When the chief hung up his latest call and ran a hand over his eyes, Tate stepped closer to him. “There has to be another way in.”
The chief shook his head. “Nate doesn’t know of one, and he knows the mountains of Desparre better than any of us. I called the park service. They say normally this place might have become a tourist attraction, but the remote location and the fact that there are health concerns with it has kept it boarded up and off-limits. The fort originally had at least three entrances. One of those caved in a long time ago. The other was boarded up ages ago, but it might still be accessible. Unfortunately, they don’t know where it is because the fort has been defunct since the end of World War II. The forest grew in around it. They’re tracking down some local guides and are supposed to get back to me.”
“I’m going to see if Sitka can sniff anything out.”
At the sound of her name, Sitka jumped to her feet. She ran a tight circle around him, wagging her tail.
The chief glanced from him to Sitka, then back again. He nodded slowly. “Okay. Just keep me in the loop—and I mean every fifteen minutes, Tate. If you weren’t Sitka’s handler, I’d send someone else with her right now. As it is, I need the rest of my team here, ready to go as soon as the bomb is defused. Njeri is making faster progress than she’d initially thought.”
Tate nodded, then walked Sitka up next to Njeri.
She spun to face him and demanded, “What the hell are you doing?”
“We just need a quick sniff,” he answered as Sitka put her nose to the thick layers of wood nailed across the entrance. Whatever gap had existed when Nate was a teenager had apparently been boarded over, because there was barely enough room for air to pass through now.
The boards looked relatively new, but whether Paul and Kevin had nailed them in place themselves after trapping Sabrina in there and rigging the place or whether someone had done so years ago, Tate wasn’t sure. The only thing he knew was that if the crooked cops were still inside, they would have had to go in another way.
Sitka sniffed a line across the boards, then her nose came up. She sniffed the air and started moving around the side of the building. Tate followed, with Njeri’s curse trailing after him.
Sitka stuck to the edge of the building as it disappeared into thicker woods, until Tate could no longer see his fellow officers. Then she veered right, away from the mountain, and started running.
Tate hesitated, then ran after her. She’d been right when they’d searched the woods behind Sabrina’s house. He had to believe she could do it this time, too.
Hold on, Sabrina, he willed her, as his hand instinctively rested on his pistol. Besides the Taser and pepper spray, it was his only weapon. He had no doubt that Paul and Kevin had more. Hopefully, he wouldn’t come across them too abruptly and be forced into a firefight before he could get backup.
As the forest closed in around him and Sitka, she slowed on a trail big enough to hold a four-wheeler and then veered left. Tate unsnapped the top of his holster. Last fall’s dead leaves crunched under his feet, but he couldn’t hear his fellow officers anymore even if he strained. All he could hear was Sitka’s sure footsteps as she raced forward, leaping over a fallen log.
Tate ran around it, trying to keep up. He almost went down as his feet slid across a pile of smaller sticks on the other side, and then his breath caught. Up ahead was more of the fort, emerging from the mountain and surrounded by debris that looked like pieces of plywood, broken and splintered. Beyond it, possibly...a door?
Sitka turned her head toward him, and before she could bark, Tate put his hand to his lips and whispered, “Sitka, quiet.”
She complied, her tail wagging frantically.
His pulse doubled as he crept forward. When he glanced down, he realized he’d pulled his weapon out without conscious thought.
After a few more steps, he was certain. Sitka had found the other entrance.
It was no longer boarded up. Apparently, Kevin and Paul had blasted their way inside with another bomb. Now it was a clear entrance they’d probably assumed no one would find.
Tears rushed to his eyes as he stepped up next to his dog, petted her head and praised her. “Good girl!”
She thumped her tail, and he urged her over to the side, around the corner from the door, in case Paul or Kevin stepped outside. Then he pulled out his cell phone and sent the chief a quick text about where he was, hoping the chief would be able to follow his directions.
Tucking his phone away, he glanced back the way they’d come. He tried to gauge how long it would take for his fellow officers to get here. His stomach churned at the delay, especially as his mind put Sabrina’s beating on replay.
“Stay with me, girl,” he told Sitka. “We’re going to work.”
From somewhere inside the cavernous fort, a voice echoed. “I think it’s time to cut our losses and get out before they find us. Let’s kill her now.”
He recognized that voice. Paul Martin.
Saying a quick prayer, Tate stepped inside. Sitka slipped in next to him.
After the bright sunshine outside, his eyes took a minute to adjust to the long, dark hallway. It smelled dank and stuffy, like no one had used it since World War II.
He tried to will his heartbeat to normalize, to treat this like any other police callout. But this wasn’t like any call he’d ever been to. This was Sabrina.
As his eyes started to adjust, Tate slipped his finger alongside the trigger. He raised his weapon and slid along the wall, toward the sound of Paul’s voice. Sitka stuck right on his heels.
“Don’t wimp out on me now.” Kevin’s voice reached him. “Don’t you want to hear the explosion?”
Paul’s response was muttered and sounded like a curse.
Beside him, Tate could feel more than see the fur on Sitka’s back rise as there was a thump, and then Sabrina groaned in pain.
His whole body tensed with anger and shared pain, and then he was standing next to an open doorway. Gesturing for Sitka to ease in beside him where she wouldn’t be seen, Tate peeked carefully around the corner.
Kevin was leaning against the wall diagonal from him, standing near a tripod as he scrolled on his phone. There was a pistol tucked into the waistband of his black pants and a length of rope near his feet.
Tate heard Paul from the opposite wall, muttering. He was pretty sure Sabrina was over that way, too.
Lowering himself slowly, silently to the floor while Sitka remained motionless beside him, Tate edged millimeter by millimeter until he could see around the corner.
Paul stood next to Sabrina’s prone form, his hands fisted and his gun within easy reach at his waist. There was a foldable knife clipped to his waistband, too.
Sabrina was lying on her stomach, her arms tucked underneath her. Her legs were curled slightly inward protectively, her neck twisted so she wasn’t facedown. There was dried blood caked to her lips and chin, and her eyes were swollen and bruised.
The sight made nausea and fury mingle in his belly. He might not have thrown the blows, but this was his fault.
Focus, he reminded himself. Forcing his gaze off her, Tate darted one more look toward Kevin, who was still on his phone, seemingly oblivious to Paul’s fury. Then he slid carefully backward.
There was no good way in.
Kevin and Paul were too far apart. Even if he sent Sitka after Paul while he shot Kevin, it would be dicey getting through the doorway fast enough. Paul and Kevin might have time to pull their weapons, especially Kevin, who had one of the fastest draws Tate had ever seen.
Was his team close? Risking a glance at his phone, he saw that he had no bars. The text he’d sent the chief was marked Unable to send.
A curse built inside him, along with new fear. Did he turn back? Risk the chance of them hearing his retreat? Risk them deciding to get rid of Sabrina before he could make the tre
k to his team and back?
His pulse thundered as sweat slicked his hands. There was really no decision. He had one chance to get this right.
But if he and Sitka were even the slightest bit off their marks, Sabrina would be the first to die.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“They’re here!”
Paul’s shout roused her. It took all of Sabrina’s energy to force her eyes open again. This time, she could see even less. Just a sliver of the room, partially obscured by her eyelashes.
It seemed like Paul had just stepped over to the doorway on the left a second ago, but now he was moving toward her again, a nervous grin twitching on his face. “They’re trying to defuse the bomb.”
Hope blossomed beneath her pain until he added, “It’ll happen soon. They’ll think they’ve got the bomb defused and trigger the secondary device.”
Fear erupted, overriding her pain, and Sabrina tried to stare down the long hallway, estimate how far it was to the door. But she could only see the first few feet, lit up by a lantern they’d set at the edge of the room. Beyond that was darkness. And she wasn’t sure she could stand up, let alone run to the door before they caught her.
If Tate and his teammates were already working on the door, her trying to set off the bomb wouldn’t save them, anyway. It would kill everyone.
Frustration tensed her chest, sent a new wave of pain through her body that she ignored. She refused to lie here and wait to die. But what options did she have?
She sucked in a deep breath, trying to clear the haze in her mind as well as give her body strength. The faint scent of dog and sandalwood filled her nose, and she couldn’t stop her loud exhale, which sounded like something between laughter and a cry. She must be in bad shape if she was hallucinating Tate and Sitka nearby.
Kevin glanced her way, but she didn’t hold his interest long before he was back on his phone, muttering to himself, “Soon, soon.” Then he paused and glanced at Paul. “You sure we’re safe here?” He looked up at the ceiling, which had crumbled in places and was stained from years of neglect and moisture. “I’m not sure how structurally sound this place is.”
Paul grinned, seeming suddenly in his element. “We’re fine. This fort has been standing since World War II. Besides, it’s a directed charge. It’ll blow out, not toward us. While they’re cleaning up body parts—assuming anyone was standing far enough back not to get hit—we’ll go out the back way.”
Kevin nodded as he pushed away from the wall, tucked his phone in his pocket. He looked a lot more alert, anticipatory.
Sabrina took another deep breath, and the imaginary scents were gone. She wedged her hand underneath her chest and shifted slightly, getting a better angle for her neck. Then her breath caught and her eyes widened enough to realize she wasn’t hallucinating.
That was Tate’s head she’d just seen disappearing around the corner, down low, on the ground like her.
Hope and fear mingled, made her heart race. But as her gaze swept Paul and Kevin, she realized there was no good way into the room, even if Tate had a lot of backup.
She thought back over the almost two weeks she’d spent stuck in that hotel room, the times Tate had stopped by and they’d talked about anything and everything. He’d given her some insight into how police officers worked, the precautions and the dangers.
Something that had stuck out to her then because she’d never considered it was the danger of doorways. It made you exposed, gave a prepared criminal an easy spot to focus their weapons on and just wait. If you had to go in, you moved fast and got out of the doorway immediately.
If that was Tate’s plan, who was with him? Only one officer could fit through the doorway at a time, and Kevin and Paul were at opposite sides of the room, Paul having taken up his typical spot near her.
They might not know Tate was here, but since Paul’s announcement that officers were working to get past the bomb, they were alert. Kevin’s hand had settled on his gun, and he kept licking his lips, like he couldn’t wait to use it on someone. Paul was pacing back and forth, and he’d pulled his knife out, kept flicking it. Open, closed, open, closed.
If Tate came through that doorway, even if he had the element of surprise, could he really take out both Paul and Kevin before one of them killed him? Or her?
Fear cramped her stomach and tunneled her vision, and she closed her eyes, tried to think. She needed to help. She needed a way to distract them.
Hoping to clear her mind again, she took a deep breath and gagged on something, maybe even more of her own blood. She tried to breathe through it, but it just got worse, choking her as she erupted in a fit of coughing.
“Get her up,” Kevin snapped from what seemed like far away. “We might need her. Don’t let her choke.”
Paul gave a loud sigh, then tucked his knife back into his waistband. Then he stepped closer, grabbed her arms roughly and flipped her to her back.
It only made the coughing worse, and she tried to lean forward to get some air as he dragged her toward the wall. Tears obscured her vision and ran down her face as he propped her against the wall, then started to straighten.
This was it. This was her chance.
Fighting through the coughing that wouldn’t stop, Sabrina lunged toward him, blinking back tears as she made a grab for the gun at his waistband.
* * *
“HEY!” PAUL YELLED, startling Tate as he climbed to his feet.
He peered around the corner and saw Kevin, wide-eyed and pulling his gun from his waistband.
From the other side of the room, he heard a scuffling, then a thump and Sabrina’s yelp of pain.
He’d run out of time.
“Sitka, go get!” he commanded. Then he lifted his weapon and lunged into the room, breaking right.
Kevin already had his weapon up toward Sabrina, but at Tate’s entrance, he swiveled, redirecting it at Tate.
Tate slid his finger under the trigger guard, his heart thundering, his breathing erratic, his movements desperate. Kevin was one of the best shooters he’d ever seen. He was fast, too fast.
From his peripheral vision, Tate saw a blur of fur and lean muscles as Sitka raced past him, then launched herself into the air, straight at Paul.
Tate fired, and the blast of his bullet leaving the chamber echoed and echoed. Too late he realized it wasn’t just his own bullet sounding.
His left arm screamed in agony as he flew backward, landing hard on the concrete floor, then sliding into the wall with a dull thud. A matching scar for the other side.
To his left, Sitka slammed into Paul, knocking the muscle-bound man to the floor. His gun, which Tate suddenly realized had been in a tug-of-war between Paul and Sabrina, skidded toward Tate.
Sitka shook her head, biting down hard on Paul’s arm as the man screamed and twisted, trying to get away.
Ignoring the blood sliding down his left arm, Tate lifted his gun again. His right hand shook as he redirected at Kevin, who’d taken a bullet, too.
It had slammed the man into the wall, but he was recovering faster than Tate, even though Tate could have sworn his bullet had headed for center mass.
He had a vest on, Tate realized as Kevin swung his gun up again, too, hatred in his eyes.
Wasting precious seconds to lift his arm higher, up from center mass where he’d been trained to shoot, Tate fired again, once, twice.
Kevin’s eyes widened as a cloud of blood erupted from his neck. He slid down the wall, his gun hitting the floor first.
From the opposite direction of where Tate had entered, a distant bang, bang, bang sounded. The sound of a battering ram. His colleagues were coming, breaking through the boards at the entrance. They must have gotten the bomb defused faster than expected.
Pivoting back toward Paul, Sitka and Sabrina, Tate swore and shoved to his feet.
Paul had yanked the kn
ife off his waistband. As Sabrina launched herself toward Paul’s gun, groaning as she slammed into the concrete again, Paul flicked the knife open.
He lifted his hand back to drive it into Sitka.
Sitka kept shaking her head, biting down harder, ignoring the threat and never giving up on her target as the knife arced toward her.
Tate didn’t have a shot. Sliding the gun back into his belt, he jumped forward, praying his vest would take the stab if he misjudged his aim.
He landed hard, smacking against Sitka and making her yelp. But she still didn’t let go.
His injured arm screamed in protest, sending spikes of pain through his head. He twisted, trying to get a hold of Paul’s knife, which had been pushed backward at the force of Tate’s landing.
Then the knife was up again, coming for Tate’s bad arm. The arm he couldn’t move well enough or fast enough to block it.
He gritted his teeth, preparing for the pain even as he fought for a grip on the man’s arm. He grabbed hold with both hands just below the elbow, his arms shaking as he tried to keep the knife at bay.
Paul’s overly bulky muscle wasn’t for show. The man was strong. He let out a deep, sustained yell as Sitka kept biting, kept shaking him, but still he forced the knife downward, changing direction so he was aiming for Tate’s face.
Then he slammed his forehead into the side of Tate’s head, letting out another scream as he made contact.
Tate’s head bounced sideways with a crack, and his grip loosened.
The knife surged toward him, nicking a line across his cheek before he regained his hold.
Sitka growled low and deep, and Tate let out his own yell as he forced his injured arm to work harder, pushing the knife away.
From a distance, footsteps pounded toward them, but the knife was moving forward again, and Tate’s injured arm started violently shaking.
K-9 Hideout Page 18