On the Hunt

by Teyla Branton

  “You’re the one who told Shannon I went to see Russo.”

  He shrugged one shoulder. “Dealing with Russo is dangerous. When I saw your flat tire, I knew it was a trap and thought you might not make it out alive.”

  “Well, I did. I bet Russo’s paying you extra to get Dennis before the police mess it up.”

  “Oh, yeah? How do you figure? I thought I heard you tell the guys at the precinct that you weren’t psychic.”

  I grimaced. “If you don’t take me, I’ll tell Shannon what you’re planning. Even if you do have a working relationship, I get the feeling he doesn’t really like you.”

  “He holds grudges, that’s all.”

  “Make your choice.”

  “Fine.” He opened the doors with his remote. “Get in.”

  I swung the door open quickly before he could change his mind. As we drove off, I saw Shannon staring after us. His expression was odd, one I’d never seen before—not angry, curious, annoyed, and not even thoughtful. But rather purposely blank, empty. I shivered.

  “So, what’s the plan?” I asked Ace.

  “I sneak in, grab Dennis, and get out.”

  “You have a gun?” Dumb question. All private detectives I’d heard of carried concealed weapons.

  “Won’t need it. No one will see me.”

  “Us,” I corrected. “Russo must have a lot of faith in you.”

  “They won’t even know we’re there.”

  “What about Shannon? Is Russo afraid he’ll mess things up?” Ace’s ever-present grin faltered. “It’s not him Russo’s worried about.”

  “Oh, I see. Russo’s worried that Dennis might not want to rejoin his loving family and that the police will protect him. What about you? Do you plan to force Dennis to go back to New Jersey with Russo?” Because I was going to do everything to assure that didn’t happen.

  “He’ll want to go.” Ace’s smile was back. “I doubt it.”

  “You’ll see. Nothing like a man facing death to want to reunite with his family.”

  “His family is his wife and two children, not the people he ran away from. You know what they are, don’t you? You know what kind of life you’ll be consigning him to.”

  Again the one-shouldered shrug. “I’m just doing my job. The rest is up to Dennis.”

  “That’s a cop-out.”

  Ace simply smiled.

  My cell phone vibrated, and I picked it up. “Hi, Paige,” I said, hoping for news of Jake.

  “I only have a minute, but I’m calling to find out where you are. Shannon’s in a tizzy because you left with some PI.”

  “What’s a tizzy?”

  “Never mind. Just something my mom likes to say. So where are you?”

  “In a car. I don’t know where. I’m trying to find Jake.”

  “Jake?”

  “You haven’t heard?” I gave her a hurried explanation.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sure Shannon’s already done it, but I’ll double-check that we’ve sent our best to see what happened with Jake. I also know an attorney who works a lot in the real estate scene, and I’ll have her look into whatever he was working on. Text me everything you know, and I’ll get it started right now.”

  Her words soothed me. “I appreciate that.”

  “I’d hate to see anything happen to Jake. He might be one of the few men who actually knows how to keep his word.” That was girl-speak for “once again a man I liked did a stupid thing.

  I pulled myself together enough to ask, “Who’s the jerk?”

  “Ian Gideon called last night and asked me out, but he canceled about an hour ago when I was at my mom’s. Said something came up with work. Good thing, I guess, since all this came up and Shannon wants my help, but he’s still a jerk.”

  “Maybe Ian really does have to work. His law firm’s pretty big, and I bet they have clients who are important enough to force him to give up a hot Saturday night date.”

  “Naw, I could hear it in his voice. I know when a man is lying to me. Forget Ian. He’s not worth another thought. Look, I’ve got to go. Shannon and I might be out of touch for a while, but I promise we’re not forgetting about Jake.”

  “Thanks.” I hung up and texted Paige the little I knew. Then I sent a message to Kolonda, begging her to hurry and text more details about her rental apartments to Paige. She responded immediately and said that she would. There was nothing more I could do, except go to the warehouse.

  I looked at Ace. “The police are on their way to the warehouse now,” I said. “Or will be shortly.”

  “I’ll be in and out before they arrive.”

  “What if we make things worse?”

  “I’ve been there already today. How do you think Russo knows the Saitos are renting the place?”

  “You saw Dennis?”

  He shook his head. “No, but they were questioning someone. I’m betting it’s him. And by questioning, I mean torturing.”

  My gut twisted in revulsion.

  We traveled the rest of the way to the docks in silence. As usual, the Willamette River was bustling with activity. Commercial tugs, boats, and even huge freighters and oceangoing barges floated past. Recreational vehicles also used the river, careful to avoid the shipping lanes. On some days it seemed I was the only one who avoided the river and the memories it held.

  Finally, Ace parked the car. “It’s not far from here. Come on. Stay with me and act natural.”

  Easier said than done. I was jumpy and unsettled as we made our way past buildings on the waterfront, and I wondered if it was the proximity of the water where I’d lost Winter, or if it had something to do with Jake. Sometimes I could almost feel Jake’s presence, as I did my sister’s, yet at the moment I felt nothing. Nothing except the oppressive heat and the humidity sticking my shirt to my skin.

  Ace stopped walking suddenly and backed up a step, so whatever he’d seen was hidden from my view. “What?” I mouthed.

  He jerked his chin in the direction we’d been headed. “Saitos have a lookout. We’ll have to go around.”

  We went another way, weaving around buildings, old equipment, and a couple of rusted fences. Once we had to talk our way past a security guard, and two more times Ace spotted lookouts he was sure belonged to the Saitos, one on a rooftop and another sitting on a pier whittling. I spotted another lookout smoking as he leaned against a wall. All had at least some Asian blood, though the one on the wharf had only the barest hint. Another trait they shared was the constant roaming of their alert eyes and the radios at their waists. Definitely not local men whiling away the hours of the day.

  “There,” Ace said. We were squatting behind some old shipping crates, and he was looking at a large building that had been newly painted an ugly tan color. A few men were coming and going, but no one was loading any kind of freight that might cover our approach.

  “So we go around the back?”

  He nodded. Still hunching over, he ran to a group of rusted barrels that might have been sitting there for five decades. I touched them and felt the pleasant sensation of hard work and satisfaction. I wondered if they were worth anything from an antiques standpoint. On our trek I’d passed quite a few things I wanted to research before coming back to make the owners an offer. Thinking of antiques helped keep my fear to a manageable level. Besides, a woman had to eat.

  At the barrels, we waited until no one was in sight before running to the side of the building. I felt relief when no shouts broke the normal dockside sounds.

  We went cautiously around the back of the warehouse to a pile of broken wooden crates, dented barrels, and other refuse, including a toilet and used paint cans. Ace began climbing this with surprising dexterity, his destination apparently the small window in the second floor.

  “What if it’s locked?” I whispered to Ace as loudly as I dared. I was beginning to regret my rash decision to go with him.

  “I left it open the last time I was here.”

  Seconds later he disappeared inside. I wa
ited for him to give me the all clear, but he didn’t reemerge. I was on my own.

  I regarded the place, wondering if this was really the best entrance point. My anxiety over Jake and Dennis didn’t allow me to consider long. I scaled the rickety pile of garbage with more than a little reluctance. Random imprints followed my path. Resentment on a paint can, a burst of happiness from a worn metal box, sleepiness from a steering wheel of some sort, and a lever which held a desire for revenge. Once or twice the strength of the imprints took me by surprise, and I had to fight to maintain my balance. Since my antique rings were still on the sink back at my shop, I didn’t even have that meager barrier to protect me. I began holding my hands close to the objects in front of me before using them to climb, avoiding all objects that so much as hinted at an imprint. I couldn’t tell if the imprints were positive or negative before touching them, and it was better not to take a chance.

  By the time I hefted myself onto a large metal container at the top of the garbage heap, my hair was plastered to my skull and my damp shirt clung to my skin. The window, its screen long vanished, was partially open, enough for me to squeeze through.

  The window opened up into a narrow room filled with more junk, though of slightly higher caliber than the kind outside. Tables, chairs, cabinets, boxed items. Things someone felt they might use again someday but probably never would. Certainly nothing belonging to the Saitos, who had only recently rented the place, according to Russo.

  I slid to the door, slowly opening it. Because the storage room was the last one in the dim hallway, there was really only one way to go. No one was in sight, so I started forward, noticing that only the right side of the hallway had doors—and not many of them. I touched the first knob as I passed, unsure if I could read an imprint from this side even if Jake or Dennis had touched the other side, though the emotional requirement of leaving an imprint would likely be met. Jake might even have purposely tried to leave an imprint, if such a thing was possible.

  I was thinking about this so hard I almost didn’t hear the person ascending the stairs at the end of the hall. No choice but to make the unlikely sprint to the storage room or try one of the other two doors. I chose a door, praying no one was inside—and that there was a place to hide.

  The room was slightly larger than the storage room and completely devoid of junk. A few couches, a refrigerator, a sink, and a microwave brought back memories of the employee break room at Russo’s Chinese restaurant. I had barely slipped into the adjoining bathroom when the door opened.

  “You can wait right here,” a man said, clear violence in his voice. Something heavy fell to the floor. Or was dropped.

  “Look, I told you everything.” Ace’s voice, tight with pain.

  “Then I have no need of you.” The sound of an impact, followed by the footsteps leaving.

  When I peeked out a few minutes later, Ace was out cold but not shot or dead. No blood, except from his nose, which was probably broken. His arms and feet were bound tight.

  “Ace, wake up.” I slapped his face gently. Nothing. Nothing but the knot forming at his temple.

  So much for no one knowing he’d been there. I’d have to come back for him later or tell Shannon where he was. I couldn’t leave now, not without seeing if Dennis and Jake were here. I debated whether or not to untie Ace, worrying that doing so might alert someone to my presence. In the end I loosened the knot at his hands so he could take off the rope if he awoke but would appear to be tied if someone came in while he was still unconscious.

  When I entered the hallway again, voices were coming from the first door near the stairs. Asian words, probably Japanese. I hurried to the stairs. My heart thundered and I felt cold, though it was even hotter in the warehouse than outside. Though cleared of obvious debris, the place smelled of dust that made my nose itch. My feet made more sound than I wanted on the steps, so I slowed my decent. There were no doors at the top or the bottom of the stairs or any place to hide if someone came. I felt exposed.

  I reached the bottom of the stairs and peered out. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this empty cavern that stretched up for two stories. No wonder there hadn’t been doors on the left wall in the corridor above. On the far side of the cavern sat four cars of different colors and a dark van. As I watched, a car pulled out of the huge garage-style opening. I waited for more movement and was rewarded when a short Asian man emerged from a doorway at the back of the warehouse, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He also climbed in a car and drove out of the garage, this time shutting the massive door behind him with a remote. I didn’t see any doors besides the one where the man had emerged, but I suspected that the door could lead to a hallway and more rooms, similar to the design upstairs.

  Two cars and a van remained. Where were their drivers? I’d heard at least two people in the room upstairs, but that left one more vehicle driver to account for, and any possible passengers.

  No more movement. Taking a breath, I sprinted across the open space to the doorway, stopping briefly to crane my neck around the corner before I entered. No one in sight. But there was no hallway or smaller rooms, just one long room that ran along the entire back of the warehouse. Neat rows of new-looking crates were stacked three high, making them a few inches taller than my height. I was curious to know what was inside the crates but more interested in seeing if there were any captives.

  I eased along the rows, choosing the space by the far wall instead of the main aisle down the middle. Every so often, I stopped to listen. Nothing. I passed two windows covered with such a thick film of greasy dirt that I couldn’t see anything but hazy light through them. On one windowsill, lying next to a large hammer, sat a plastic container filled with nails like those in the lids of the crates.

  When I passed several kegs with gunpowder labels, I became even more curious about what the Saitos were involved in—and more nervous about being in the warehouse at all. You meet a lot of people growing up as the only child of hippie parents who have all sorts of questionable friends, including a few in the underground Earth Liberation Front, or ELF. My parents had never advocated violence as a way to encourage responsibility for Mother Earth, but their friends’ fanaticism had been both frightening and fascinating to observe. During my brief stint in college, I’d even dated one of the “Elves”—until I realized that all those bombs he was making for fun in his dorm were actually being used around campus and local businesses.

  I had learned a little from him about gunpowder. By itself it wasn’t highly explosive, like TNT, but it was powerful enough in large amounts or even small amounts, if it was packed tightly. I’d seen enough of my share of homemade explosives not to want to be around if something happened to set those barrels aflame.

  I heard a movement and froze. Was it coming from one of the crates? Impatiently I waited until I heard it again and decided it originated at the far end of the room, either from a crate or behind the last row. I moved furtively, trying not to breathe. The rows ended, and I saw a battered desk littered with wrappers, fast-food bags, partly empty drinks, a roll of duct tape, and another box of nails.

  From the corner of my eye, I spied a movement where the last row of crates nearly touched the desk. I crept around the desk and saw a pair of jeans-clad legs lying on the floor. The rest of the body was hidden behind the crate.

  “Who’s there?” I whispered. The legs went utterly still. I rushed the last few steps, rounding the crate.

  Dennis was lying in the space between the crate and the wall. His hands were tied with rope that had been wrapped through a large cinder block, which in turn had been affixed to the floor with new concrete, if the open bag next to it was any indication. An old red bucket had obviously been used to mix the stuff. Several pieces of duct tape were plastered over Dennis’s mouth, but the part of his face I could see was covered with cuts and bruises.

  The terror in his eyes faded as he saw me. “M-um,” he said.

  I didn’t ask him if he was okay. Obviously, he was
n’t. “Let me get the tape off.” I tried to do it gently, but his pained expression drove me to rip it off quickly.

  “Thanks,” he muttered.

  “Where’s Jake and Sawyer? Are they here too?”

  He looked at me blankly for a minute. “What do you mean, Sawyer? Did something happen to him?” His mouth trembled, and the despair in his eyes showed that he was near breaking.

  “Is anyone here with you? Anyone? Are they holding anyone else?” My voice was harsh, but I couldn’t help that.

  “I haven’t seen anyone.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No one is near enough to answer when I call out, and I’ve heard nothing in this room except those men.”

  I wilted a bit. Of course Jake wasn’t here. I’d been too willing to blame his disappearance on the Saitos when I’d heard about the big Asian, but I had zero proof. The Asian Kolonda’s neighbor saw could have been anyone. Maybe even a man who worked at one of Russo’s Chinese restaurants. Until I knew why Jake had been taken, I couldn’t begin to guess at who was behind it.

  “Saito’s men are responsible for this, right?” I asked.

  Dennis nodded, his eyes watering. “At first I thought they were my family.”

  “I know.”

  “What did you mean about Sawyer?”

  I debated what to tell him, but in the end he would have to know. Maybe knowing would give him the energy to escape this place with me. “He’s missing. Someone took him from your backyard.”

  “My family.”

  “Maybe.” I thought of Russo’s denial. Could he be that good a liar? I bet yes. “We don’t know. The police are working on it. But you will only be able to help Sawyer if we get out of here.”

  “It was Nic. I know it was.”

  “Your cousin certainly seems interested in you enough to do something like that. He’s working with a private detective and the police to get you out of here.”

  Dennis smiled grimly. “That’s Nic, always working both sides.”