Cold Snap (45 page)

“Take it easy, buddy.” One of his captors—Jim, his partner had called him—checked Sean’s restraints.

“Your boss said she wouldn’t hurt the kid,” Sean said.

Jim didn’t look happy but he said, “We don’t know what’s going on. Ann’s in charge. She knows what she’s doing. And that kid stole something that we need, or we’ll all be dead. She probably fired in warning.”

“Five times?”

Jim seemed to want to convince himself of that because he nodded emphatically and continued to pack up crystal meth into one-pound bags. There was well over a million dollars in product here. Probably more—Sean didn’t know much about the meth trade. His brothers knew far more, and would probably know exactly how this operation worked and how much money was at stake.

Jeff walked in and glared at Sean. “Bastard.” To Jim, he said, “Carl is getting antsy. We have to pack up now.”

“What d’ya think I’m doing?”

“How long?”

“One hour, tops. But we’ll have to leave the equipment behind.”

“Forget the fucking equipment, we’re blowing the trailer. Don’t want to leave behind any prints.” He stared at Sean. “Or witnesses.”

“You’re going to kill Micah and Tommy, too?” Sean said. “You had me fooled. I thought you actually cared about them.”

Jeff punched Sean in the jaw. Blood filled his mouth. He spit it out. Damn, that hurt. Jeff shook out his hand.

“If it weren’t for you, everything would have been fine. Micah would have come back. I would have explained what happened, he would have understood!”

“That you killed his mom?”

“I didn’t kill Vicky! She OD’d.”

Sean wasn’t sure what had happened to Micah’s mother, but Micah was certain that Ann had killed her. “So you just buried her in the middle of the woods and thought that her son would be okay with that?”

Jim said, “Jeff, take this box, it’s ready. If you send Paul and Cynthia to help, we might get out of here faster.”

“Cynthia is watching Tommy.”

“I told you Vicky was bad news. A drug addict with kids.”

“She was clean.”

Jim snorted. “Not for long. If you weren’t Ann’s brother, she’d never have let you bring her.”

“Shut the fuck up and do your job.” Jeff ran his hands through his hair. “I’ll send Paul in.” He glared at Sean, then left the trailer.

“He didn’t take the box,” Jim mumbled. “Jerk.”

Sean looked around and assessed the trailer. They’d shut down production, but they still had a lot of chemicals that were not only dangerous to inhale, they were highly combustible. The production line had been functional. The trailer had been gutted and divided in half, with one room—which Sean could only see through the open door—used for cooking the meth, and the other for filtering and packaging. They had a station to make individual doses but that was empty—it appeared that they were in the process of making doses when Ann decided to pack up. They’d have been out of here in a week or two no matter what.

Sean had thought most of the meth superlabs were in Mexico since the US had a tight control on pseudoephedrine. But it looked like Ann had gotten her hands on the raw materials. How? Through Mexico? A local pharmaceutical company? The DEA would have a field day with this lab, and shutting it down would definitely put a crimp in the supply chain.

They’d already distributed some of their product. Why keep it around if they had a great production system? Then they could shut down in winter and pop up back here or another backcountry hideout next spring.

Paul came into the trailer. Jim said, “Take those boxes to the truck. I want to be ready to go when Ann gets back with the book.”

“I gotta talk to you.” He glanced at Sean. “Outside.”

“He can’t do anything to us.”

“Just come.”

Jim swore and left with Paul. This wasn’t good. They’d taken his wallet. The ranger probably ran his ID. They’d know he was a licensed private investigator. They’d assume he was up here on the job, and if they did the bare minimum of homework, they could easily find out about Rogan-Caruso-Kincaid Protective Services. RCK handled personal and cyber security—Sean and his brother Duke focused on the cyber end. The furthest thing from hunting down meth labs as there was, but they wouldn’t know that.

How much time had passed since Lucy made the call to the FBI? Thirty, forty minutes? And Sean had no idea if she’d even gotten through, or how long it would take to mobilize a team. The lab was in the middle of nowhere, so even the closest FBI regional office was more than an hour drive. It would take time to mobilize a SWAT team. Would they be here in an hour? Two? Come in quiet or in helicopters? Sean hoped quiet.

They were on their own, at least for now. Sean had to get Tommy out of harm’s way, then track down Micah and Lucy.

First he had to get out of his restraints.

They’d used zip ties on his wrists, which would be easy to break if he had any maneuverability—unfortunately, they’d also tied each of his ankles to the chair.

He looked around. Lots of corners. The closest to him that might work to sever the restraints was only a foot to his right, but he would have to turn his chair around to put his back to it, then twist in order to saw off the zip tie.

He jumped in the chair and turned it a quarter-turn. Did it again and it was almost in position.

The door opened and the ranger came in. Carl. His name plate read “C. Nelson.”

“Sean Rogan, private investigator. Who hired you?”

“I was up here on a camping trip with my girlfriend. I already told Jeff that. And Ann. And I think I discussed it with Jim and Paul when they were tying me up.”

The ranger backhanded him, then repeated, “Who hired you?”

Sean didn’t answer. Carl Nelson was an ass, and it was clear to Sean that he wasn’t just a bribed official—he was either in charge, or working closely with Ann. The others were hired help or, in Jeff’s case, family. Carl was a leader.

Sean would fare better outside. If they moved him, they would have to untie his ankles. He’d have to time it right.

Or they might just shoot him here and burn the trailer.

Jim stepped in and whispered something to Carl. All Sean heard was “radio,” and Carl scowled.

“Pack everything up, you have fifteen minutes and we’re leaving the rest. I don’t know what the hell’s going on, but if Ann doesn’t find that book she’d better not fucking come back because I’ll shoot her myself. Where’s my brother? I need to talk to him.”

Brother?

The two men left, but Paul and Jim both returned with boxes for the crystal meth. They were loading the material up fast.

If Paul and Jim were here packing up, that meant Jeff was Carl’s brother. Jeff, Ann, and Carl Nelson. Family operation. Which was why Jeff was able to bring in Vicky and her kids.

Sean wanted to believe Jeff wouldn’t hurt the boys but he couldn’t be certain of that, and Jeff might not have a choice. Carl was angry about something. It gave Sean hope that Lucy had overpowered Ann.

Except they hadn’t said anything about Lucy. They hadn’t asked Sean about her. That meant they didn’t know she was here, and assumed she was still tied up in the woods where Ann left her.

Dammit, he didn’t know what was going on, and without being able to communicate with Lucy or know where she was or what the gunshots were, Sean was going in blind.

There was a lot of commotion outside. The trucks had been started, there was the clang of metal on metal. Hooking up the trailers? It would slow them down. Sean heard an ATV roar into life, then fade off into the distance.

Someone was looking for Ann.

One less person. Great, one against four instead of five.

Sean waited until both Jim and Paul had left with two more boxes, then he turned his chair one more time, twisted his body to the side, and used a metal corner on the trailer frame to saw off the zip ties. His wrists were raw from straining, but in less than fifteen seconds the ties broke.

The knots on the ropes around his ankles were simple, and he quickly got one off before he heard voices. He took off the second and slipped into the adjoining room just before the door opened.

“Shit, where is he?”

Sean looked around and all he saw was danger. A tank of ether, ammonia, bottles of hydrochloric acid, butane—he was sitting on a bomb. He grabbed a bottle of hydrochloric acid. Then he saw his knife on the table. He quickly pocketed it.

“Put that away!” Paul said. “You fire a gun in here and we’ll all blow up.” Then, “Rogan, we know you’re in the lab. You couldn’t have gotten out. Step out slowly. Come out now and we’ll let you get some fresh air.”

They’d shoot him as soon as he stepped outside. But he’d have a chance.

“I’m coming out,” he said. He stepped into the doorway between the lab and the packaging room. Jim still had his gun out but it was at his side. Paul stepped forward.

“What’s in your hand?” he demanded.

Sean opened his fist so he could see.

“Put that down!” Paul said through clenched teeth. “Do you want to kill all of us?”

Sean shrugged. “Catch!” He tossed the bottle at Paul, whose eyes grew wide as he tried to catch it.

Sean rushed Jim. He brought his arm up to shoot, but not fast enough. Sean decked him with one fist and disarmed him with his other hand. Paul caught the bottle, then turned to Sean, panicked. “Don’t—”

Sean jumped out of the trailer. Carl was standing next to his ranger truck, barking orders to a young woman. Cynthia, most likely. Carl saw Sean and drew his gun.

Sean didn’t want a gunfight. He ran behind the meth lab, hoping Carl wouldn’t be stupid enough to fire his gun into it. But he didn’t have much time.

He checked Jim’s gun. It was a nice little 9 mm—the guy had kept his gun well maintained, but it was completely empty. Why carry an unloaded gun?

There was nowhere to go.

The cliff was to the west, open space to the east, and south was the charred remains of woods coming back from a forest fire.

There was no place to run.

He was trapped.

He looked up. He didn’t have the luxury of time. Without hesitating he jumped, and his fingers caught the edge of the trailer. The rush of adrenaline from his escape helped give him the strength to pull himself up and onto the roof. He hoped the shouts and confusion below would mask the sounds as he scrambled up the side of the trailer. He lay flat on the roof and waited.

And prayed they didn’t figure out where he’d gone.

CHAPTER 8

At the sound of the approaching ATV, Lucy pushed Micah flat on the ground, then covered his body with hers. As long as the driver didn’t turn around, his headlights should miss them. She couldn’t tell who the driver was, but the silhouette appeared male.

As soon as it passed them, she helped Micah up.

“He’s going to find Ann.”

“But he won’t find the ledger.” She’d camouflaged the hole with leaves and sticks, blending it into the surrounding area. She’d considered taking it with them, but figured it would be safer hidden. If they got captured with it, Lucy wouldn’t have any leverage to keep them alive.

She looked at her phone and was surprised there was a text message from Noah. The phone had no signal, but the message had come through thirty minutes ago—while she’d been tracking Ann and Micah through the woods.

FBI SWAT + DEA team en route ETA 2015 locked on Rogan’s GPS. Team leader DEA Agent Alex Johnson. Confirm to all when possible. Four male, two female suspects. Two minor hostages.

She replied to all. The message wouldn’t go through until there was a signal, but it would keep trying.

Sean has been taken captive, no confirmation on location. Minor child Tommy Sanders in one of the trailers. Minor child Micah Sanders with me. Operating meth lab on south side of encampment. Ranger at camp. They’re shutting down fast. One female suspect dead. Confirm four male and one female suspects, two hostages.

She looked at the time. Twenty-five minutes before SWAT arrived, and that was assuming they knew exactly where they were and could come in quietly. Sound carried in the valley, and if Ann’s crew knew they were trapped, Tommy and Sean became more vulnerable. SWAT wouldn’t want a gun battle because of the meth lab.

“What’s wrong?” Micah asked.

“It’s okay. SWAT is on their way.”

“Your forehead is all squishy. You’re worried.”

Smart kid. “They won’t be here for nearly thirty minutes. We need to get Tommy to safety so he isn’t a hostage. This is where I really need you to listen to me. We’re going to your trailer. If Tommy’s there, I want you to take him to the boulders where I made my phone call. Stay hidden in the rocks no matter what you see or hear. Got it? I need to know you and Tommy are safe so I can focus on finding Sean.”

Micah nodded. “Okay.”

“I will come back for you when it’s safe.”

“What if … what if something happens?”

“Stay at the rocks. The FBI will find you there.”

He hugged her spontaneously. “Be careful, Lucy.”

Lucy led Micah back down the path toward the camp. They stayed as low to the ground as possible, but the closer to the camp they got the less tree coverage they had.

She lay flat on the damp ground and surveyed the area. Micah lay next to her.

The ranger and the two men who had taken Sean were rushing around, shouting, and looking worried. As she watched, one of them was loading boxes into one of the trucks while the other two had guns out and were searching the immediate area.

He got away.

That was the most plausible explanation for why they were acting so worried. Unless there were more people involved and they knew the FBI and DEA were on their way through another source.

She didn’t have time to contemplate the situation, but Sean was always resourceful.

There was no sign of the woman, Cynthia, who Micah had said was probably watching Tommy in the trailer. She also didn’t see Jeff anywhere. He must have been driving the ATV.

She whispered, “We’re going to be exposed for several yards. Stick close to the cliff—there’s enough foliage there to partly cover us. But we’re heading for your trailer, okay?” Fortunately, the door was on the side away from where the men were loading the trucks.