Chapter Twenty-Seven

They swung onto the dirt road and followed the cloud of dust. They had caught up to the others, and Nicole was keeping track of updates on Emmet’s phone as he drove. She entered their location into her navigation program, and her stomach sank.

“Oh no.”

Emmet glanced at her. “What?”

“According to this map, we’re nearing a place called Rio Grande Salvage.”

“What, like a junkyard?”

“I have no idea.” She glanced at him. “But that doesn’t sound good.”

The cars in front of them sped up. They were a three-vehicle caravan, and someone had determined that they were better off without sirens. Nicole glanced out the window as they traversed what looked like fallow farmland.

“I don’t like this,” she said.

Emmet’s jaw tensed.

“This feels to me like a dumping ground,” she added. “Why else would he possibly take her all the way out here?”

He shook his head.

“You think we’re too late?”

Emmet didn’t reply. But she knew him well, and the grim look on his face was answer enough.

Shuddering, she glanced out the window again.

“Damn it.” She pounded her fist on the door.

“It’s not your fault, Nicole.”

“I should have pushed harder.”

“Harder for what?”

“With Cassandra. I knew she was lying, and I should have hounded her relentlessly until she told me what was going on.”

“It’s possible she didn’t even know what was going on.” Emmet glanced at her. “Have you thought of that? Sounds like her husband is the mastermind here.”

“She knew something about all this. I could tell. My radar was up with her from our very first conversation.”

Emmet looked at her. “You know who that D.C. guy is, right? Special Agent Raddick?”

Nicole’s stomach tightened. “No. What about him?”

“He’s in the counterintelligence division. I looked him up.”

“Counterintelligence... as in espionage?”

Emmet nodded. “Makes you wonder what Malcom McVoy’s wife might have learned about her husband’s business before she decided to leave him. Maybe he was selling sensitive technology to a foreign government or something.”

“Then this whole thing is a matter of national security. No wonder the feds are so intent on talking to her.”

Emmet lifted an eyebrow. “If she’s still alive.”

The cars in front of them slowed, and Emmet tapped the brakes. One by one, their three vehicles pulled to a stop beside a high wall made of corrugated metal. A solid black security gate barred the entrance.

Emmet’s phone buzzed, and he reached for it.

“Davis,” he answered, then glanced at Nicole. “Okay, roger that.”

She pushed open her door before he could tell her to stay in the car.

“Nicole.”

She reached for her crutches in the back.

“You need to stay here,” he said.

She planted her crutches and pulled herself to her feet.

“Nikki, come on.”

She glanced at him over the roof of the car. “What?”

“You need to stay back. You’re not in any shape to participate in a takedown right now.”

“Is that what this is?”

Before he could answer, she turned to look at the other two vehicles. All three federal agents were crowded around the trunk of their unmarked unit, dragging out tactical vests and weapons. Owen and Adam were doing the same from the LBPD vehicle.

Nicole watched Emmet pop the trunk of their car and pull out a Kevlar vest. Her throat went dry. She’d seen him gear up before, but it felt different now.

“You can’t do this on crutches,” he said, strapping the vest on.

He gave her a sharp look as he slammed the trunk shut and walked over to hand her an extra vest. “I repeat, stay here. Better yet—stay inside the car.”

She took the vest from him.

“Yo, Emmet, come on, man.”

They looked over, and Owen was motioning him to the huddle, where they were obviously putting together a plan.

Emmet dug his phone from his pocket. “Here.” He held it out it to her. “Call Brady and give him an update for us.”

She took the phone, which was obviously her consolation prize.

“And do it from the car, okay?”

She looked at the huddle again, where everyone was gearing up to either go over or through that big black gate somehow.

“Nicole.”

She looked at Emmet. He reached up and gently touched her cheek, right there in front of Owen and Adam and everyone.

“Please?” he said, and the plea in his eyes made her chest hurt.

“Fine.”

His hand dropped. “Thank you.”

Twenty-six acres,” Agent Raddick was telling everyone. “Looks like it’s divided into rectangular sections.”

Everyone peered down at the satellite map on the agent’s tablet.

“I called the number posted on the gate there.”

Emmet turned around as the younger FBI agent rushed over with his phone in his hand. His cheeks were flushed, as though just wearing his vest was putting a strain on him. He seemed to be the tech expert here. Did the guy even have SWAT training? Emmet doubted it. He seemed like he spent more time in front of a computer than conducting tactical operations.

“And?” Driscoll asked him.

“And someone’s coming.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know,” the agent said. “The voice was all garbled. But someone definitely picked up.”

A low metallic groan had everyone turning toward the entrance. The gate was tall—at least fifteen feet—and it slid open slowly on a rusty wheel.

A stocky man in a white hard hat walked out. He wore mud-streaked jeans and a fluorescent orange vest. He stopped short when he spied the group of cops in tactical gear. His hands shot into the air, and he let loose a stream of Spanish.

“Shit.” Raddick looked around. “Anyone speak Spanish?”

Driscoll walked over and started talking to the guy, clearly trying to calm him down. The man kept his hands above his head as Driscoll did a quick pat-down. Then they spoke for a few moments, and Driscoll showed the man something on his phone. The man nodded.

Driscoll pointed to the nearest stack of tires, and the guy cast another wary look at the cops before walking over and taking a seat on the ground.

Driscoll tromped back over, tucking his phone into his pocket. “He’s here.”

“Who?” Emmet asked.

“McVoy. This guy identified him from a photo. Said he got here about twenty minutes ago and he was alone.”

Emmet shot a look at Owen.

“How did he get here?” Owen asked.

“In a silver car.”

A silver car. Such as the one that had been tailing Nicole this week? Emmet glanced over his shoulder to where she leaned against the squad car, talking on the phone with someone—presumably Brady—while watching him intently. She’d put the Kevlar vest on at least, but she did not look happy to be on the sidelines.

Well, that was too bad. Emmet didn’t like her presence here at all, and his concern for her safety was a huge distraction when he needed to be focused on the mission.

“Where is he now?” Owen asked the agent.

“In sector five. Cinco, he said. He told me that’s the far northwest corner of the property. He drove over there in his car.”

“And what’s he doing here?” Emmet asked.

Driscoll shook his head. “The guy claims he doesn’t know, so that’s as far as I got. I think he’s scared shitless. I get the impression McVoy paid him off to let him in here in the first place.”

“We need to get in there,” Emmet said.

“Shouldn’t we wait for backup?” the tech guy said.

“No time,” Driscoll responded. “She could be alive.”

“We’re burning time already,” Owen added. “And the longer we stand around, the more we risk McVoy figuring out we’re here, and then we lose the element of surprise.”

“Let’s try to keep the temperature down, okay?” Raddick looked around as everyone checked their weapons. “We want him in custody, not dead. We need to question him.”

That wasn’t Emmet’s top priority, but he didn’t waste time arguing.

“We need to move now,” Emmet said. “How far away is sector five? We talking half a mile? What?”

“I didn’t ask,” Driscoll said. “Let’s take the cars. They’ll provide cover in case he’s armed.”

Owen sneered. “This guy makes war toys for the DoD. You bet your ass he’s armed.”

Nicole watched with a mix of dread and envy as the vehicles rolled through the gate and disappeared into what looked to be a maze of junk: crushed cars, piles of tires, rows and rows of rusted-out appliances. She waited until they were gone and texted Brady.

Then she crutched toward the still-open gate, nodding at the guy in the hard hat who sat obediently at the base of the wall. Agent Raddick had cuffed the man’s hands behind him, probably in case he got any ideas about picking up a phone and tipping someone off about their presence here.

The smell of diesel and rotting vegetation wafted toward her as she entered the salvage yard. It was eerily quiet except for the faint sound of a distant machine—maybe a truck or bulldozer. Just inside the gate was a dilapidated trailer, likely where the groundskeeper worked. Judging from the solar panels and satellite dishes mounted to the roof, he possibly even lived there, too.

Nicole glanced around, looking for any other vehicles. There was an old moped parked near the trailer, but that was it.

A low hum overhead pulled her attention skyward.

A drone.

Dread washed over her as she stared up at the distant dot. Was it one of McVoy’s? It was way the hell up there, making a wide loop over the property. She had to tell Emmet.

She reached for the phone in her pocket. But it was Emmet’s phone.

“Crap!”

She pulled her phone from the other pocket and texted Owen. She had to warn them. Their stealth approach was blown to hell, and their risk level had just increased exponentially.

!!Drone surveillance!! You copy?

She waited, heart pounding, as her stomach filled with acid.

You copy??

She stared down at her cracked screen. No answer.

“Damn it.”

Nicole rushed back to the car.

Malcom hopped down from the backhoe and pointed the pistol at her face. The front of his black shirt was streaked with dirt.

“Over there.” He gestured to the hole.

“Malcom—”

“Now. Come on.” He strode up to her, anger flashing in his eyes, and Cassandra knew he was on a short fuse. Malcom hadn’t been satisfied with the hole the man had dug, and then he’d gotten angry and embarrassed when he climbed into the backhoe himself but couldn’t get it running at first.

He was at his most dangerous when he was embarrassed.

“Now!” He yanked her arm, and she stumbled toward the mound of dirt.

“Don’t do this, Malcom. Please.”

She turned to plead with him, and fury in his eyes flared. He gave her a shove that sent her tripping into the hole, where she landed on her side, hard. She scrambled to her feet and screamed—a shrill, panicked sound that echoed off the high dirt walls.

He stepped to the edge of the hole and aimed the gun at her.