Marco pointed to a road that led away from the apartment buildings. “Where does this lead?”
“To the naval warehouses. They’re also condemned and the roads all force you out to the north where you’ll have to circle this half of the island to get back to the inhabited part. I don’t think he’d have taken her in here.” He pointed to the warehouses. “He’d have to go quite a distance into the restricted zone and chance getting caught. I’ll bet he came in past the fence, found the first abandoned building, and set up housekeeping. Some of these places still have running water.”
“Okay.” Marco turned to Cho. “Pass out the photos and let’s move.”
They piled out into SFPD Ford Rangers. Peyton had been paired with Tag, Bartlet and Holmes. Marco gave her a firm nod as he climbed into the passenger seat of his own vehicle, driven by Commander Walters.
The road wound along the shore, offering breathtaking views of the San Francisco skyline in the distance. White sail boats bobbed on the bay and as they turned the corner, Angel Island came into view. Peyton gripped the handle on the top of the door and curled her other hand on the passenger seat as Tag drove in position directly behind Cho and Simons.
Her heart had started pounding and a trickle of sweat was working its way between her breasts. The flak jacket restricted her breathing and the weight of her gun belt felt unnaturally heavy around her waist.
“You okay, Fluffy?”
She nodded stiffly, not trusting herself to speak.
“You sure? You don’t look so good.”
“I’m fine,” she snapped, closing her eyes as they moved from the smooth pavement to the rougher road further along the coast. Suddenly the buildings around them became derelict. Where there had been signs of life and habitation, they were gradually entering an area where the windows were broken out of the houses and the siding was peeling away.
A guard met them at the end of the road, hauling open a chain link fence with radioactive warning signs wired onto it. The road got even rougher as the Ranger bounced over potholes and places where the asphalt had been eroded away by the breakers.
Commander Walters wheeled into a parking area fronting the rocky shoreline. Before them was another fence, also hung with warning markers, and the road beyond looked like someone had taken a jackhammer to it.
The doors on the vehicles opened and cops climbed out, adjusting their weapons, tightening their flak jackets.
Peyton sat in the passenger seat, watching them. All of a sudden she couldn’t make her body respond. Her heart was hammering in her throat again, her scalp felt clammy, and the muscles in her stomach were clenched.
Tag leaned back into the car. “You coming, Fluffy?”
Peyton heard her, but her attention was focused on the derelict buildings, imagining Chuck Wilson watching them from one of the broken windows, calculating, plotting, knowing exactly how they were going to play this. He was one of them. He knew their routines. He knew their tactics. He knew how they thought.
“Peyton?” said Tag more firmly.
Her eyes whipped to Tag’s face. She tried to talk, but nothing came out.
“Okay.” Tag reached in and gripped her arm. “Okay. Just wait here.”
Peyton looked back at the buildings. Bartlet had jumped out as soon as they stopped and he was gesticulating wildly, talking in Commander Walter’s face. The commander shook his head no, giving him a stern look, but Bartlet wasn’t backing down.
Marco grabbed his arm and shoved him back toward the Ranger. Tag paused in front of him, talking to him in a low voice. Marco’s eyes lifted and fixed on Peyton. Keeping a firm hold of Bartlet, he dragged him to the Ranger and then reached for Peyton’s handle, pulling it up.
He leaned against the interior door.
She couldn’t hide the trembling that had taken possession of her. She hated herself at this moment, hated herself with an intensity that almost made her feel like retching.
He forced a gentle smile. “It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s too soon.”
She tried to look away in her shame, but she couldn’t. His gaze was so filled with acceptance and understanding. “I’m so sorry.”
He shook his head. “Go with Bartlet back to the command center.”
“What?” shouted Bartlet beside him.
Marco’s expression shifted. “I wouldn’t dare say another thing if I were you. You’re in danger of losing your job and if you keep this up, you’ll be in danger of arrest. You’re interfering with an apprehension.”
“I want to go in there with you. I have that right.”
“You’re going to drive back to the command center and stay there.” He gave Bartlet a shake. “Get in the car and drive back to the Visitor Center, Officer Bartlet. That’s an order!”
Bartlet made a frustrated noise, but he went around the front of the vehicle and climbed inside.
Marco reached out and stroked Peyton’s cheek. “Go back with Bartlet. Contact the military and see if we can get some of their thermal imaging cameras.”
“Okay.” Her voice came out breathless and strange.
“I’ll be back there before you know it.” He started to draw away.
She caught his hand. “Be careful, Marco.”
He tightened his hold on her. “You know it.”
She didn’t want to let him go, but he pulled away and shut the door. Bartlet gave one last moment of rebellion, but a stern look from Marco got him to start the car. He yanked the steering wheel hard to the left and the tires spun before getting traction. Peyton shifted in her seat, staring back as Marco moved toward Commander Walters.
Slumping in the chair, she clasped her hands in her lap and fought the violent shaking. Bartlet muttered curses under his breath as he bounced the Ranger along the rough road back toward the first gate, but after a while, he glanced over at her.
“You okay?”
She couldn’t answer. Guilt warred with paralyzing terror inside of her. She should be there with them. She should be walking into those buildings, searching with them. Whatever fate awaited them, she should be there to face it. The radio on her shoulder crackled and Commander Walters gave the orders to move out.
“Turn around,” she told Bartlet. “Go back.”
“No, I’m taking you to the command center. Those were my orders.”
“I’m giving you new orders.”
They came to the chain link fence and the same guard waved them through. Bartlet didn’t even slow as they passed through the gate. She closed her eyes, realizing she was hyperventilating. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to pass out.
“You’re breathing too fast,” Bartlet said. He reached over and squeezed her arm. “Take deeper breaths.”
She tried to fixate on his voice, but it was hard when blood was rushing through her ears.
“Come on, Peyton, you can do it. Take deeper breaths.”
All of a sudden he hit the brakes and swerved the car. Peyton was thrown into the center console.
“What’s wrong?”
“There are spikes in the road.” He pointed out the windshield.
“Yeah, you didn’t hear Commander Walters? Once you pass into the condemned area, you have to go around the north end of the island. The roads go only one way in the condemned section.”
He wiped a hand back over his head. “No, I didn’t hear him. I’ve been so upset about Genevieve.” He cranked the steering wheel to the left and started the car moving again. “I’m sorry. This whole thing has got me messed up.”
“I know.” She hugged her arms around herself. “Believe me, I know messed up.”
He gave a strangled laugh. “We’re a pair, aren’t we?”
The radio crackled and Peyton went still, straining to hear anything. She knew they’d try to keep it quiet while they searched, so they didn’t spook him, but she wanted to hear Marco’s voice.
Bartlet made another left turn and the derelict houses and apartment buildings gradually gave way to office buildings. The
re was something eerie about the way people abandoned things. No matter what, there were always random discards – a shoe, a one legged Barbie doll, a soda can. Forgotten. Discarded. Unwanted.
“I don’t like it here.”
Peyton glanced over at him. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t like it any more than he did. He drove a little faster, taking the turns with a bit too much speed, but she didn’t complain. She wanted out of this part of the island as badly as he did.
Finally he could make a right turn, but now they were in the abandoned navy warehouses. Austere grey buildings with broken windows and peeling paint, they reminded Peyton of the garage in the Presidio. Dry grass blew in the breeze off the bay and faded signs hung from the roofs, flapping back and forth with a lonely, tinny sound.
Reaching up, Peyton tuned the radio, hoping to hear anything, even one voice to indicate they were still searching. She wanted to remind herself that there were other people in the world besides her and Bartlet.
He slammed on the brakes again.
She caught herself on the dashboard and looked over at him, but he was staring out the windshield, his gaze transfixed.
She followed his line of sight and caught her breath.
A white cargo van was parked in front of the warehouse directly across from them. It had commercial plates and no windows. It was exactly like the van that Chuck had used in her abduction.
“That’s his,” said Bartlet.
“You don’t know that. You can’t possibly know that.”
He shifted on the seat. “It’s the same type of van he used to abduct you. I know it’s his. She might be in the back of it right now. We have to investigate.”
“Let’s call it in. We’ll get someone over here.”
“You can’t call it in. You can’t disturb them right now.” He pointed out the window. “There’s two of us. There’s only one of him. We’ll just go to the van and look inside. It might not be his. It might belong to the military.”
Peyton knew the van belonged to him. It was too coincidental. Commander Walter had thought he wouldn’t come this deep into the interior, he wouldn’t box himself in like this with the one-way roads and the spikes, but he didn’t understand. The Janitor didn’t have any intention of leaving here. It was the perfect trap. The perfect bait. They had no choice but to come this direction at some point. When the search of the apartments turned up nothing, they would be forced right into the warehouses by their own design.
She stared at the van. She couldn’t keep running, she couldn’t keep hiding. She had to face this. She had to take her life back in her control. And if now wasn’t the time, that time would never come.
“We look in the van, then we call for backup no matter what we find,” she said through clenched teeth. “Got it.”
“Yeah.” He shoved the Ranger in park and checked his gun. “Look in the van, call for backup. That’s all.”
Peyton nodded, chewing on her upper lip. She could do this. She could take this step. If she ever wanted a life of her own again, she had no choice. This was it. This was her moment.
She reached for the handle and shoved open the door, grabbing her gun and drawing it. Together, she and Bartlet crossed the street, moving toward the van.
“You take the driver’s side, I’ll take the passenger’s,” she instructed.
Bracing the gun with both hands, she eased along the side of it and up to the passenger side window. Taking a deep breath, she spun out, whipping the gun into position. The cab of the van was empty. Bartlet stared at her through the driver’s side window. Keeping an eye on the warehouse, she backed toward the rear bumper and met him there.
“I’ll cover you while you open the back doors.”
He lowered his gun and reached for the handle with one hand, angling back against the door. Peyton moved a few steps away from the van, so it didn’t obstruct her vision of the warehouse. The feeling that they were being watched made her skin crawl.
Bartlet pulled open the door, then spun out away from the van, pointing his gun at the opening. “Empty,” he said, but he moved forward and reached for something inside.
“What did you find?”
“Rope and...blood. There’s blood in here.”
“How much?”
“Not gallons, but…”
“He used a taser on me, Bartlet. When he got me in the van, he tore the bolts out. He might have done the same to her.” Peyton eased back toward him. “We need to call for back…”
A gunshot echoed among the buildings. Peyton and Bartlet ducked behind the van. A moment later, a woman began screaming. Peyton reached for her shoulder radio, but Bartlet suddenly bolted away from the end of the van.
“Bartlet! Don’t move!”
He ignored her and sprinted off toward the warehouse.
Peyton pressed herself against the back of the van and pushed the button on the radio. “Shots fired! Shots fired!”
“Give your location!” came a voice she didn’t recognize.
Peyton searched the streets around her, looking for a street sign, some form of orientation. The woman had stopped screaming.
“13th and N Avenue. Warehouse on N Avenue. There’s a white cargo van in front of it. Commercial plates.”
“Identify yourself.”
“Inspector Peyton Brooks.”
“Do not leave your location, Inspector. Backup is on the way.”
“Officer Bartlet entered the warehouse. He’s inside right now.”
“Stay where you are, Inspector Brooks. Wait for backup. I repeat. Wait for…”
The report of another gunshot ricochet off the buildings, followed immediately by screaming. Peyton flattened herself against the van, pressing the button on the radio. “More gunfire!” she shouted into the radio.
Peering around the end of the van at the warehouse, she saw a door was open on the side. It must be the door that Bartlet used to get inside, but there was no sign of him. “Bartlet, do you hear me?” she shouted into the radio. “Bartlet, state your location!”
Nothing.
“Wait for backup!” came a response over the radio.
Peyton leaned her head against the van. Wait for backup? He might be dead before help arrived. How could she wait for backup? The woman stopped screaming again, but somehow that was worse.
Her hands were trembling, her heart was hammering, and all blood had left her face. She didn’t want to go into the warehouse. She didn’t want to do this alone. Looking over her shoulder, she searched for any signs of backup coming, but there was none. In fact, she couldn’t hear the rumble of an engine anywhere near them.
He might be dying right now. Or he might be pinned down, waiting for her to help him. She had to go into the building. She had no choice. Her loyalty to her brother officer was too strong. The very thing Chuck Wilson had forgotten, the most important code all police officers lived by. She couldn’t leave her man inside.
She closed her eyes and muttered a prayer, then she bolted away from the van and ran for the door. Flattening herself on the outside, she eased to the opening and peered in. A dark hallway branched away from the door.
Raising the gun, she spun into the opening and slid along the wall, waiting for her eyes to adjust. She could hear sobbing coming from ahead of her. Trying to control her breathing, she eased down the hallway, the gun pointing the way.
The hallway led to the warehouse bay, a large open room with crates stacked up in rows. Sunlight streamed through the high windows overhead, illuminating the area. Directly in the middle of it lay two bodies, and huddled over one of the bodies was the sobbing woman.
Peyton didn’t want to go out into the open warehouse. Every instinct screamed at her not to do so, but she could see the pants and an out-flung arm, and she recognized the uniform. Pressing the radio, she lowered her voice as much as she could.
“Officer down. I need an ambulance. Suspect has not been apprehended. Repeat, suspect has not been apprehended.”
A
s she surveyed the scene, she studied the other body. It lay face down a few yards away from Bartlet and the woman. Maybe Bartlet had gotten off a shot and the body on the ground was Chuck Wilson.
Indecision made her skin crawl and she felt as if her intestines were in knots. Oh, God, she didn’t want to go out in the open. Even though the body might be Wilson, what if it wasn’t? What if he was lurking among the crates?
Clenching her teeth, she made her decision. She stepped out of the hallway and crossed over to the body, bending down and feeling at his neck for a pulse. Keeping her gun raised, she glanced down into his staring eyes. A bullet hole was centered in the middle of his forehead. The face was unfamiliar.
She rose to her feet and moved toward the woman. At the sound of her steps, the woman jerked upright, her eyes dilating in terror. Genevieve Lake.
“He’s here!” she sobbed. “He’s still here!”
Peyton surveyed the area, leading with her gun, then she looked down at Bartlet. Blood was pooling beneath his head, spreading across the floor.
“He shot him before he even knew he was there!” Genevieve said.
“Where?”
“Where?” She shook her head. “Where? He shot him! He shot him!”
“Stop it!” snapped Peyton. Carefully lowering herself, she glanced at Bartlet. He was trying to say something, but he couldn’t. She reached with her left hand and turned his head just a little. She could see the blood bubbling out of a hole in his neck. She grabbed a gauze pad out of her belt and held it out to Genevieve. “Put pressure on the wound!”
“He’s still here!” she said, wringing her hands. “He’s still here! He’s going to kill us!”
“Stop it! Look at me!” She diverted her attention just long enough to capture Genevieve’s gaze. “He’ll die if you don’t put pressure on the bleeding!” She looked around. “Where’s his gun?”
“He took it! He has it!”
Wonderful. Now he had two guns, twice the ammunition.
She shook the gauze at her. “You have to do this, Genevieve! You have to hold this on his neck!”
Murder on Treasure Island (Peyton Brooks' Series Book 7) Page 32