cameras like he
smelled rotten eggs. "Can you do this?" she asked.
He nodded and got to work. There were three keyboards. He used the one in the middle, fingers flying over it like he was on speed.
"I'm taking a screenshot of each room and saving it for later."
She knew better than to ask and kept an eye on both the door and the security feeds.
"Now, I'm rerouting each stream to the dummy site Andy and I prepared. Constant recordings of each will begin as I load them."
He explained he would need to do each separately. It would take time. She watched as more cars arrived. Reluctantly, she took out her cell. It would be the call that began the end of her career.
Duncan lifted a hand and held it over the ear with the bud. "They're coming."
She scanned each flat screen, then asked, "Who's coming?"
"FBI saw the girls. They're organizing."
Relief was mixed with the worry that they might not make it in time. Alabaster was far from any SWAT tactical units. Langley was a five-hour drive. The local black and whites and two detectives would do little to catch everyone. To save everyone. Which was much of the reason she and Duncan were here.
For safe measure, she jiggled the door to make sure Duncan locked it and mentally went over their plan. Moving the blond a few more feet out of sight, she assessed his size. The tranqs were said to put a hundred-pound animal to sleep for approximately four hours. If he weighed one-sixty, she hoped for three. She turned to wait and found Duncan, hands on his thighs, his chest rising and falling deeply.
On the monitors, young girls were led, dragged and carried into the rooms. Her heart ripped from her chest, knowing what was going through the minds and souls of each of them. Some were drugged, some were resisting, some nearly unconscious. All a matter of preference, she knew.
Desperately, she ached to sprint all the way to the white house and open fire. Save the girls from one more night of this. Patience, Savage. Step by step.
A few were posed in the center of the beds and stayed there, swaying as their eyes drooped. Some had one of their wrists handcuffed to one side of the headboards.
Forcing herself to refocus, she noticed the way Duncan's fingers clung to his thighs, the tips white from lack of blood. Carefully, she placed a hand on his shoulder. "Duncan, we need to go."
His fingers moved to the keyboard and flew faster, harder. She hoped he wouldn't make a mistake. The monitor was imbedded in the long table beneath the flat screens displaying rows of files. His fingers stopped as he scrolled through, opening some, closing those, and then opening others.
She'd seen Duncan lose his temper. And although she was at times the only thing that could bring him back, she didn't want to see it again at this moment. He pushed away from the table. Each screen that displayed a room in the white house was back to empty. He'd used the earlier screenshots of the empty rooms and froze them on the feeds. It was genuine and it was time to go.
* * *
"How many of those things did you bring?" Duncan asked, referring to Nickie's tranqs as he stepped over one of Moody's grounds crew.
"The case holds a dozen. They're coming in handy."
She was too calm about this. He'd never been handcuffed in one of those rooms, and he was the one who couldn't get his hands to quit shaking. The images of the young girls. Could any of them be older than fifteen? He hoped she ran out of tranqs, so he could take out the johns the old-fashioned way.
"I know you've got your gun on you, Duncan, and you need to keep your head on. You're not a cop."
He lifted a brow as they took the road. Had she read his mind?
"We've talked about this. You're going to see things. Bad things. You won't be of any use to me if you lose it. I assume you would tell me, but any word from the feed in your earbud?" She grabbed the dash when he left the road.
"I'm going to leave it. I think they moved to a new feed. It's dead."
"Let's hope they're using the Alabaster PD. They would be closest."
He parked in the woods. The bright light at the corner of the parking lot was visible. He picked a spot behind a mature evergreen and turned off the engine.
They'd barely made it to the front of the car when they heard the dogs. Nickie pulled her tranq gun, dropped to one knee and waited. Ninety feet, seventy feet, fifty. She let out a shot. The first dog yelped and stopped, then started toward her once more before dropping. The next dog paused to sniff the first as it lay in the snow before charging. Bam. A third emerged, trailing far behind the others. Soon, they had three dogs falling asleep in the snow.
She sheathed her gun as she shook her head. "I really hate it when people take a dog and train it to be evil."
They were Rottweilers, all three of them.
She looked around for what, he wasn't sure.
"They're going to be too cold."
She was worried about the dogs?
He put a hand on her upper arm. "No, they're fine. It's not that cold. Their bodies will warm the snow. Let's go. Someone's going to miss them."
"I'm taking an east path. You go west," she said.
Was that a joke? "I'm not leaving your side."
Dipping her head, she sighed. "We've got to be partners on this, Duncan. It's smarter if—"
"I'm not your partner, and I'm not leaving your side."
"Fine."
The house came into view within the first fifty yards. None of the windows had screens. The blinds were drawn on each. Silently, she jiggled the first back window in the northeast corner. As she checked the type of lock, he took out his glass cutter.
Nudging her, he held up the miniature contraption and was shocked that she had it in her to roll her eyes at a time like this. He secured the central suction to the lower pane and drew a tall, slow oval. Releasing the blade, he then pulled just enough to loosen the glass.
He heard crying. His hand started shaking. He didn't want to move the cut oval of glass completely away from the window. The wind might howl in. But the cries. Cries and grunts.
Nickie squeezed his arm, the steel gray of her eyes staring into him.
He whispered, "I'm afraid to remove it completely. The wind might disturb the blinds. I need two sticks. Pencil size."
He didn't sense any wind, but he wasn't sure. His eyes clamped shut like that might make the sound of what was going on inside disappear. Nickie didn't ask or even blink. She picked up the sticks and passed them to his free hand. "We won't have much time," he said. "Here, you take hold."
She stepped in his path and took the oval piece, hovering it near the window.
"You're going to remove the glass. I'm going to prop open the wooden slats. Then, you shoot." She'd used five tranqs. That was seven left. The fucking backup had better be on its way.
She pulled her gun with her free hand and nodded. The oval left enough space for the barrel of the tranq gun at the bottom and room for her to aim. He couldn't see what was in there. Only the green color of the far wall. The sounds didn't stop. The people inside must not have heard them. She took the shot.
He froze waiting for a gasp or a scream from what just happened. Nickie held up a finger as she peered with her eye close to the hole.
Duncan took a second to check their surroundings, and when he turned back, she had her arm in the hole and was reaching to unlock the window.
"Come on, honey. We're here to get you out." She put a finger to her lips as she spoke into the room. Slowly, she lifted the window. A girl sat on the bed, her mouth open wide in shock as the man lying next to her mumbled in his last few moments of consciousness. As if waking from a dream, the girl scrambled from the bed toward the window.
"The chair. Can you get the chair to the window? Bring a sheet. It's cold." The girl ignored Nickie's first suggestion, grabbed a sheet and pulled herself up and through.
Setting one knee in the snow, Nickie peered into the girl's eyes. "We have a car." She pointed. "Follow the footprints."
"I'm scared of dogs," the girl said. Her voice so
unded even more like a child.
"I took care of the dogs. They are sleeping. You'll see them when you run. Now go."
The girl took off, and they went to the next window. They repeated the procedure with the glass and the tranq gun. This girl was handcuffed. Duncan cupped his hands and gave Nickie a boost. She used the handcuff keys from her belt and wrapped the girl in a blanket as she spoke to her quietly.
Blue eyes as wide as saucers darted to the window and froze on Duncan. He tried to smile reassuringly, but he was a man. Nickie copied his movements by cupping her hand, and Duncan helped her through the window. The girl took off along the path of footprints as they went to the next window.
They repeated the process and were able to free three girls before they needed to turn the corner to the west side of the house. They would be exposed to anyone driving by. They had a system and were getting faster. As quickly as they could, they cut the window, removed the glass and shot. Nickie lifted the window to a man who was face down on the floor.
This girl was so drugged, she hadn't noticed the man had gone down. Duncan boosted Nickie into the window, checking their surroundings as war taught him to do. He waited by the window and helped Nickie lift the girl through. She wore red lace underwear and matching bra. They were disturbing on her small body.
"You have to carry her to the car, Duncan. Check on the other girls."
"I'm not leaving your side," he repeated.
"Duncan, we don't have time. I've got this. I've only got one more tranq anyway. Then, we wing it. Go."
He picked up the limp girl and ran. Her head bobbed over his shoulder, but her eyes rolled. She was still conscious. He saw several sets of footprints and was surprised none had decided to make a run for it on their own. The dogs still lay on their sides. The windows in his SUV were steamed.
He set the girl on her feet, holding her up with one arm as he cracked the door. Gasps and cries erupted as he opened it.
"It's okay. I brought another girl. Just like you. See?" He opened the door completely.