Cheyenne McCray - Point Blank (Lawmen Book 4) (32 page)

“Is Natasha at work?” Brooks asked Jase when he connected the call.

“Her car was gone when I arrived,” Jase said. “I’m at her store now, but it’s locked. I tried to look through the windows, but it’s dark inside.”

Brooks’s skin prickled. “Maybe she’s working on something in the back.”

“I’ll go to the rear of the building and see if she’ll answer the back door,” Jase said.

“If she doesn’t answer, go in anyway.” The bad feeling from earlier washed over Brooks and he didn’t care if he was instructing the agent to break and enter. He considered the situation a matter of life or death. “Call me as soon as you talk to her.”

“Will do.” Jase ended the call.

Brooks felt as though spiders crawled over his body. He had to shake it off. He was a professional and Natasha was fine.

She had to be.

They were almost to the warehouse when this time Trace’s cell hummed. He drew it out and glanced at the screen. “Blocked call,” he murmured. He answered the phone with, “This is Agent Davidson.”

Brooks turned to look at Trace, who frowned as he listened to whoever was on the other end of the line.

“Is everyone all right?” Trace had a rough note in his voice before his shoulders sagged, a look of relief flashing across his features. “Thanks, Joe. I owe you one.”

Trace disconnected the call and went on. “Hell, I think I owe everyone.” When he’d holstered his phone, Trace met Brooks’s gaze. “You know that Joe Black has had a team of men watching Natasha and Christie’s grandparents’ home.” Brooks nodded and Trace continued. “Two men just tried to go into their home, carrying handguns with silencers. Joe’s men stopped the bastards. I’m not sure what Joe’s guys did with the bodies, and I’m not going to ask.”

Brooks felt as if his skin was growing tighter. “Okle ordering a hit on the grandparents is a bad sign—a real bad sign.”

Trace hit a speed dial number, his features tense. “I’m checking up on Christie.”

Brooks was tempted to do the same with Natasha, but Jase would call if there was a problem. He prayed everything was fine. She’d been upset and tired, a rough combination.

He hoped she’d decide to stay home. But if he knew her like he thought he did, she’d go into work sometime today, no matter how many things bothered her.

Trace was off the phone in a matter of moments. He told Brooks that Christie was fine, but two of Okle’s men had the resort staked out where the agent who served as her double was staying to throw off Okle.

The warehouse came into view and Brooks narrowed his gaze. His instincts told him they’d find
something
here. Hopefully it was enough to put Okle away for a long time.

When they reached the warehouse, Trace parked his truck just down the street, as did the other agents. The team of agents, including Trace and Brooks, still had on their gear, including the ballistic vests they’d worn during the raid on Okle’s residence.

Once they had gathered and were ready to go, it wasn’t long before they had the warehouse entrances and exits covered on all four sides.

Trace and Brooks, along with other agents, took the front entrance, including Landon and Dylan. Each agent held his or her weapon in a two-handed grip, ready for whatever might lay beyond that door once it was opened.

A surge of adrenaline rushed through Brooks. Okle was here—he knew it with every fiber of his being. The bastard was in the warehouse and they were going to get him.

Brooks’s phone vibrated just as he raised his foot to kick in the door. He couldn’t stop to check the call, which was instantly put out of his mind as he carried through with his kick, jamming his boot against the door.

It slammed open.

Brooks and the other agents shouted,
“Police!”

When they were certain they weren’t facing any potential threats, agents flowed into the warehouse. In moments they had the immediate area cleared. The continued, calling out “Clear,” for every section they searched. When the agents had finished, they found the place empty of people, including Okle.

~~*~~

Natasha startled as a phone’s ring cut through the pause that had followed Mark’s order for her to go to him. Mark dug in his pocket, pulled out his cell, and answered it.

“What do you have on the agents, Pancho?” Mark listened a moment, stiffened, and then shoved his phone back into his slacks’ pocket. “They’re already inside the warehouse.”

Natasha’s heart leapt. She might live through this after all.

If they found the hidden door. A second one must be in the boiler room because Mark had used the plural,
doors.

“Do you still have the monitors set up?” Selena’s voice remained calm, as if the announcement was of no concern.

Mark rubbed the bald spot on the top of his head. “I didn’t get a chance to update the technology like I wanted to, but at least two of the old monitors work.”

“Let’s watch what we can.” She turned her attention to Natasha, and touched her wrist. “I think you should join us.” Natasha jerked her hand away, but Selena grabbed her upper arm and squeezed. “You
don’t
want to fight me.”

By the chill in the woman’s voice, Natasha knew she wasn’t bluffing.

Natasha walked down the concrete stairs. When they reached the bottom floor, Mark swung his arm and backhanded her.

The blow came so swiftly that it caught Natasha by surprise. An explosion of light erupted in her mind as pain burst through her head. She stumbled backward but didn’t fall because Selena had a tight grip on her arm.

“I’ll take care of you soon enough,” he snarled at Natasha before turning away.

He strode to a corner and Selena pulled Natasha along behind him. He flipped a switch on the wall and another dim light illuminated an area with a bank of boxy monitors along with an old Compaq computer, all covered with dust. The technology must have been built in the late 80’s.

Mark bent and turned on the computer, which took several moments to boot up. Two of five monitors came to life with grainy black and white images showing men and women searching the warehouse—the parts of the building visible on the two monitors. Even though the monitors were fuzzy, it was still clear the men and women in the feed were agents and had their guns drawn. With the pictures so grainy, it was almost impossible to read the block letters across the backs of their jackets.

Natasha caught her breath as she saw an image of two men. She knew them so well that she was positive they could only be Brooks and Trace.

Mark turned his gaze on Natasha. “Good to see your cousin’s husband and the agent you’ve been fucking are here. It will save me time because I won’t have to send my men after them.” His smile turned purely evil. “I’ve already put hits out on the rest of your family. By now your grandparents and cousin should be dead.”

Natasha felt like her head was going to spin off and she would drop to her knees. Selena gripped her arm tighter, digging her nails in. “Keep it together, Natasha.”

The way the woman said it gave Natasha pause. Maybe the woman didn’t want Natasha to end up like that man hanging over the acid.

“I’ll take a team upstairs.” Selena pointed to a screen. “No one is near that camera, which is close to the hidden door on that side of the building. We’ll take care of the agents and then we can get the hell out of here before more come.”

“My love.” Mark went to her and smiled. He brushed his lips over hers. “Be careful.”

“Of course.” She opened her Versace purse and withdrew a Beretta 9mm. Natasha recognized it from when her uncle had taught her to shoot his, in addition to the Sig. Selena gave a nod in Natasha’s direction. “It is probably not a good idea to damage the goods if we need her as a hostage.”

“They would take her regardless, if it came to that.” Mark cut his gaze to Natasha and his expression chilled her to her marrow. “While you are destroying the filth upstairs, my darling Selena, I will be enjoying my time with this bitch. I will make her suffer before they get their hands on her.”

Selena said nothing and turned away, leaving in the opposite direction from where she had made her entrance. She disappeared behind black pipes and ancient machinery. All but one of the men followed her.

Natasha set her jaw as Mark turned his attention to her.

Instead of the prickle of fear, Natasha grew angrier and angrier. “You are an evil bastard, Mark. You tricked me, used me, and now you’re going to make me suffer for
your
crimes. But I’ll tell you this. One way or another,
you
will pay.”

Mark glared at her. “Shut the fuck up or I lower you feet first into the acid right now. You’ll live long enough to feel the most excruciating pain of your life.” He nodded to the one man who had stayed behind. “Come here and watch her.”

The man pointed what looked like an automatic weapon at her as he stood between her and the barrel of acid.

Blood drained from her face, leaving cold where there had been heat. She could be killed by bullets or eaten alive by the sulfuric acid. If she went feet first into it like Mark had threatened, she would feel every agonizing moment of her oncoming death. Bullets would be better.

She clamped her jaws tight but she was certain she couldn’t keep the hatred out of her gaze as she glared at Mark.

He stared at her for a long moment before he smiled and leaned down to pick up the pruning shears he had left on the upturned paint can. “First Francis needs to lose a few fingers. Then I’ll start on yours.”

She felt sick to her stomach at the thought of losing her fingers in such a horrible way. But losing her family would be far worse than any pain she would experience at Mark’s hands.

Mark gripped the shears and walked toward Francis who flailed and screamed as if already being subjected to more mutilation.

The rope holding Francis above the acid snapped.

The fluid drowned Francis’s scream as soon as he hit it face-first.

Acid flew out of the drum as his body slammed into it. The deadly substance splashed across the floor and bulleted through the air.

Large drops landed on Natasha’s thigh, her calf, the top of her foot, above her wrist, and on her right shoulder. She cried out as the acid ate through jeans, canvas, and cotton, and reached her flesh. Pain brought tears to her eyes and she couldn’t hold back cries.

It was nothing compared to what happened in front of her.

The acid had splattered Mark, who shrieked. Acid burned through his skin on one cheek and large areas on his arms. It ate huge holes in his slacks and shirt as it made its way to his skin. His shrieks grew louder and louder.

The man who had stood between her and the drum of acid had gotten the brunt of it. He screamed even louder than Mark as he writhed on the floor, acid eating flesh from bone over his face and his eyes. Dear God. He clawed at his eyes even as the acid ate at his neck and arms. It burned holes through his clothing, exposing then devouring his chest.

His weapon clattered to the floor. He kicked it as he thrashed in agony. The gun slid across the concrete and hit the wall with a thump.

The man went still, the acid clearly having eaten through his vital organs.

She crammed her shaking hand into her purse and brought out her weapon. She held the Sig in both hands, trying to hold it steady, and pointed it at Okle.

“Center mass,”
Uncle Dexter said in her mind.
“Your best chance of hitting your attacker and bringing him down is always center mass.”

Sobbing and shaking with pain, Mark looked at her.

She squeezed the trigger.

He shifted a fraction before she got off the shot. Blood spread over the right side of his shoulder. He stumbled as he turned to run.

She pulled the trigger a second time, but heard the clang of the bullet against metal as she missed him and hit a piece of machinery to his right. He disappeared around pipes and more machinery.

~~*~~

Brooks gritted his teeth.
“Fuck.”
He’d been so sure they’d find Okle here.

Dylan shook his head. “Where the hell is he?”

Trace gestured to an area filled with more crates than Brooks could count in a sweep of his gaze. “How much you want to bet we’ll find some of those god-awful statuettes with coke in them?” Trace asked.

Brooks shook his head. “Considering I’m of the same mind as you, no bet.”

“I have to say I agree,” Landon said and Dylan nodded.

Brooks glanced around and spotted a crow bar that employees clearly used to open crates they received. He snatched up the bar and walked to one of the crates. It took some effort, but with Dylan’s help, Brooks pried off the lid and shoved it onto the floor. It hit the concrete with a crash, but he was more interested in what was inside than the noise.

Brooks pulled on a latex glove just as Landon said, “Those things really are us ugly as sin.”

Dylan nodded but said nothing as he watched.

Brooks lifted one of the statuettes with his gloved hand. He looked at the bottom of the piece and saw no way to gain access to whatever might be inside. He dropped the statuette on the floor.

The resin broke into four pieces that scattered across the concrete. In the midst of the broken statuette lying on the floor, was a clear baggie filled with a powdery white substance.

Brooks and the other three men glanced at each other before Brooks crouched and picked up the baggie. He hefted it in his hand. “I think we just hit the jackpot.”

Trace knelt on one knee beside the shards. Brooks opened the baggy and did a quick test. “Yep.” Brooks nodded as he looked at the crates. “If every one of these crates holds multiple statuettes filled with this much coke, and each crate has the same number of statuettes, we’re talking millions.”

Trace normally would have looked more pleased, but no doubt his mind was on Christie and what Okle had done.

Dylan added, “This gives us what we need to put Okle away for a long time.”

“We have him recorded threatening to kill Natasha and her family, but I think we can get him for murder.” Brooks’s eyes narrowed. “Too many mysterious disappearances around Okle.”