Wild Card (56 page)

Got it. Come to Maynes on Ridou Road.

Damn it. She was supposed to be next door, safe.

What the hell had got her out? What was ‘it’ that she’d got?

I didn’t like this.

Chapter 59

I couldn’t get through to Melissa, and I’d had to find Ridou Road on the internet. It was a dead end, a short, curved road tucked into the shadow of the huge cloverleaf interchange made by Colfax and I25.

The whole thing felt wrong.

I pulled off on the other side of the cloverleaf, and left the Hill Bitch in one of the Mile High Stadium’s overflow parking lots. From there I trotted around until I could just about make out Ridou Road snaking beneath the overpass columns. I checked the HK was snug and safe under my jacket and called José. I got lucky; he was in early.

“I’m hating this,” I said, after explaining the bare bones. “She’s not answering. Can you trace where she last used her cell?”

I could hear him swearing under his breath at the computer system.

“Damn,” he said eventually. “Cell’s turned off, but the text was sent from down near where you are.”

From where I stood, I could see beneath the overpasses across the width of the interchange. The tail end of Ridou had a couple of shabby businesses running out of squat cinder block buildings. Graffiti writhed across the sides of their walls like bizarre jungle vegetation. Further away, the road took a bend around an auto scrap yard; a high chain link fence sectioned it off, with stubby towers made of crashed cars blocking a clear view of anything beyond. There were at least two more buildings there, presumably one of them Mayne’s, whatever that was. Not far beyond lay the edge of the University campus.

A few cars and trucks were parked along the road. Most of them were no more than one short step better than the wrecks in the compound. I couldn’t see anyone moving around.

It practically shrieked
trap.
Question was, whose?

“Hold on there,” José said. “I’ll send Edmunds to you with a SWAT team. I’m going to check her apartment. There was a call from there earlier.”

While my cell had been turned off. I swore quietly.

He ended the call and I went back to looking.

No roads passed under the interchange between the campus and Ridou, but an unprotected railroad track curved through. I walked along it till I was under the overpass and had a better view.

I tried to put my worry about Melissa aside. If she was being held here, I’d find her, but I needed to stay alive and free.

So, if I wanted to set up an ambush here, what would I do?

What were the parameters?

Whoever this was, they’d want to keep it quiet and quick.

For a kill, a sniper. Very efficient and a small footprint. But there were no vantage points from this end of Ridou. The cinder block buildings were single-story and in clear sight. No sniper in his right mind would climb up and trust a wobbling, rusting pile of scrap metal from the compound.

For a capture, a trap in the building itself. That needed a bigger team, more planning. They had to keep it out of sight and it would be difficult to escape. I was
not
going into Mayne’s without backup.

For either a kill or a capture, lookouts. And if it were me, I wouldn’t make any assumption which way the target would approach.

Crap.

I stopped concentrating on one direction and took a slow walk around the overpass pillar.

Two people walking across the campus parking lot, heading this way. Maybe nothing, maybe the one was talking to a friend on a cellphone. Maybe not.

Two more, glimpsed through the interchange, coming from the other way.

I walked away from them, away from Ridou, towards the central tangle of the overpasses.

They started to jog and I went to flat out sprint, crossing the railroad track and hurdling the short fences.

Shit.
How many of them, and where were they?

A trap in Mayne’s. Sweepers on all approaches. Twenty Nagas? It’d have to be that many. They’d be spread out around the intersection. I was heading right into the middle of them, but at least I wasn’t where they’d prepared something.

How quickly would the SWAT team get here?

There was a brick building in front of me, squat as if it were crouched beneath the overpasses. A factory. Corrugated sheet metal production. All this passed in a blur as I dodged down the side and took the invitation of an open window.

From the hallway I landed in, I moved into the noisy main factory. There was no one around. I switched the lights off and it went dark. Good. I’d need every advantage I could get, and then some.

I didn’t want to use the gun unless I had to. I had no silencer and a limited number of bullets.

And there had to be workers somewhere in the building, even if I couldn’t see them. I didn’t want them caught in the crossfire.

The Nagas would kill them without blinking.

I texted José in the dark.

Trap. 20+. Armed. Special forces. Extreme caution. Backup++. Quickly.

How long? Twenty minutes, maybe, for the first of them to arrive. I needed to survive for twenty minutes.

Too long.

I slipped through the darkness. Great shadowy hulks of automated pressing machines screeched and banged. Rollers turned, and sheets of metal clanged along rolling lines to more machines that stacked them up into pallet loads.

Workers would have to come move those soon.

I couldn’t hear them through the din, but in the darkness I could almost feel the Nagas come into the factory.

They’d move cautiously. They’d know there would be a time limit, but this was a small factory and there were a lot of them. I had minutes.

There was an electrical panel on the wall. And a fire alarm. I had to get the workers out of the building or the Nagas would kill them.

I hit the alarm. I pulled the panel open and gave thanks. Good solid, industrial fuses, not rocker switches. I yanked them all and hurled them into the deepest, darkest corners of the room. The machines stopped. The alarm continued yelling. It had to work from a different electrical connection, maybe a battery somewhere.

Still, no lights coming back on for a while, boys. Find me in the dark.

But it’d slowed me down. I heard doors opening, feet running, commands grunted. I’d run out of time.

Behind the main machine room was another corridor. Offices with desks and chairs. A locker room with rolled-up blankets in the corner. All empty. Too early for the day shift to come in. And a dead end. Nowhere to go, no way back.

Shit!

I could hold them off for a few minutes with the HK, but if I’d put this team together, they’d have grenades. A couple down this corridor would end it.

Up!

But the ceiling held nothing.

No hiding spaces. Not in the ceiling, not in the offices, not in the locker room. I was trapped. I’d lost the advantage by hiding in a building. Stupid.

Deal with it. What have I got? What can I do in the next sixty seconds?

Something I really didn’t want to do, because I couldn’t predict what would happen. If anything.

Always create surprise. Surprise doubles your forces.

Well, Top, this’ll sure surprise the hell out of them, especially if it doesn’t work.

I shucked my clothes and flung them into a locker, hiding my HK beneath them.

I spread the blankets in a corner. Oh, the irony. One of the day workers must leave his dog in here on the blankets. They stank.

The alarm cut off. They’d have to be in the factory to do that. Right next door.

Thinking about that’s a distraction. Ignore it.

How had Noble described it?

Running.

I sucked the stale, oily air down into my lungs and tried to taste the sweet pine breezes of Bitter Hooks.

The strongbox groaned. I had to ignore it. Sweat popped out on my skin, as if I were really running through the woods. My head felt light. My skin felt wrong. I wanted to tear it off.

Fly behind her. See what your wolf sees. Flickering shadows of trees whip past. Sense what she senses.

Distant sweet call. Far away.

Closer. Closer. Falling.

Not the sweet pine. The smell of metals, harsh and cold. Oil. Dust. Fumes from the interstate traffic. Not the gentle sigh of wind, but the rumble of trucks. Cold, hard concrete under my feet. The staccato beat of boots outside. Now or never.

Sudden slamming.

Ow! Shit! What the hell?

All wrong. Crouched.

Have to hide, have to. Want to kill. Threat. Protect my pack. Melissa is pack. Kill!

No! Hide!

I turn and curl on blankets. Stupid dog smell. Not dog. Wolf. Threat, coming into the room. Want to kill. Killing breath shaking in my throat, slipping through my teeth.

Sounds. Meanings. Important.

Harsh voices. Excitement. Confusion.

“Clear.”

“Clear.”

“Clear.”

Lights. Flashlights shining.

“Can’t be. Where the fuck’s she gone?”

“Nothing here but a big mutt, Sarge.”

“Get out here. Russell, you’re backstop. Wait here, cover these rooms. The rest of you, next block.”

I want to kill. I don’t want to have to cower like a dog.

Squawking.

“Shit. Scout says SWAT in ten. Move. Move. Out in five. You don’t make it, you’re on your own.”

Boots not thudding like before. More shuffling now. Puzzled. Angry. Excitement gone. Moving away. Quieter.

I want to kill.

His face was pale and blank with shock, his eyes staring at the ceiling. I couldn’t see what color they were. That was strange, because I knew his name. He was called Russell. He was the backstop. He was dead. His throat was destroyed, chewed through to the spine.

Then I realized that I had bits of his flesh in my mouth.

I vomited all over him.

Cold. Cold. Shivering.

Stomach empty, still heaving.

I’d gone wolf. And I couldn’t control it.

I wiped myself down on the dirty blankets and dressed, hands shaking badly.

I had to get outside. What had they done to Melissa? What would I find at Mayne’s?

Ops 4-16 was gone. Their operation timer had hit the end and they’d just left. No one checked on Russell. Anyone who hadn’t made the call had to fend for themselves. But he hadn’t been prepared for me.

I could still taste his flesh. I would never get rid of that.

I pitched over, dry heaving again.

The front doors were open, allowing the snow to swirl into the building. I stumbled outside.

And stopped.

The SWAT team was in place.

I raised my hands, laced them on my head. “I’m Amber Farrell. I made the call to Captain Morales to bring you guys in.”

“Keep your hands up there.” The voice came from my left. “Walk forward.”

They guided me between two SWAT vans, and were about to cuff and search when Lieutenant Edmunds came running up.

“I got it guys, I got it. I know her.”

They back off and he leaned in close. “Anything in there?” he asked quietly.

“One dead. I upchucked on him,” I said, my stomach churning. “The rest got some kind of warning. Someone watching the depot, I think. They’re gone.”

He turned to the squad commander.

“There’s one body in the building. We think the others have gone. Check it carefully. I’ll be with Morales.”

“You got it, Lieutenant.”

He took my arm and started pulling.

“No, I need to check the building they set up as the trap. Melissa—”

“No time. José’s orders. Straight to her apartment.”

We trotted to a waiting squad car and I’d barely got my butt on the seat when he took off, relying on the lights and sirens to keep the road clear.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know.” He shook his head before I could even ask the question. “He just said to get there quick.”

Chapter 60

We arrived at Melissa’s apartment in Glendale and I ignored the elevator to sprint up the stairs.

The door was open. José had heard me on the stairs and he was standing just inside.

“Amber.” He tried to slow me down, tried to block the way.

I shoved him aside.

The place was barely touched. Tables and chairs were in their places. Pictures sat square on the walls. Everything screaming that it was all right. Nothing to be concerned about. Everything was normal.

Except it wasn’t.

An empty bowl was lying on the floor. The sofa blocked my view, but beyond it, I could see feet on the carpet, and the dread that had gripped me since I saw the text that morning became the sickening, white-hot pain of certainty.

I slowed. I didn’t want to see this, and I had to.

I could hear Edmunds at the door behind me. Sirens outside. Muted traffic sounds. A whole world that just kept on outside this apartment, without caring or noticing.

Another step.

Her feet had been bound together. One shoe had come off and sat there as if at any second she’d slip her foot back into it. It was her sensible working shoe, dark-colored and low-heeled. A little scuff on the toe.

Her hands had been bound behind her back.

She was wearing her gray pants and a red shirt.

Except it wasn’t a red shirt. It was white, soaked in blood.

A shiny spoon from the kitchen had fallen onto the carpet, distracting me for one last second from her face, and then it all rushed in on me.

Her eyes had been gouged out with the spoon. Then she’d been stabbed, if you could call it that. She’d been subjected to a prolonged, frenzied assault with a knife.

“…evidence of almost uncontrollable rage…” I could hear her measured description of the rogue’s handiwork as if she were standing beside me. “…140 stab wounds…”