He squeezed his eyes shut tight and placed his hands over his ears. He shook his head rapidly. “No. No, no, no, no.”
Noah reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He opened it to a picture of Bree. It was last year’s school picture—he had one of each of the girls—so it was a little dated, but it would have to do. “Trey, buddy, look at her. I have to save her. She needs me.” He paused. “She needs you.”
Reluctantly, Trey dropped his hands, opened his eyes. He didn’t look at the photograph, instead searching Noah’s face for something only he would recognize. “If you’re fishing for sympathy, the only place you’re going to find it is in the dictionary somewhere between ‘shit’ and ‘syphilis.’ I read that in a book once.” His shoulders drooped. He looked at the picture of Bree. Trey’s eyes widened. His breath quickened. He tapped his hands rapidly on the armrests of the rocker. “She’s there. I’ve seen her. Well, come along then, no time to tarry.”
“You’ll take me to her?”
Trey drew himself up to his full height. “I said I would, didn’t I?”
The two men climbed into the car. Noah turned the ignition. The engine coughed once, twice, before catching. He started to slip the vehicle into gear but stopped. “Hang on a minute. What’s the address?” Noah slid his hand into his pocket for his phone, coming up empty-handed. “Damn it. I forgot. My phone’s gone. Can I borrow yours?”
Trey laughed.
“What’s so funny, man?”
“Do I look like I have a phone?” He continued to chuckle. “Come on, my man. Onward we trek.”
“Not alone we don’t. Time for a detour.” Noah spun the peeling vinyl steering wheel, aiming the rental car north toward the Bennett County Sheriff’s Office.
****
“Wait here.” Noah handed Trey a can of soda and a package of peanut butter crackers from a vending machine. He guided him to an empty seat in the lobby of the law enforcement center. “I’ll be back.”
After being buzzed through the security door, Noah knocked on the open doorframe of the communications office. “Brooke?”
The perky blonde held up a wait-a-minute finger as she finished reading a teletype across the airwaves. “Ranger Morgan, glad you’re alive. You scared us.” She slipped off her headset, gave him a visual head-to-toe appraisal. “You look like shit. What can I do?”
“Is Ranger Trammell around?”
Brooke placed a hand over her heart. “Poor man. He doesn’t look much better than you.” Her features softened. “He’s in the bullpen, harassing the deputies. They’re doing everything they can, but it’s hard when they don’t even know where to start a search.” Her voice dropped an octave. “I can’t even imagine.”
“I think we are about to change that. Can you call in all available officers? Sheriff Preston and his chief deputy?”
Noah hurried down the hallway. He found Rhyden pacing the bullpen, hovering over the deputies as they worked. With a quick whistle and a head jerk, he motioned for his partner to join him.
Rhyden stalked to the door. “What?”
“Come with me.”
Rhyden followed Noah into his office. “What?”
“Have a seat. We need to talk.” Noah tugged his door shut. He could just say Trey stumbled across the kids. No one would doubt him, but he couldn’t live with the weight of his guilt anymore. It was eating him alive. He needed to come clean—now.
Rhyden bounced on the balls of his feet. “Can’t this wait? They’re working a sighting.”
“Rhy, sit down.” Noah blocked his partner’s access to the door. “It’s important.”
“But…”
He pointed. “Sit.”
Rhyden dropped into the chair Noah indicated. His leg bounced. He folded his arms across his chest. Unfolded them. Tapped his leg. “Well?”
Noah perched on the corner of his desk in front of his anxious partner. He bit the inside of his cheek. Avoiding eye contact, he dragged his hand through his hair. His voice barely audible, he said, “I know who has Bree.”
“Yeah, we all do. That fucking ghost of a Traveler but knowing who her has hasn’t helped us find where she’s being held.”
Pain hammered the inside of Noah’s skull. A heaviness settled in his stomach.
“Rhy…listen. I know these people, okay? I mean I really know these people. I know how they think.”
Noah’s tongue stuck to the roof of his suddenly dry mouth. He reached back, scooped a bottle of water from the top of his desk, and twisted off the lid. He took a quick sip to moisten his parched throat. His hands dropped to his sides.
“I am these people.”
“What do you mean ‘you are these people’?” Rhyden jumped from the chair so fast it fell backward, slamming into the wall. He rushed Noah. Grabbing him by the lapels, he hauled him off the desk and smashed him against the wall. “Where the hell is my daughter?”
Brushing Rhyden’s hands from his shirt, he shoved back. “Sit down. I’ll tell you.”
“Fuck you.” In a voice that sounded like he could eat iron and spit bullets, Rhyden repeated, “Where. Is. My. Daughter?”
“Rhy, please, sit down. Brooke’s gathering the team. We’re going to get her. We will get Bree, but first I need to tell you something.”
“Fine.”
Noah swallowed hard. His hand slipped into his pocket, his fingers searching out his lucky spark plug. It couldn’t save him this time. This is it—the end. I’m going to lose it all.
He squeezed his eyes shut, overwhelmed by the thought. Forcing a deep breath in and out, he opened his eyes and faced Rhyden head on. He tightened his grip on the spark plug until the cracked porcelain cut into the palm of his hand. He couldn’t hold his partner’s gaze.
He dropped his head, stared at the floor. He drew his shoulders up, tucked his elbows tight to his sides. His head hurt, but he forced the words through trembling lips. “When I was young—really, really young—my father murdered my mother. My grandfather and Nana took me in. A few years later, my older cousin moved in with us. Not sure why. We were raised together like brothers…”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, touching story and all but what does it have to do with Bree?”
“Just shut up and listen to me. I’m getting there. Okay?” Pain from the past and pain from the present rolled over Noah. He tried to understand how everything had gone so wrong; how he had ended up here. He cracked his knuckles. Locking gazes with Rhyden, he rushed on, his words stumbling over one another. “You met my grandda. My name is not Noah Morgan. It’s Ferrell Gorman. A Traveler… The guy running the paving company, Seamus, is my family. My cousin. He has Bree.”
Slowly, Rhyden stood. Drew himself to his full height. In a deadly whisper, he asked, “How long have you known?”
Noah waited in front of Rhyden, arms dangling at his sides. “Known? About an hour. Suspected?” He shrugged. “A while.”
Rhyden’s posture tightened. He balled his fists. Through a clenched jaw, he asked, “Were you involved in taking my girl? In taking any of the missing children?”
Noah gasped; his skin blanched. “Seriously?” His hands carved through his hair, tugging in disbelief. He slumped against the wall. A shudder passed through his frame. Unable to speak, he just shook his head.
Rhyden searched his partner’s expression, digging deep. He dropped his fists and placed a hand on Noah’s shoulder. “I believe you, but don’t think this is over. Where are they? Where’s Bree?”
“Trey has the address.”
“Let’s go get my girl. We’ll deal with the rest of this after she is safe.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Leaning against the wall, Noah tapped his fingers against his thigh. A sense of urgency swamped him. We know where they are. Why are we still standing around this room flapping our jaws? Trey said if everything went the way it normally did, they would ship the children out tonight. If they missed this window of opportunity, if the children were moved again, no one in South Te
xas would ever see them again.
“Okay, are we clear?” Chief Deputy Dannar scanned the room, making eye contact with each deputy, ranger, tactical officer, pilot, and medic. “We will assemble at the abandoned convenience store on Old Kyote road. That leaves us about a quarter mile to cover on foot, most of it through some pretty rough brush. The ambulances will remain in the store parking lot until the scene is contained and we call them in. Understood? No one approaches the building until after Deputy Hendrickson completes the drone fly-over. Once we get the all clear from the deputy, we will approach on foot. People, we don’t know what we’re going to be dealing with out there. Keep your head on a swivel and watch your six.”
Photographs of Bree, Patrick, and Seamus were passed around the room. Chief Deputy Dannar continued, “This young lady is the daughter of Ranger Trammell. She’s a good guy.”
A strained chuckle circled the room. “The other two are the bad guys. I want to thank all of you for being here and a special thank you to the San Antonio Police Department’s Special Response team for helping us out as well. Make sure you activate your IR markers. We don’t want to mistake any good guys for bad guys. Radio silence. Got it?”
To the chorus of ayes, yesses, and sirs, the chief deputy gave a sharp nod. “Rangers Trammell and Morgan, am I correct in believing asking you to sit this one out would be a waste of my breath?”
“Sir, my daughter…”
The chief cut Rhyden off with a sharp chopping hand motion. “Like I said, a waste of breath. Okay, load ’em up and head ’em out.”
Cat brushed past Noah without looking at him on the way out of the room. He snagged her arm and tugged her into an empty office. He turned her to face him. “Should you be here?”
She yanked her arm from his grasp. “It’s my job. What’s it to you, anyway?”
“Cat,” he pleaded, “I know, okay? I know. I just want to keep you and our baby safe.”
Color leached from her face. “You…you know?”
Jim rapped his knuckles on the door and shoved into the room. “Come on, partner, we gotta roll. Get in the box.” He scowled at Noah. “You can make kissy faces with this one later…if you have to.”
For the second time in an abbreviated period, someone who thought they knew Noah, someone he loved, searched his face for answers. His mouth filled with cotton. Butterflies performed aerial combat in his stomach. He stretched a hand toward her.
Cat recoiled from his touch. She turned and followed Jim to the ambulance.
His heart plummeted. A weight settled on his shoulders, pressing against him. His head throbbed. Eyes stung. He closed his eyes, turned his face to the ceiling. Breathe, two, three. He exhaled slowly.
Broken toy, broken toy, broken toy.
Rhyden held the door open. “Noah, you coming?”
He shook himself and shoved the pain deep into a tiny box in his subconscious, banging the lid down and locking it. “Let’s go.”
Fifteen minutes later, in the parking lot of the abandoned Stop-N-Shop, Noah searched the parking lot for Cat. He caught sight of her in the passenger seat of the ambulance. Their eyes met. She faced away. Enough. Put it out of your mind. Deal with it later. Focus.
“Morgan,” Chief called, “over here. Now.”
Noah joined Chief, Rhyden, and members of the SWAT team where they huddled around a laptop. Video footage from the drone streamed across the monitor. Breach teams were established and gearing up. He tossed a longing glance back at the ambulance, but the medics had been staged where they were now out of sight but could be on-hand within seconds if needed.
“Seems like we’ve got fifteen or sixteen heat signatures.” Deputy Hendrickson pointed at the screen, outlining the figures with the tip of his pen. “One here. One here. And eleven smaller ones huddled here.”
He surveyed the officers clustered around him. “I’m betting those are our hostages.” They watched the video feed for a few more minutes. “These two appear to be stationary guards while the other two patrol, though they’ve been standing in the same spot for the past few minutes. Earlier however, they each circled the building in opposite directions.”
Chief asked, “Ready to do this?”
Affirmative replies echoed all around. Chief keyed his microphone. “620-Bennett County. Close the channel please.”
“10-4 620,” the dispatcher responded. “Attention all officers, all units not involved in the special assignment. This channel is now closed. Switch to analog. Repeating, channel is now closed. My time out 20:04.”
Chief signaled for the teams to move forward. Adrenaline pumped through Noah’s system, erasing all the aches and pains of the past few days. With a nod of acknowledgement to Rhyden, Noah crept forward, moving stealthily through the brush toward the decrepit shack housing the children.
Details of their surroundings faded into the mist that rolled in after the temperatures dropped. Noah and Rhyden communicated using hand signals. A dark shadow popped up in front of them. They drew up short, weapons at the ready, easing forward, one slow step at a time. The shadow gradually gave form to the twisted spine of a mesquite tree. Relief whispered through him.
He inched closer. A shuddering crunch of gravel signaled danger. Noah melted into the shadows. A guard appeared in his peripheral vision. Noah dropped into a shallow, dusty ditch. The guard passed. Noah rose to a crouch in the ditch, preparing to dart forward.
His radio crackled. Fuck! He fumbled with the volume button on his radio. “1480-Bennett County. Traffic stop in front of HEB on 35. John-Robert-Mary six-four-eight.”
The guard whipped around, rifle at the ready, searching for the source of the noise.
Dispatch responded to the officer on the radio. “Bennett County-1480. Switch to analog. The channel is closed. Repeat, the channel is closed.”
Noah surged up out of the ditch, catching the barrel of the rifle and snatching it from the guard’s grasp. Reversing his hold on the gun, he swung it like a club, bashing it against the guard’s temple. The man crumpled like a rag doll.
Another guard called out, “¿Qué fue eso? Javier? What was that?”
Noah darted behind an ancient mesquite tree. Prickly pear thorns stabbed his thighs as he dropped to his belly. A beam of bright light swept over his previous position.
The guard approached the ranger’s hiding spot. “Javier?”
Head down, Noah slithered forward. The light came closer. Jumping up, he slammed the palm of his hand beneath the guard’s chin, snapping his head back.
The guard stumbled but didn’t go down. He swung the muzzle of his gun toward Noah. He fired just as Noah dove sideways.
Come on, fucker, cooperate. Sweeping his leg out, he caught the guard behind the knees and took him to the ground. Noah clambered on top of him, trying to catch the man in an arm bar.
The guard flipped over, squirmed out of Noah’s grasp. He drew his leg up and kicked Noah in the solar plexus. Pain blinded him as the new stitches ripped open—again. Hot blood trickled down his side, soaking his shirt. Diving forward, the guard landed on top of him. He wrapped his massive hands around Noah’s neck and cranked them down tight.
Noah clawed at the hands cutting off his air.
The bigger man grinned, his teeth gleaming in the darkness. He squeezed tighter.
Noah’s eyes closed. Lightning flashes of red flickered beneath his closed lids. His lungs burned. He batted ineffectively at the guard’s hands. Scratched his arms. Arched his back trying to throw him off.
The man leaned forward, pressing his weight into his hands. He squeezed harder still.
The bones in Noah’s neck popped. The taste of copper flooded his throat. The lightning flashes became starbursts. A keening wail built in his chest but could not pass the restriction around his throat. His muscles twitched. Cold seeped into his bones. I’m dying.
Noah’s fingers tingled on the verge of going numb. He dug deep into his reserves. Cupping his hands, he clapped them over the guard’s ears with al
l his remaining strength. The pressure ruptured the man’s eardrums.
With a roar of pain, the stranger fell off Noah, releasing his throat. Noah dragged in whooping gasps of air as he lay on the ground, barely conscious.
The guard, caught in the throes of excruciating pain, curled into the fetal position. He moaned.
A second wave of adrenaline flooded Noah’s system, blocking out the agony of his injuries, new and old. He knew when this was all over, he would crash, and crash hard, but right now Mother Nature and her fight-or-flight response was serving him well. He rolled on top of the guard, punching. A right to the face, left to the kidneys, right to the face. A satisfying crunch accompanied a spurt of hot blood as the other man’s nose shattered beneath his blows. Noah rolled off the man, collapsed in the dirt, and struggled to catch his breath.
“Hey.” Rhyden caught up with him. “You okay?”
Still too winded to speak, he rubbed his throat. “Fucking PD,” he croaked in a whisper. “Damn near got me killed. What part of channel closed did that motherfucker not understand?”
Rhyden reached a hand down to help Noah to his feet. “Come on, pansy, quit your bellyaching. Bree’s waiting for us to save her.”
A hoarse chuckle escaped Noah’s lips. “Pansy, my ass.” He took a moment to drag the now unconscious guard to the base of a mesquite tree, wincing as his bruised ribs cried out in protest. “I hope you get prickly pear stickers in your ass,” he muttered as he cuffed the man’s hands around its trunk with nylon flex cuffs. “I may never sing again.”
“Should I leave him a thank you note?”
“Hardy-har-har,” Noah retorted in a voice sounding like sandpaper.
Rapid rifle fire split the air to the east. A frantic voice broke radio silence. “We’re pinned down. Taking fire.” More gunfire erupted.
“It’s hitting the brush around us. Can’t see anything.”
“Where are you?” asked Rhyden.
“Southeast corner of the building. We’re pinned in the brush.”
A veteran of many firefights, the chief’s calm tones issued from the radio. “Stay put. Keep your heads down. Backup’s on the way. Perimeter is set.”
Broken Toys Page 24