Wind Storm (The Gathering Storm Book 3)

by Marlow Kelly

  “We look like soldiers going into battle. I was trying to loosen you up and lighten the mood. If we talk about boring things, we might blend in. For example, have you ever dusted your place?”

  “Of course, I have,” she lied.

  He smiled, revealing his white teeth and dimple. “We have to go to the fifth floor.”

  By the time they’d reached the third level, she was grateful she was in good shape. “Go over the plan again?” They needed to be on the same page.

  “There are two offices and a conference room. The last time I was here, the secure server could be accessed from two terminals, one in each office.”

  “Who do they belong to?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know, now. It was Marshall and Lucy.”

  “What if someone’s there?” she whispered as they reached the fifth floor.

  He peered through a tiny window in the door. “Then PDE get their offices cleaned for free. We can always find somewhere to hide until they go home.” He paused, grabbed the door handle, and then said, “All clear.”

  The fifth floor had a large reception area, which was decorated in brown and orange. She glanced at the overhead red LED display of the elevator to make sure the doors wouldn’t ping open and surprise them. A large glass-walled conference room lay to the left of reception and two ornate wooden doors to the right. There were no signs on them to indicate which one belonged to Lucy. Michael put his ear to one door while she listened at the other.

  Faint voices echoed from inside. She pointed to the room and made a movement with her hand to mimic talking. He nodded his understanding. She crept to his position.

  He pointed at the handle, telling her he was going to open it.

  “Remember, if there’s someone in there, let me talk. I can speak in Spanish and pretend I don’t understand them,” she whispered, reminding him of their plan.

  He peeked his head inside. The room was empty. They entered and closed the door silently behind them.

  The office was massive, bigger than her apartment. Evening sunlight streamed through a large picture window that overlooked the Granite City Square. A carved wood desk sat opposite the window.

  “This was Marshall’s office,” Michael murmured. “Lucy hasn’t changed a thing.”

  “Surprised?”

  “Yes.” He rifled through the desk until he found the terminal. “Damn, the battery’s dead.”

  “Can you charge it?”

  “Of course, but it’ll take time.” He tugged a long cord from the drawer and plugged it in. “I’d be surprised if anyone’s used it since he died.”

  “I just hope it works after all this time.” She stood behind him, looking over his shoulder.

  They waited a few minutes in silence until the screen started blinking.

  Then he typed a series of letters and symbols, which seemed like nonsense to her.

  “I’ll connect it to the internet that way I can explore the system from a distance.” He inserted a flash drive into the computer.

  She pointed to the keyboard and whispered, “How long will this take?”

  “That depends on how much security the program has to work through,” he answered in the same hushed tones.

  An image appeared, which showed the program loading.

  Voices sounded in the hallway. The people, whoever they were, had left the office next door. The volume and manner of their speech patterns suggested they had stopped moving and were waiting for the elevator.

  Michael placed the terminal under the desk.

  Sinclair held her duster near a picture frame, ready to play her role as janitorial staff.

  After a few minutes, a ding sounded, followed by a hiss that told her the individuals were no longer on this floor. Sinclair sighed in relief at the mechanical sound of the carriage descending.

  Neither of them moved. They were still listening, but there were no footsteps, no doors creaking, nothing.

  Michael placed the terminal back on the tabletop.

  She was starting to get antsy. This was taking a lot longer than they had anticipated. “Is that thing done?”

  “It’s done.” He pulled the drive out and stuffed it in his pocket. “I should be able to access their secret network from my computer.”

  “Good.” She opened the door a crack and peeked out. “Let’s go.”

  ****

  Ethan stood behind Ludlow and Kemp as they descended in the elevator. He could kill the two of them without a second thought. He mentally gave his head a shake. He’d always prided himself on being a professional and not letting his emotions get in the way of the job. But he’d lost his detachment, which meant he’d either have to act or bow out. Fortunately, the holding pattern they’d been in since yesterday was over, which meant he wouldn’t have to spend much more time with the two idiots.

  “It’s lucky the girl used the phone,” Ludlow said.

  “How are you going to shoot like that?” Ethan pointed to Ludlow’s cast, which immobilized his hand so he could only wiggle his fingertips.

  “I can use my other hand.”

  “Yeah, but can you shoot anything with it?” Ethan tried to make his tone jovial. Ludlow didn’t strike him as the kind of guy who would train for hours to become ambidextrous.

  Kemp chuckled. “No, his aim is shit.”

  “A lot you know. I’ve been practicing,” Ludlow growled.

  “You’ve got this?” Ethan needed to contact the Trainer so he could verify that Lucy’s human trafficking had been endorsed by the Syndicate.

  “The boss won’t like it if you’re not there,” Ludlow said.

  He didn’t give a fuck if Lucy liked it or not. “I need to hit the head…had a bad burrito for lunch. It’ll be ugly if I’m in the car. Go, I’ll catch up with you.”

  If the Trainer wasn’t available, he would snoop around. He was competent with computers. He couldn’t hack, and code was a foreign language, but his position meant he had access to the secret network used by the Syndicate. All member’s paid one percent of their profits into a fund for operational costs. If the slavery was sanctioned, then there should be something about it in the system.

  He’d used the laptop in Marshall’s old office on occasion. He headed for the stairs, not wanting to be picked up on the elevator camera. There was a good chance no one would check, but it paid to be cautious.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Sinclair glanced around the room, making sure everything was in its place as Michael peeked out the door. Once he was confident there was no one in the lobby, he opened it wide.

  They were halfway across the foyer when the stairwell door swung wide. A tall, slim man walked toward them. He had short brown hair and a red straight scar on his temple. It looked like he’d been burned with an iron bar. There was something about him that screamed enforcer. Maybe it was his posture or the way his gaze took in everything. It could also be that he’d just run up a flight of steps and wasn’t out of breath. But she sensed this wasn’t a man who spent his time behind a desk.

  Thinking quickly, she stared at the ground and mumbled something in Spanish, hoping he would think they were just cleaning staff and ignore them.

  “Don’t I know you?” the man said as he continued to walk toward the office.

  Her heartrate kicked up a notch as they shuffled past him, heading for the stairs. She gazed at the ground, watching his feet. In her experience, a person’s feet moved before their upper body. She took a step closer, wondering if her duster would work as a fighting stick. No, that was stupid. She grabbed her baton but didn’t extend it. Instead she said, “Today’s my first day.” She spoke in English with a Spanish accent.

  “Not you. Him.” He pointed to Michael, who stood with one hand on the door to the stairwell. Michael turned slowly.

  “Papin!” His left hand went to the holster at his waist.

  Shit. She flicked her baton open and wacked his arm, knowing that if the blow didn’t break the bone, it would at least numb the
limb.

  “Fuck.” He curled over, grabbing his injured elbow.

  She shoved Michael to get him moving. “Go.”

  They ran down the first flight of stairs.

  “Stop. I won’t shoot,” the man called after them. “I have information.”

  Michael halted and pushed her against the wall, so she was out of the line of fire. “What?”

  “The girl used the phone. They know where you are.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Michael called.

  “We don’t have time for a discussion. Hurry back. You might still be able to save them. Go.”

  The color drained from Michael’s face. He sprinted down the stairs, overtaking her as he jumped the last three steps of every flight.

  Once outside, they raced for the truck. He stuck the car in gear and gunned the engine. They didn’t bother with the secondary roads this time. They needed the fastest route.

  “Who was that guy?” Her pulse had finally slowed enough that she could talk.

  “Didn’t you recognize him?” He tugged off his fake glasses and baseball hat and threw them onto the bench seat behind him, which had been all but useless in disguising his appearance.

  “No, should I?”

  “That’s the guy who arrived at Tim’s with a bloody knife. His name is Ethan Moore. Dana shot him in the head. I thought he was dead.”

  “That was how he got the scar.” She yanked off her head scarf and twisted it around her hand.

  His narrowed gaze slanted toward her. “If you hadn’t seen him before, why did you attack him?”

  “I thought he was going for a weapon, and I’ve learned to attack first and ask questions later.” Because that was who she’d become. There were innocent reasons a man might reach for his belt, but her first response had been to assume it was a weapon.

  “Your brother trained you well.” Michael pressed the gas pedal, but the beat-up truck wouldn’t go faster than sixty.

  He’d been avoiding the most important part of their run-in with Ethan Moore. She had to ask, “Do you think he told the truth when he said Ava used the phone?”

  “Yeah, I do. I should’ve known she’d get impatient and make a rash decision. I should’ve smashed it instead of just taking the battery and SIM card out, so—”

  “Why would he warn you?” she said, shutting down his self-recrimination. There would be plenty of time for that once everyone was safe.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you think he’s leading you into a trap?” She had to consider all the angles.

  Michael stared straight ahead, his knuckles white as they gripped the steering wheel. “We’ll know when we get there.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Sinclair put a hand to her stomach to stop it heaving. Even at a distance, they could see a cloud of black smoke that spiraled up into the sky.

  “No, no, no.” Michael already had his foot to the floor, but the truck wouldn’t go any faster.

  Sinclair closed her eyes, praying his family would be okay.

  Two fire trucks and three water trucks were parked in front of the house. Multiple figures in yellow fire-retardant gear swarmed about, managing hoses that were submerged into a large red square makeshift pool and being used to spray the flaming structure.

  Michael jumped out of the vehicle before it had come to a complete stop and rushed toward the building.

  Sinclair pulled the handbrake to stop the vehicle rolling, climbed into the driver’s seat, and shifted it into park. Then she jumped out and followed Michael.

  A policeman caught him and restrained him, preventing him from rushing into the burning cabin. Flames shot from the kitchen window. There was a loud hiss, and then an explosion to the side of the building. Everyone jumped, and the emergency personnel pulled back to a safer position.

  “They pulled your Dad out. He’s in the ambulance,” a tribal police officer shouted at Michael, straining to be heard above the din.

  Michael took off, heading to the ambulance that was parked on the other side of the firetrucks. Once again, she was close behind.

  Milo lay on a gurney, blood dripping from a huge gash to his forehead. “They overpowered me. I couldn’t stop them.” His voice was thin.

  Michael climbed inside and stood next to his stepdad. “What happened?”

  They jumped me when I was working on the canoe. I tried to fight back, but they…” His hand went to his side.

  The paramedic lifted his shirt to reveal Milo’s misshapen ribs, which were already turning purple and black. “He has a head wound, a concussion, and we’ll have to make sure there’s no internal bleeding.”

  Michael put a hand on Milo’s shoulder. “What about Mom and Ava?”

  “They took them.” He closed his eyes as his voice faded.

  Michael squeezed his eyes shut. He fisted his hands and then shook Milo awake. “Who did this? Did you see them?

  “Big guy, beefy, and the other…other…” He faded again.

  “What about the other?” Michael shouted.

  “A broken hand.” Milo, once again, closed his eyes.

  Ice water dripped down Sinclair’s spine. “They sound like the pair who attacked me.”

  “Are you escorting him to the hospital?” the paramedic asked as he hooked up an IV and plunged a needle into Milo’s arm.

  Michael’s gaze jumped from Milo to her. He shook his head. “No.”

  His eyes were watery as he stepped out of the vehicle and stared at the cabin. Sinclair put a hand to his elbow in an attempt to show support, but he shook her off and walked away.

  She resisted the temptation to indulge in self-pity and guilt. That wouldn’t help find Nadie and Ava. They needed action.

  She stopped the paramedic. All their phones were in the cabin. “I need to call a friend—”

  “Here.” He smiled and passed her his smartphone. “My plan only covers calls within Montana.”

  “Don’t worry. It’s a local number.” She dialed Finn.

  He picked up on the third ring. “Agent Callaghan.”

  “Finn, it’s Sinclair. They found us.”

  “Was anyone hurt?”

  “Michael and I were out, but Milo, Michael’s stepdad, took a beating and they kidnapped his mom and sister. I have no idea what the play is. Taking them doesn’t make any sense.”

  “It does if they want to exchange them for Michael. Kennedy and I are on our way. Don’t go anywhere.” He disconnected. He’d sounded rational and calm, which was both irritating and comforting at the same time.

  She handed the smartphone back to the paramedic.

  A brand-new Ford pickup parked behind the emergency vehicles, and a young man with short blond hair got out and was stopped by the same cop who’d intercepted Michael. “I’m looking for Ava O’Connell.” He ran a jerky hand through his hair.

  “Are you Caleb?” Michael stomped toward him.

  “Yes.” He took a step back. He was probably intimidated by Michael’s obvious fury. “Ava called me and told me to meet her here.”

  “She gave you directions?” Sinclair clarified.

  “Shit.” Michael’s gaze captured hers.

  She could see his anger turning to frustration mixed with fear.

  Ava had called her boyfriend and instructed him how to find the cabin. Which meant the Syndicate had either been listening in or had tracked her phone using GPS. It didn’t matter either way because the outcome had been the same. In the space of a few hours, Michael’s family had been devastated, and there was no way to fix it.

  Chapter Twenty

  Michael stared out at the Granite City Square from Finn’s FBI office. Finn had deposited him and Sinclair in the federal building and had ordered them not to go anywhere. Then he and FBI Special Agent Morris had headed to the police station to talk to the detectives on the case.

  The first thing Finn had done when he’d picked them up at the cabin, which was now a crime scene, was confiscate their weapons. Michael
suspected Finn was trying to protect Michael from himself.

  The only reason he’d obeyed Finn’s commands was because he didn’t have a place to start when it came to rescuing his mom and sister. The PDE building stood opposite, looming like a new age megalith, but there was no way they would be held in Lucy’s headquarters. That was too obvious. If Michael was still a federal agent, Finn and the police might be inclined to share the details of the case. Who was he kidding? There was no way they would discuss the situation with anyone except the detectives working the investigation.

  He closed his eyes, not wanting to think about what his mom and Ava were going through. Were they being tortured, beaten or—?

  “Don’t.” Sinclair appeared by his side. “It won’t help them.”

  “Do you have to be like this?” he snapped.

  “Like what?” She put her hands on her hips.

  “Cold, efficient. What does it take to upset you?” His world was falling apart, and she had the gall to tell him what to think.

  “Tell me, how is being emotional working out for you? Is it doing any good?” If she could breathe fire and incinerate him, she probably would.

  “That’s easy for you to say. You don’t show emotion. Nothing upsets you or gets to you. You’re like a robot.”

  She flinched as if he’d slapped her.

  He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth, mostly because he knew they weren’t true. If anything, she felt too much and had shielded herself in a cocoon, disguised as work, in order to bury her emotions. He opened his mouth to apologize, but she wouldn’t let him speak.

  “This is what I do. I deal with families whose children have been taken. Right now, I need you to shove your guilt aside.” She turned away from him and then swung back, poking him in the chest. “Would it benefit us if I cried or tried to drink it away? Drown it with alcohol? Because I’ve done all that, and it didn’t help one bit. My pain can’t save them, and it won’t bring them home, so I fight for them. Now, do you have the balls to join me or are you going to wallow?”