He kept a safe distance and didn't turn on his lights until he passed the gate. As he glanced down the narrow black paved road on the other side of the security fence that led to Mandela's mansion, Jake spotted a man standing just inside the gate. For one brief moment the two men locked gazes. Jake hadn't turned on his lights so he could get a better view of Mandela's property. The man pulled something off his waist, and for an instant Jake clenched, gearing up for an attack. The guy put the object to the side of his head. He was calling someone. The only thing to do was play the friendly idiot. Jake waved and turned on his headlights.
He couldn't swear to it, but Jake thought the man was Bobby. It wouldn't surprise him if the guy was calling to worn them of a tail. Jake wasn't sure how that moving van would be able to pull off shaking Jake free. Unfortunately, though, he couldn't see the two black SUVs in front of the truck.
When they neared the on-ramp for Interstate 190, Jake slowed to merge into traffic. The car behind him didn't. Bright headlights damn near blinded him, hitting every mirror in his compact car.
"Son of a bitch," Jake hissed, squinting and pulling off the merge. The truck in front of him hit the interstate and immediately merged through traffic. Jake couldn't tell whether the SUVs were still in front of him or not.
As the vehicle behind him, which very well could be one of the SUVs judging by the size and positioning of the headlights, continued tailgating Jake, he began thinking he'd made the right call in following the truck. Although with the driver behind him hell-bent on making Jake's driving experience hell, it was harder to focus.
"Damn it!" he howled when the truck took the next exit.
Jake was in the wrong lane. He'd grown up in Los Angeles and learned to drive in some dangerous traffic, but that also meant he knew when not to pull off a jackass move and try hard-lining it across the lanes to make the exit as well.
"Son of a bitch!" he yelled, slamming his hand against the steering wheel as he continued in his lane to the next exit. The chances of finding the truck once he was off the interstate were nil to none. "Crap," he seethed under his breath. "Fucking headlights."
That's when he realized the SUV had backed off. Jake glanced at his rearview mirror, searching for the vehicle. There were a lot of cars behind him and around him. None of them were much larger than the vehicle he was in.
"What the fuck?" He focused ahead of him, watching the exit signs and the large green signs overhead.
Jake squinted at the cars ahead of him, then, on an impulse, picked up speed. He ignored the next exit and instead began pacing a large black SUV. It was an Excursion. There wasn't any way of knowing if it was the same vehicle that had left Mandela's mansion, but if it was, and the truck had taken an exit to lose Jake, his hunch was right. They were transporting the kidnapped victims to another location.
"The airport," he said, his insides pumping with adrenaline as he moved to the middle lane, ready to cut to either side if he needed to make a quick exit.
The SUV continued on its course for another fifteen minutes or so. Jake could only guess the second SUV had gotten on Jake's ass to distract him so he wouldn't be able to follow the truck. When the truck got off the interstate and lost Jake, the SUV had either followed or slowed drastically, allowing enough cars in and around Jake to prevent him from seeing his tracker. That didn't mean all vehicles might not have the same destination. If it was the airport, O'Hare was one of the largest airports in the world. It would be worse than finding a needle in a haystack if Jake didn't stay on the ass of at least one of the vehicles.
There wasn't any proof he was following one of the SUVs that had left Mandela's. Jake could be wasting his fucking time. Nothing sucked worse than a wild-goose chase. If he was following the right SUV, it would try losing him, too, if he gave himself away. Jake held back a safe distance, allowing a few cars in front of him, but tracked the black SUV that was maintaining a good clip in the right lane.
When he started seeing signs for the airport, his heart began thumping in his chest. There was something exhilarating about taking on a chase blindly. Obviously it was better when he had a good clue where his perp was headed. But when Jake didn't, pursuing at high speed, knowing anything could happen at any moment, was beyond invigorating.
Jake glanced at the digital clock on his dash. Almost an hour had passed since he'd left Mandela's, which meant Angela was well into her evening by now. If Jake speculated too much on how her night was going, it would possibly be all the diversion he needed to lose his possible perp. No way would Jake call off this chase and admit defeat until he knew beyond a doubt the SUV in front of him had nothing to do with Mandela. Something told Jake it did, though.
He jumped at the sound of his cell phone vibrating. Without radio or any other diversions, his phone sounded exceptionally loud. Jake grabbed it, not taking his eye off the road, and glanced at the screen while bracing it against his steering wheel.
How are you doing? The message was from Angela.
Worried about me, sweetheart?
Another advantage of growing up and learning to drive in the big city was that Jake could text and drive without taking his eyes off the road. He also knew it was against the law. Jake placed the phone next to him, not looking at the screen as he returned her text message. He wasn't sure if she was worried about him or not. Jake was worried sick about her. He was in uncharted waters with Angela and botching the hell out of it so far. He needed to analyze his feelings for her and what he perceived as her feelings for him, although he had never dwelt that much on any lady before. Worse yet, he couldn't afford the time. All of his attention needed to be on what he was doing now. Jake grabbed his phone and sent a second message.
How is your dinner date?
Mere seconds passed when his phone buzzed again. Relocated. Jake stared at the one-word message. Was Angela telling him the kidnapped victims were being moved? He kept the phone at his side as he typed: Where?
Silence grew too loud in the car. He waited as every inch of him remained tense. Jake white-knuckled the steering wheel. The black SUV ahead continued at a steady speed, and his phone sat next to him, silent.
He wasn't any better off than he'd been a few minutes ago. Although he knew Angela was okay and able to send a text message, hopefully without feeling her life was in danger by doing so. He still hated not knowing the details of where she was and what she was doing.
"Yes!" he said out loud, damn near cheering, when his phone vibrated. Jake grabbed it, positioning it in his hand so he could see the screen while keeping an eye on the road. He stared at the message, reading it several times over, although it didn't make any more sense regardless of how many times he stared at the screen.
It's a trap.
"It's a trap," he muttered out loud, and diverted his attention to the road ahead of him when a car cut him off. "What's a trap?"
Another time he would have chewed out the driver and possibly cut into the other lane, then accelerated just to show the cocky driver who'd slipped in front of him that Jake wouldn't tolerate rude driving. This time, though, he slowed slightly, looking past the car in front of him to the black SUV several cars ahead and in the right-hand lane. Signs overhead announced the airport exits would begin a few miles ahead.
"What are you talking about, sweetheart?" he asked the dark silence around him. Did she mean somehow whoever had seen Jake drive past Mandela's driveway had tipped off Mandela and the drivers in the truck and the SUVs? If so, maybe Jake was being led on a wild-goose chase while the other SUV and truck were headed in a different direction toward their destination.
There was no way of knowing. But Angela knew. He glanced at his phone, needing more information. Lowering it to the seat next to him, Jake typed his message.
Where's the trap?
This time the response came almost immediately: Turn around.
What if Angela wasn't sending the messages? Jake stared at the screen. He'd been positive of what he'd seen when he witnessed the truck and b
lack Excursions leaving Mandela's. It made sense they would move the kidnapped victims, and doing it at night fit the bill even better. Although Jake could have remained at Mandela's, scoured the place once the trucks and SUVs left, it would have surprised the crap out of him if he'd found the kidnapped victims. Now that they were almost at the airport, turning around seemed ridiculous.
"Unless you're following the wrong black SUV," he mused, focusing on the tail lights of the SUV and trying to determine if they were the same make and year as the vehicles that had left Mandela's driveway. Jake really hadn't seen any of the lights other than those of the truck.
The black Excursion took the next exit without signaling.
"Crap!" Jake swerved into the next lane, hit the far-right lane, and made the exit. "Don't fool me twice!" he snapped, his heart pounding in his chest.
He slowed, taking a look at his surroundings. There was a convenience store on the corner when he stopped at the intersection. Otherwise, they'd exited on the far edge of the airport. Most people would take one of the exits ahead of them if they were going to park and head to one of the terminals.
The SUV headed forward, past the convenience store. A sign next to the road indicated there was long-term parking ahead one and a half miles. Jake waited until the SUV had driven a fair distance before he proceeded through the stop sign.
It was easier to focus once the lights from the convenience store were behind him. The road ahead was straight and dark. Lights illuminating the parking garage and roads leading away from it looked like those of a fat, squatty Christmas tree. Between him and the light show, it was a field of inky blackness. Jake cursed when the brake lights flashed on the black Excursion. Already he knew their game. A few moments later it pulled off on the side of the road ahead of him.
"Want to play a bit of cat and mouse?" It wasn't exactly Jake's favorite game. He preferred his perps to be a bit more aggressive and not quite as crafty. But that didn't mean he hadn't played the game before. "Annoying as it might be."
The Excursion pulled off the road, coming to a complete stop. Jake drove past them, not slowing or giving any indication that it mattered to him one way or another that they'd stopped. The Excursion remained on the edge of the road. They thought they were going to make him sweat it out. What they were really doing was giving him a chance to explore a bit, learn the playing ground.
Angela had sent the text warning him of a trap. Bobby, or whoever was standing in the driveway when Jake drove by, had tipped off the others. He'd lost the truck when it was warned Jake was trailing them. Obviously they were getting close to their destination. It was imperative they throw Jake off their track or somehow inhibit him so he wouldn't learn what they were up to. Not that Jake didn't already have a real good idea what was going on.
His headlights sliced through the darkness until the parking garage grew closer. It was one hell of a large cement beast, gaudy and almost hideous looking with white floodlights piercing through the night around it. Jake squinted against the night until he spotted the row of lights.
"Runway," he whispered, glancing at his phone.
His thoughts drifted to Angela. If Mandela had arranged for his kidnapped victims to be transported tonight, why was he spending the evening with Angela?
"So he can't be connected with them if this transport is busted," Jake answered his own question, and glanced in his rearview mirror. "Except that I followed them here from his house." Which made Jake an annoying liability.
If he called the cops now, arranged for the bust when Mandela's men tried transporting the kidnapped victims, Mandela would very likely walk. Angela would be his alibi.
"And I never confirmed the kidnapped victims were in Mandela's outbuilding." Jake slowed when he neared the parking garage.
There weren't headlights in his rearview mirror. The Excursion hadn't passed him, which meant they were sitting it out with their headlights off. Somehow he needed hard-core proof; then he needed to call the police. He didn't have any connections in this town, nor would he be honored or respected as a bounty hunter. At the same time, he couldn't allow so many victims to be transported just because he didn't have all the proof he needed. He'd stared at Marianna's picture long enough he believed he'd be able to spot her. If she was on that truck, Jake wasn't leaving until he had her away from Mandela.
Jake ran his fingers through his hair, grumbling as he entered the parking garage. He would have to hoof it if he was going to throw these goons off his ass. Which meant paying to park, then hoping he could get close enough for visuals before all the action occurred. Jake pulled into the first empty stall, parked, then jogged through the parking garage to the exit. He ignored the attendant in the booth and curious looks from drivers coming and going from the garage. None of them gave more than a glance at a man running through a parking garage in an airport.
A few minutes later, the muggy night damn near suffocated Jake as he sprinted into the dark. He'd guessed right. The SUV turned on its lights and finished its trek, passing Jake without seeing him as it followed the road to the runway. It didn't surprise him a bit to see the second SUV and truck appear a few minutes later. As much as he hated calling in before the game took place, there wasn't much else he could do. Too many innocent lives were at stake. And he knew those kidnapped victims were in that truck. He'd bet his career on it.
It took ten minutes on the phone with Chicago PD before he reached a detective who not only listened but also got rather excited about making the bust after Jake explained the story to him. After confirming his name and number, Jake finally got off the phone and moved closer, creeping through thick, wet grass that soaked his socks and shoes as he fought to see what he needed to see.
The two SUVs pulled to a stop on either side of the truck. Jake gripped his phone, ready to snap pictures the moment they began unloading their cargo. A small private jet sat on the runway. The lights from the jet and the runway provided enough light to get a clear picture when men started moving around the truck. Chicago PD better show up before the plane took off. Jake would rather deal with the victims here than have to accept that cops in another city would take over and Jake wouldn't be part of the bust. It sucked he couldn't contact Angela to warn her what was going down. Although it seemed Mandela spoke openly in front of her, from what Jake had witnessed so far.
Jake didn't recognize any of the men who now hovered around the truck. Worse yet, he didn't understand a word any of them were saying. They talked and laughed easily with one another but were speaking Italian. He could stumble his way through a Spanish conversation. And as much as people said the two languages were alike, at the moment, Jake would beg to differ.
He watched the men's actions instead. If he weren't paying so close attention, his phone ready to snap pictures of any incriminating evidence, he might not have spotted one of the men holding a long, thick object in his hand.
"Shit," Jake hissed, slamming himself against the hard ground when the man turned on his large flashlight and flashed his beam in Jake's direction.
The jovial tone of the men changed and they sobered, continuing to chat quietly among themselves but all focusing on the beam that one of them aimed carefully at the field between them and the parking garage.
They'd guessed Jake's plan. He lay very still, arching his neck so he could keep an eye on all of them, and didn't move an inch as he prayed they wouldn't detect him lying in the grass. It wasn't the first time he'd gotten so damn close to being popped by his perp he could taste it. His heart pounded in his chest and every inch of him was bathed in sweat as he stared at the five men. A couple of them moved closer to the edge of the runway, squinting against the darkness as they searched for him. Although it was probably only minutes, Jake swore he lay with his body pressed against the grass and dirt watching all of them for what seemed more like an hour. He was even more convinced that the kidnapped victims were in the truck with the care the men took to make sure he hadn't come out of the garage.
For a few
minutes, when the beam of the flashlight traveled over him, Jake was positive they'd found him. He was carrying, in excellent shape, and more than willing to take on all five of them, if needed. It wouldn't look good if the PD showed up and he was battling for his life against the five men, but he'd do what he had to do to make sure those kidnapped people were freed tonight.
He didn't bother exhaling until the beam of the flashlight passed him by and swept over the ground far to his right. The men finally decided Jake wasn't in the field lying in wait. They turned their backs to him and once again began talking among themselves as they headed toward the moving truck. Jake dared move, although he remained lying on the uneven ground and shielded the light from his phone with his hand as he checked to see how much time had passed since he'd ended the call with the Chicago detective.
Detective Mike Ames had given Jake his cell phone number, which Jake had ready to redial if needed. He would only have to push one button to put the call through. He hated not being able to reach Angela. As much as he ached to brief her on the pending bust, he would have to rely on her experience to be able to ride with the knowledge when it became apparent to her that her date was suddenly not a happy camper. Jake speculated the man would be enraged. Angela already had shared with Jake what Mandela did when he got pissed. If the asshole laid one hand on Angela, Jake would rip the man to shreds.
Jake's heart began thumping all over again when several of the men jumped into the back of the truck and handed down what looked like a large metal crate to the men standing on the ground. Whatever it held, it was heavy. Jake watched the men strain and one of them jump out of the truck to assist the two on the ground. The three of them moved slowly around the truck, carrying the crate between them as they headed to the waiting airplane.
The moment they walked into the light, Jake snapped his first shot. He couldn't risk using the flash and prayed the pictures would come out. His phone had a decent camera on it, but he was losing daylight fast. The crate was made out of thin, metal bars. They were hauling Mandela's army as if they were dogs. It reminded Jake of the kind of crates he'd seen at the home of one of the ladies he used to visit who owned Great Danes. She always crated her dogs when he came over.
Bounty Hunters: 03 Stay Hungry Page 25