Agony slammed through her face. Tears flooded her eyes.
The driver winced and straightened up. Grabbing his partner’s wrist, he stopped the next strike before it could be launched. “Not in the face.” He stepped closer, crowding Bree’s personal bubble.
A sharp pinch on the neck caused her to jump. Fire raced through her veins. The world began to spin. She felt clumsy. Her arms and legs refused to respond to her brain. What’s happening? Bree collapsed into a puddle on the sidewalk.
As if underwater, she heard the driver say, “Gotta love Special K. Load her up.”
The big man popped the lock on the aluminum toolbox in the back of the truck. He scooped Bree from the ground and unceremoniously dumped her in.
Chilly rain pelted her in the face. Jumbled thoughts and images raced through her mind, competing with her pulse. A primal scream built in her throat, but her muscles refused to cooperate. No sound escaped. Gotta move. Eyes. Keep eyes open. Bree tried to fight, tried to climb out of the toolbox.
The passenger laughed at her uncoordinated attempts. “Just relax. No use fighting it. Ketamine always wins.” He slammed the toolbox lid closed, blocking out the light.
****
Hot. So very hot.
Searing pain tore through Bree’s head. Her eyes fluttered open. Pitch black darkness surrounded her. Can’t breathe. Where am I?
A rotational vibration lulled her back to sleep. A sudden bump jarred her neck, lifted her, and slammed her head into the surface she rested on. Her eyes popped open. Featureless faces leered at her from the gloom, fading in and out. Hands grabbed at her. She screamed.
She tried to scramble away, but her limbs were too heavy to lift. An invisible force pinned her in place. She squeezed her eyes closed. The hands and faces kept coming. Not real, not real, not real.
A panicked, hollow sensation filled her chest, too tight for air to enter. She inhaled sharply. Gasoline fumes burned her lungs. Still, the faces kept coming. Reason fled, along with the contents of her stomach. Her stomach clenched, and she heaved until nothing was left inside.
Light-headed, she struggled to breathe. Her eyelids weighed a ton. Thankfully, the shadows pulled her back under.
****
Patrick pulled up in front of the shipping container. His dad stormed over to the truck before he and his buddy could climb out. “Where the hell have you useless gobshites been? I’ve got trouble enough without having to wait on your lazy asses.”
Patrick ignored his father and walked around to the toolbox. He propped it open, examining the contents. He squished up his nose and made a face of disgust. Damn, that stinks. Stepping away, he leaned against the tailgate of his truck. A self-satisfied smirk lingered on his lips.
An oilfield tanker idled in the pasture next to the tank batteries. The driver paced near its open door. He fiddled with the top button of his shirt. Rubbed the back of his neck.
Seamus glared at the driver. He stalked away from his son. Stopped. He cracked his knuckles. His gaze bounced from his son to the tanker back to the driver. He clenched his teeth. The muscle in his cheek jumped as he ground his molars together.
“Da, over here.”
Seamus joined Patrick at the back of the truck. He tugged at the collar of his shirt. Dragged his hands through his hair. “Fooking thief. I hate thieves. Just got the livestock unloaded and now we have to move again. Immediately.” He glared at his son. “You better not have messed anything else up, boyo.”
“What’s going on?” Patrick asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Damn tanker driver snuck out here to steal oil and stumbled into our operation. Caught us unloading.” Seamus glared across the pasture at the driver. “To top it off, we lost another head of livestock. Couldn’t handle the heat.” Seamus turned on Patrick. “Didn’t I tell you to take care of the merchandise? Now we’re short two and have another body to dispose of.”
A slow burn of anger rolled over Patrick. Now I’m supposed to control the fucking weather? He pushed it down. “Da, I have an idea about that.”
“I don’t fooking think so. Your last disposal sicced the Texas Rangers on us. What the fook were you thinking, putting a body in a driveway?” Seamus raised his fist. “I ought to knock the crap out of you.”
It would have worked, too, if you didn’t do such shoddy work. He swallowed the rebellious thought and raised his hands in a submissive gesture. “Da, please. Wait a minute, okay? Just listen to me.” He waited until his father lowered his fist. “I have an idea to take care of the driver and the body.”
Casting another glare at the idling eighteen-wheeler, Seamus said, “Go ahead. I’m listening.”
“Drop the body in the tanker and have the driver haul it away. What’s he gonna do? Tell the cops ‘hey, I was out stealing oil and stumbled across these people selling kids, and oh yeah, they gave me a dead body to get rid of.’ He can’t say anything. He’s involved. Two birds, one stone.”
Seamus rubbed his chin, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. Nodding slowly, he said, “Not a bad idea, boyo. Not a bad idea at all.”
Yes! “Can I show you my other good idea? Remember that gorger kid we hired for the paving jobs? His dad fired him, so we hired him? He left his cell phone in the work truck at lunch today.”
Seamus threw his hands up in the air. He shook his head in apparent frustration. “And I care why?”
“His girlfriend texted him during the…uh…let’s say ‘distraction’ at the school.”
“What happened at the school?”
Patrick chuckled and waved the question away. “Anyway, I dug back through his texts. She sent him several pictures over the past few days. Quite a looker so…” With a dramatic flourish, he gestured to the contents of the toolbox. “Ta-da.”
He crinkled his nose. “Well, she cleans up good.”
His father stepped closer and peered in. He patted Patrick on the shoulder. “She’s a bit older than our normal, but she’ll do. Good job, boyo.”
He raised his chin, excited to share the details of the girl’s capture with his dad. “I texted her back and had her slip away and meet me—well him—during the confusion at the school. It will be a while before anyone even realizes she is missing. Name’s Aubree Trammell.”
Seamus stared down at the unconscious girl in the toolbox. “Who cares what her name is? What did you do with what’s his name’s phone? The one you were texting her with?”
“Pulled the sim card. Took out the battery. Dropped them off three different bridges into the San Miguel creek. Did the same with the girl’s phone.”
“Good. Get her out and hose her down. Get the vomit off her. Whose blood is that? Never mind. Don’t care. Clean her up and put her in the trailer with the others. Get ’em moved.”
He started to walk back over to the truck driver, then stopped and reached into his pocket, pulling out a business card. He studied it for a moment before turning back to Patrick. “Wait a minute. Did you say Trammell?”
He handed a Texas driver’s license to his father. “Yeah, the boy called her Bree, but her license reads Aubree Nicole Trammell.”
Tapping the plastic card against the palm of his hand, he said, “Well, well, well. What are the chances? Boyo, you may have hit a gold mine this time. The ranger that came sniffing around the shop was named Trammell, too. What do you want to bet they are related? We can back off the peelers and make a pretty penny all at the same time. Maybe you’re not as stupid as I thought you were.” Seamus patted his son on the back. “I’m actually proud of you, son. You might even have earned yourself a bonus.”
Shoulders back and chest out, Patrick bounced on his heels. He dug his cell phone from his pocket and pulled up a photograph of the ranger and his Hellcat. Already feeling the leather steering wheel beneath his hands, he turned the image to face his father. “Enough of a bonus to buy one of these?”
As Seamus studied the picture, he felt the blood drain from his head. He grabbed the phone. Enlarging the pho
to, he squeezed the phone until his knuckles whitened. “No, he’s dead. I killed him.”
“What did you say, Da?”
He shoved the image into his son’s face. “Where did you take this photograph? When did you see this man?”
Flinching, the boy stammered, “A-at the sh-shop. He was one of the rangers who came to see you. He—he said he knew Grandda.”
Patrick watched as telltale signs of ice-cold fury swept across his father’s features. Nostrils flaring, the vein on his forehead pulsed. He tightened his jaw and ground his teeth. Talking to himself, he murmured, “Yeah, I bet he does know Grandda. Nana, too. Son of a bitch. Bastard must have nine lives.”
Curiosity overcame fear of his father’s anger. “What’s going on, Da? Who is that man?”
Seamus blew out a deep breath. “Nothing. Nothing at all. Did you catch this guy’s name?”
“No, just that he’s a ranger. Didn’t you see him? He was with that other peeler that came to talk to you.”
“I didn’t talk to any peelers.”
“They must have talked to Grandda then. He was asking about some job and where we got the materials for it.”
“Oh, you mean the job you fucked up by burying a body in it?”
Patrick averted his eyes. He bit his lip. “Um…”
“Never mind.” Seamus waved his son away, but continued mumbling. “A ranger, huh? What name are you using these days? How the hell did you go from being a grifter to a Texas Ranger? Now that’s the ultimate long con.” He almost sounded proud of the stranger.
“Da, who is he?”
Patrick’s partner approached carrying a dripping wet, still unconscious but half-ass rinsed off Aubree. Seamus gestured at the girl. “Put this one in the trailer and load the others back up. We need to get them transferred to the secondary holding location. Transport to the buyers should be here in a day, two at the most. Then go take care of the body and the driver.”
Patrick hesitated.
“What?” his father snapped.
“Can I have my phone back? Please?” Taking the cell back from his father, Patrick studied the photo as his mind raced a hundred miles an hour, trying to discover who this stranger was and why he had the power to upset his father so much. Anyone who could scare his father that much was someone he wanted to get to know.
Chapter Sixteen
Back in the school parking lot, while Rhyden turned the girl over to the paramedics, Noah returned to the mobile command center. “What’s the sit rep?”
Sheriff Preston shook his head. “Not sure what’s going on. No one can find any sign of the shooter. No one saw anyone. At least, no one alive saw anyone. The explosive dogs hit on two of the packages. Bomb squad’s in there now. We should be getting more information soon.”
About that time, the front door of the school opened again, and a bomb tech wrapped in protective black armor minus the face shield and helmet carried an open package out. He placed the package on the sidewalk in front of the school. Noah, the sheriff, and a few investigators joined the bomb tech.
“It's a fake,” he said. “The package contained a pressure cooker loaded with shrapnel and a dusting of fertilizer. Just enough fertilizer to make the dog hit on it but not enough to make a boom.” The tech wiped his sweaty forehead on his arm. “Scene’s clear.”
The sheriff turned to his investigators. “One of you find the principal or the school resource officer and see if you can get your hands on surveillance videos. We need to find out who the shooter is, now.”
Rhyden rushed up. Panic flared in his eyes. “The girls are missing.”
“Missing?” Noah scratched the base of his neck. “What?”
“You heard me. I can’t find Bree or Sam. No one’s seen Sam at all today. Bree hasn’t been seen since the shooting stopped. She helped patch up one of the injured students and got him to safety and then just vanished. Hasn’t been seen since.”
Has the entire world lost its collective mind? Aloud he said, “What the fuck is going on?”
“Neither is answering her phone either.”
“You try Sam again. I’ll try Bree.”
Noah dialed Bree. Straight to voicemail. He looked at Rhyden and shook his head.
Rhyden texted Sam. —Call me—
—Dad! R u trying to get me suspended—
—Call me ASAP—
—Can’t. In class. It was a harmless prank. Why do I have to call u? It’s not like I shut the school down this time. U r gonna get me ISS!!—
—ANSWER THE DAMN PHONE—he bellowed in text speak and hit send.
Without waiting for a response, he redialed Sam’s number. When she answered, he hit the speaker button so Noah could listen and asked, “Where the fuck are you?”
“Dad,” Sam hissed, “I’m in class. Are you trying to get me suspended—again?”
“Samantha Elaine, now is not the time to lie to me. Where are you?”
“In class.” Muffled voices giggled in the background.
“No one is in class. There’s been a shooting at the school. Where are you, and where is your sister?”
“Shooting? What shooting? Oh my God, is Bree okay?”
“I don’t know. We can’t find her. We couldn’t find either of you. Where are you?”
“I’m at the beach.” Sam started to cry. “I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t know. Last night, she just said she was going out with PC.”
“When was the last you saw her?”
“Last night about seven. Is she okay?”
“I don’t know. Get home and wait for me. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Rhyden disconnected the call. He turned Noah. “Any luck?”
Noah ran a jerky hand through his hair. He tapped his thumb against his leg. He shook his head no. His gaze danced across the parking lot, bouncing from vehicle to vehicle. He returned his attention to Rhyden. “Let’s go to the office. Maybe we can download her text messages from your cell carrier.”
****
Noah leaned over Rhyden’s shoulder as he logged into his cell phone account. As he waited for the messages to download, he chewed the hangnail on his thumb. “Where the hell can she be? Where would she have gone?”
Messages from Bree’s phone finally popped up on the computer. Rhyden sent them to the printer.
Noah nodded to the computer screen as he snagged the pages off the printer. “Anything helpful there?”
“I think she’s with that PC creep. They exchanged messages right before she disappeared. That damned…”
The muffled sound of a cell phone ringing cut short Rhyden’s response. The phone rang and rang before stopping. It rang again. “You going to answer that?”
“Don’t look at me,” Noah said. “Not my phone.”
The phone stopped, then started ringing again. The rangers realized it originated from inside a FedEx package on the corner of Rhyden’s desk. “What the hell?” He grabbed the package and ripped it open. Out fell a cell phone and an unmarked, silver DVD in a plastic case. As he answered the phone, he put it on speaker.
“Ranger Trammell, top of the evening to you.” An exaggerated Irish accent flowed over the telephone lines. “I see you received my care package. Have you had time to watch my sweet little movie yet? It’s a special production just for you and your partner. What name is he using these days? Ranger Morgan, is it? Your communications department is so immensely helpful.”
Noah flinched. His grip tightened on the papers he held. Acid churned up his esophagus, burning into his chest wall. “Who is this?”
“Ah, let’s not distract ourselves with labels, shall we? The names change so easily these days. Don’t they, Noah? Please, take a moment to enjoy your movie. It’s short. I so look forward to hearing your reactions in real time. Go ahead now. I’ll wait.”
“Look, Mister whoever you are, I don’t have time for games—”
“Ranger Trammell, for your family’s sake, I must insist.”
Rhyden gave his partner a questioning look
as he popped the DVD into his computer.
Noah shook his head, eyes widened, and mouthed, “No clue.” His hand tightened around the spark plug in his pocket. He stepped around the desk to see the monitor. A screen opened with the image of an unconscious teenager lying in a wire animal cage. Various tools and five-gallon buckets of chemicals littered the background.
Rhyden inhaled sharply. “You son of a bitch. Where is she? What have you done with my daughter?”
Low chuckles ranged out from the telephone speaker. “I see you recognized my newest star.”
“Where is she, you cocksucker?” asked Noah.
“Now, now, Ranger Morgan, no need for such profanity. What would your mother say? Oh, wait, your dear sainted mother’s dead, now isn’t she? Perhaps I should ask what your dear old Nana would think of such language? Would she still be reaching for that bar of lye soap?” Light-hearted peals of laughter filled the room. “This is such fun. Tick-tock, gentlemen. I do so hope you and Ranger Trammell enjoy the hunt. Ta-ta.”
“Wait, where…” The call disconnected.
Rhyden flung the phone across the room. The screen cracked on impact.
“Hey, easy,” Noah said. “We may need that.”
Rhyden grabbed his own phone and glared at his partner. “Don’t you easy me. I didn’t see your daughter in a cage. What do I do now?”
Noah hesitated. If that voice is who I think it is…who I know it is, he would want easy access to his captives. Could Seamus’ son, Patrick, be this elusive PC?
“I think I know where she might be.”
“Well, spit it out already.”
“The boyfriend worked for a paving company, right?” Noah asked.
“He did?”
Fuck! “Uh…yeah, that’s what Bree told Cat,” Noah lied. Mentally, he kicked himself. Quit giving away information you shouldn’t have. “Where’s the information on those plates we ran the other day? The boyfriend’s muscle car?”
“Wait a minute. Patrick Collum. PC. You think he’s the boyfriend, don’t you?” Rhyden started rummaging through the files on his desk. Papers flew everywhere. “But the car was registered to a Fred Durham.”
Broken Toys Page 16