Chapter Thirty-Three

O livia shared a glance with Brock as the phone buzzed between them for a few moments. “Should we answer it?”

Olivia nodded toward it. “Go ahead.”

Brock took the phone up into his hands. With the hesitation of a man about to blow his cover, he swiped the answer button and switched the phone over to speaker. “Hello.”

“Hello?” A sobbing woman on the other end sniffed before going on. “Alasdair?”

“This isn’t Alasdair, unfortunately,” Brock answered. “Alasdair’s has been arrested.”

Another sniff and a huge gasp. “What? Oh, no!”

“Is this Angela Schmidt?” Olivia centered her question on the phone’s speaker, all attention on the device. She tried to keep her voice calm to bring some order to the situation.

“Yes, yes, this is Angela! Who is this?”

Olivia exchanged another look with Brock and then back down at the phone. “We’re with the FBI,” Brock answered. We’ve apprehended Alasdair’s phone for a case we’re working.”

“Are you in danger?” Olivia asked.

Another series of sobs broke through the line. “Oh no. Oh, no. What am I going to do? Alasdair, he was my only hope.”

Olivia bit her tongue to avoid spilling the terrible news that Alasdair was nothing but a player. It appeared as though somewhere along the line he had gotten his talons into Angela, too. “Angela, I need you to listen to me. We’re with the FBI, we can help you. Are you in danger?”

Another hiccupped sob. “Yes. My husband... he’s going to kill me.”

Olivia’s gaze snapped up to meet Brock’s and her eyes went wide. “Okay. Can you tell me where you are?”

“I’m at his warehouse. He trapped me here, but he said he’s going to come back.”

“You’re at the warehouse?” With each answer, Olivia’s adrenaline began to spike with the drive to get to Angela before it was too late.

“Yes.”

Brock sprang into action. Holding up a finger, he mouthed “Hold on a moment,” and rushed toward one of the bags stashed in the corner. To anyone walking into their hotel room, they’d think that it was nothing more than their own personal luggage. If they zipped it open, as Brock did now, they’d find a whole bunch of high-tech gear, special for wiretapping and recording phone calls, also serving to pinpoint locations. Brock knew as well as Olivia did that they had to verify that Angela was telling the truth. He brought it over to the desk, putting the pieces into place. “ Okay, let’s take it from the top,” He spoke as he worked. “Is your husband with you now?”

“No. He left. I don’t know where he went, or why. But he said he was going to come back.”

“ Can you tell us what happened?” Olivia asked, watching as Brock finished hooking up the recorder and pushed the button, listening intently through his headset.

“Oh, it’s terrible. I found out some awful, awful news today when I stumbled across my husband’s phone. You know the kids from Cape Fremont who have been going missing lately?”

They knew them very well, actually. Olivia nodded. “Yes.”

“I guess he’s involved somehow.”

So it was confirmed. Carl was the other accomplice. Olivia held her breath, not wanting to miss a single moment of this and leaned forward as if it would help her hear Angela better.

“He has connections with some higher-up boss behind all of it. I don’t know who, but his boss was angry at him earlier today. I heard him yelling over the phone. Then, he got in his car and sped out of here about three hours ago.”

Olivia glanced at the clock. Three hours. Right around the time that Alasdair’s arrest would have been made known. “Go on.”

“I was worried about him when he didn’t come back, so I followed him. We have the location-sharing service on our phones, and I used that to find him. I found him at the warehouse that Alasdair uses. My husband was in the back room, cleaning up some stuff... and when he turned around and saw me, he completely lost it. That’s when I saw it. There were beds with handcuffs. I asked how he knew about this. He came undone and lost his temper. We had a fight and he locked me in this back room. He said he’d be back, but I don’t know where he went. All I know is that he said he was going to kill me when he got back!”

“Did he hurt you?” Brock asked.

“Yes. He beat me up. ”

“We’ve got to help her.” Olivia nodded to the phone, communicating the intensity through her eyes to Brock. She kept her voice low to avoid Angela overhearing.

Brock nodded. “Listen, Angela, we’re going to send out some help. Your husband, what’s his name?”

Angela sniffed. “Carl.”

“Carl,” Olivia remembered it from before, but it was good to have the information confirmed. “That’s good. How do you know Alasdair?”

“Family friend. Carl has connections with his shipping company. Carl works in the medical supply industry and ships through Alasdair. It’s all business, but we met at a party one time and really hit it off.”

“I see.” Olivia smelled an affair and wondered if it was the real reason behind Carl’s anger. Then she reminded herself that Carl was involved with Alasdair’s trafficking ring and was probably terrified that his wife would report him to the authorities. Little did he know she already had, inadvertently. “Alasdair is one of the kindest people I’ve ever known. Carl and I, well, we haven’t had the best relationship. The last two years have been great, but before that, we fought all the time. Alasdair told me that if I ever needed anything, I should call him. That’s why I’m here.”

Brock gave Olivia a thumbs up, whispering only to her. “I’ve got her location. She really is at the warehouse.”

Olivia nodded. “Okay, Angela, we see where you’re at. We’re going to come to you, okay? Going to get in touch with the state police—”

“Oh, no!” Angela wailed. “Please, don’t call the police! Carl and his boss have connections with the South Carolina State Police and I don’t know which cops are dirty and which ones aren’t!”

“Then it’s up to us,” Olivia muttered to Brock. This thing was bigger than she thought. How could Carl have gotten in with the local police? Was Billy himself in on this? Olivia didn’t want to take any chances. Carl probably had no idea that they were onto him, and unless he found out that Angela had talked to them, they could use Angela’s conversation Brock had recorded and the element of surprise to take him into custody.

“We’re on our way to you.” Brock leaned closer to the phone, speaking calmly in hopes that his serenity would pass to her. “We’re on our way.”

“Thank you. Thank you. Please, hurry. He’s going to kill me.”

No, he wasn’t. Olivia would make sure of that. She hung up the phone and slipped it into her pocket in case it was needed further. “We can’t let Carl get to her.”

She and Brock shot to their feet. Olivia grabbed the keys and hurried out of the hotel room, Brock shadowing close at her heels.

They sprinted to the car and Olivia practically flew into the driver’s seat. After starting the engine, she roared back out onto the street to cut through historic downtown. Traffic was light this time of night, if any cars at all, which made it easier to hurry through the streets toward the warehouse just outside of town. She reached and flicked on the hidden lights on her dash, allowing her to drive fast through downtown without fear of repercussions. She couldn’t risk getting pulled over for pushing the speed limit, not that she was driving too crazy anyway.

“I can’t believe it.” Brock’s voice was filled with the awe and wonder of a mystery reader who had just been thrown a curveball. “All this time and it was the smiling, happy couple who welcomed us with open arms when we first got here.”

“Well, it’s Carl at least.” Olivia navigated around one of the cars that had pulled to the side of the road to allow her to pass. “Angela has no idea what he’s been into. I wonder how he got tied up with Alasdair.”

“How many other people has he roped in?” Brock mused aloud. “Watch this guy, here.”

Olivia saw the guy that Brock was talking about, a guy who braked in the middle of the road, rather than pulling to the side. He only eased over a little bit, causing her to have to straddle the lane to go around him. “Genius,” she muttered once she had safely passed and returned to her lane. She turned onto Main Street, glad that all the cars worked themselves into the right lane so she could ride safely in the left lane, next to the turn lane.

“I wonder if she has any idea that Alasdair is Carl’s boss,” Brock continued his train of thought.

“I don’t think she does. If she did, she wouldn’t have called on him for help.” Olivia turned onto the street that would take them to the warehouse.

“That,” Brock agreed. “And it sounds like she didn’t even know her husband was involved until today.”

Olivia gripped the wheel. Seconds passed before she and Brock pulled back into the warehouse. The yellow crime scene tape still wrapped around the building as law enforcement still had a need to return to it, but her headlights illuminated a red sports car parked in the back alley where they had found Susanna’s surfboard. Anyone driving by would have missed it, but all of Olivia’s attention was on point as she scanned her surroundings, and found it parked by the building.

“Carl drove the sports car,” she murmured. “And he drove it here. He’s back.”

“We gotta be careful.” Brock pulled his gun out and Olivia did the same. Olivia switched off all the lights in her car and got out. The forest was alive with cicadas and crickets, a chorus that easily drowned out quieter noises. Olivia didn’t even bother closing the door as she raced around to the front of the car with Brock, drawing her weapon out of the holster. They had chosen to park in the front lot, meaning they had to pick their way carefully into the alley to get to the room where Angela said she was being held. Side by side with Brock, she sprinted toward the side of the warehouse and pressed her back against it to lean around to the side, peering down the alley and deciding in seconds that no obvious threats were lurking there. The door that led to where the victims were held captive was open, but no sounds emerged from the room. Had Carl already gotten to Angela? Were they too late ?

She quietly rounded the corner of the warehouse, taking her time. She placed her feet lightly to avoid the obvious crunch of the dirt road under her tennis shoe. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears as she tentatively called to the open door, identified herself, and listened for the faintest noise.

No answer, no scurrying, not even the sound of heavy breathing. Olivia hated situations like this. If Carl were inside, he’d have the upper hand, shooting at anything that came through that door. Olivia pressed her back against the wall as she settled in right next to the door. Brock came up beside her, and she fumbled in her pocket, her fingers closing around a mirror. Brock nodded to her as she pulled it out, holding it up to reflect her face, drawn and heavy with exhaustion, before turning it to reflect the inside of the warehouse. It was hard to make out anything from the shadows that encased the inside of the room, but no movement reflected back at her. She turned the mirror this way and that, able to make out the rows of beds, the drugs, the room that had been searched with a fine-toothed comb earlier. Why hadn’t it been cleared yet? And why had Carl returned to the scene of the crime? What was he hoping to accomplish? There was nothing there that could tie the crimes to him, it was all to his boss. Right? Suddenly, a sinking feeling hit Olivia like a rock in her stomach. Something wasn’t right.

Satisfied that no one was in the room, she made eye contact with Brock as she slid the mirror back into her pocket. Her lips formed the words, one, two, three before she jumped into full view of the door. She leveled her weapon with outstretched arms, pointing to each corner of the room, and all of her senses stood at attention. Brock followed her with a flashlight behind her in one hand, gun in the other. The flashlight bathed the room in light and gave Olivia the courage to take another step, further into the room, piece by piece. She picked her way along the rows of beds, but no one hid behind them. There had been signs of a struggle, though, toward the back where it hadn’t been, before. Some of the bed sheets on the made beds were rumpled and a stand was tipped over, spilling its contents onto the floor.

Olivia sighed, glancing back at Brock. “She’s not here.” She dared to speak in her normal voice. “But there are signs of a struggle.”

Brock nodded, his eyes going toward the tipped-over stand. “Where is she?”

A bloodcurdling scream rent the air, coming from the outside. The direction sounded farther away from the door, perhaps over by the other side of the warehouse they hadn’t been to yet. Brock ripped around to face the door and Olivia felt a chill tingle down her spine. There she was.

“ Help me! Help me!! Help me, somebody!”

Brock sprinted, gun at the ready. Olivia didn’t waste any time as she followed after him, following the sound to the outside. A woman’s scream rose above the treetops behind the warehouse, her voice breaking under the desperate screams of pure terror. “ Help meeee! ”

“Angela!” They broke into a jog, following the sound of the screams. The sound was louder at the far end of the warehouse. Around the corner, one of the lights attached to the side illuminated a shadow of a person, holding another person, shrinking from them. By the way the shadow moved up and down and thrashed to the side, Olivia assumed the person was struggling.

“He’s got her.” Olivia poured everything into her run, the nerves, the adrenaline rush to get to her as Angela cried out and screamed again. Once they broke around the corner, a silhouette of a man holding a woman tightly clamped to his chest became visible. He kept to the shadows formed by the towering wall of the warehouse where the streetlamp or attached lights could not reach. It was hard to pick out any features with the backdrop of the streetlights behind them, but there was no mistaking that the woman was struggling. She gave little grunts, bucking and thrashing her body about, but the man had a hold of her. He was dragging her backward and she raised her legs into the air, kicking violently before he set her back down again and yanked her backward.

“Somebody help me, please!”

“FBI, freeze! Let the hostage go!” There was no way Olivia would shoot at a moving target with the hostage. Her hands were tied, she realized, unless Angela was out of the picture. She opted to lower her weapon and continue the chase as the man dragged her back around the opposite corner, to the front of the warehouse. Oh, that was smart. Right in plain view of anyone driving by or looking to see where the screams were coming from. Olivia knew the warehouse wasn’t that far from the neighborhood, so she expected the police to come rolling in at any minute. She hoped. Then again, everyone was inside with their air conditioning cranked up full notch and the cicadas were doing a fine job of drowning out any outdoor noise that might have reached them.

An arm leaned around the corner of the warehouse. “Look out!” Brock cried as he and Olivia dove toward the ground. A few rounds splintered the foliage behind where she’d been standing. Her free hand came up, covering her head as Brock hovered above her, protecting her with his body. When the shots finally ceased, Olivia did a mental inventory. No new pains. Good. She scrambled to her feet beside Brock and continued the chase, saving her ammunition for when they broke around the corner.

“You’re okay, right?” Brock kept casting glances at her as he lengthened his strides to take him closer to the corner where they had disappeared. “You’re okay?”

“Yes.” Olivia nodded, just as another even more terrified scream split the air. “But Angela’s not!”

She pressed her back against the warehouse and dared a quick look around the corner, just in time to see Angela’s leg kick out one more time before disappearing into the front door of the warehouse.

“He took her inside!” Olivia hissed, springing around the corner and heading for the front door before Carl could lock it .

Brock spun out from the other side of the wall and shouted loud enough for anyone to hear. “Let the hostage go, Carl! We know who you are! Your boss is in jail. We can work this out. Come out with your hands up!”

“Let the hostage go!” Olivia repeated, clutching at her firearm.

Their only answer was another scream, one that echoed in the warehouse. “No. No. Noooo! Help me, please! He’s going to kill me, ahhh! Help!”

Brock swore under his breath. Shoulder to shoulder, they picked up their pace, the front door closer with each step. She could hear Angela’s sobbing getting louder, but it didn’t sound like it was right by the warehouse door that Carl had foolishly left open. Her sobs came from somewhere farther back inside the warehouse.

“Olivia, wait!” Brock warned her, but she threw his warning to the wind and appeared in the doorway within seconds. Her thinking was that if Angela was father back in the warehouse, that meant that Carl wasn’t holding her right by the door. She had time to get in and assess the situation before he fired back at her.

Which is exactly what happened. She followed them into the warehouse, Brock muttering something behind her and following her. “Be careful.”

“I’m always careful,” she bit out through ground teeth. She knew what she was doing. She wasn’t willing to take the few seconds it took to secure herself to risk Angela getting shot. What had happened during the time it took Olivia and Brock to get there? Angela must have somehow escaped the other room, probably waiting by the door, so when Carl yanked it open, she ran. He must have caught up with her by the other end of the warehouse and when they showed up, he dragged her back here.

Olivia could hardly see anything but towering shadows of boxes and totes stacked higher than a man, pallets with much of the same making up a nice little maze for her to work her way through. The lights weren’t on, so she relied on the streetlight flooding the doorway to make out the shadows. Her ears were all attention as she followed the sound of Angela’s crying somewhere near the back of the spacious room. Her sobs rose to hit the ceiling, bouncing around amid the low-hanging vents and the metal rafters before bouncing back down to the cavernous room again, stocked with medical supplies. How ironic, Olivia thought, that a man who harmed other human beings hid under the guise of one who helped them by shipping and handling medical supplies.

Every muscle in Olivia’s body hardened to something akin to stone. Her hands gripped her firearm, her eyes large and not missing anything. Movement near the back caught her eye. A man about the size of Carl dropped a body onto the ground behind a large stack of totes that were stacked as high as a man’s waist and pointed the barrel of a gun down at the body he threw down. Angela’s sobbing continued from behind the stack of totes where he was. At least they had him in sight.

He stood right in the path of the light that spilled in from the streetlight right out front. It took Olivia a moment, but she was able to make out the familiar features of Carl’s face, the pointed nose, the set jawline, the twitch of a smirk on his face. He then turned and faced them. The only thing between him and where Olivia stood with Brock was a stack of totes that concealed his lower half and Angela, lying behind it, sobbing her lungs out. Now that he didn’t have Angela in his arms, Olivia kept her weapon trained on him. “Let her go, Carl. She’s your wife. You don’t want to do this.”

A hearty laugh shook his body. “Olivia! Brock! I see HR’s gotcha out doing some fieldwork, do they? How do they feel about you waving guns at people?”

Behind the totes, Angela kept sobbing. No more words, no more pleading but just a continual strain of crying. Carl kept his gun aimed right at her, too cool and calm for the escalated situation.

“You heard us,” Brock growled. “We’re with the FBI. Put your weapon down and let the hostage go. ”

“ Stop! ” Carl commanded and the hand that held the gun shook out, to emphasize the point. “One more step and she dies. Prematurely. She’s going to die anyway, but if you keep moving, her blood will be on your heads. Don’t take another step.”

Angela kept sobbing, grating on Olivia’s nerves not because it was annoying, but because it meant Carl would stoop so low as to point a gun to his own wife’s head and use her as a control tactic. She stopped, putting all her weight on the foot that was about to take a step forward and brought her other foot up to align with it. She widened her stance for balance but didn’t take another step. Brock came up beside her, flanking her on the right side. It was two against one at this point, but still, Carl had the upper hand. She tried again. “Let Angela go. We have Alasdair Crosby in custody, and he can’t get to you anymore. We can work this out. Just let Angela go.” Sure, they could work it out. Olivia knew it would work out about as well as a criminal telling a judge that he promised never to commit another crime, but right now, all she cared about was saving Angela.

“Oh, so you know all about it, do you?” he mocked. “Well, let me tell you how this is going to work. You both are going to drop your weapons and kick them over to your left side or I blow her brains all over the floor of this warehouse.” He gave his demands in an authoritative tone that left no room for argument. “Got it?”

Angela’s crying remained the same, which struck Olivia as slightly odd. Normally, at any type of enhanced threat, a hostage would cry harder, descend into hysterics or at least beg for help. Angela’s cries kept the same sound and wavelength. She must be ready to give up. Or something else was wrong.

“ Do it now or she dies!”

“Wait!” Olivia cried. She had no time to sit here analyzing how Angela was crying. Every situation was different. Gritting her teeth, she mentally kicked herself for not bothering to call for backup. She had her cell phone on her, but how quickly could she get to it? She wasn’t thinking about that now. She was more worried about the sobbing woman on the other side of the totes. “We’re doing it. Don’t shoot her.”

A smug grin lined his face. “That’s it. Do it now. Faster!” At the word faster , he shook the gun at his wife.

Olivia lowered her gun to the cold ground in perfect sync with Brock, who gritted his teeth audibly. “This is the second time this has happened.”

“Yeah, and we lived the last time, didn’t we?” Olivia muttered to him and rose, her hands in the surrender position, overcrowding Brock’s as he did the same.

“Now, kick them to your left.”

To your left? Oddly specific.

Olivia didn’t see Brock kick his gun, but she heard it skitter across the floor in front of her. She worked her tennis shoe around the gun and slid it to her left side as well. As angry as this made her, she already formed a plan. There was only one of Carl and two of them. One of them could disarm him when he wasn’t paying attention and the other could go at him with hand-to-hand combat and everything they had. One of them could call for backup or take him down, after getting Angela away from him.

“And your flashlight.”

Brock sighed. “So demanding.” He placed his flashlight on the ground and kicked it to the left. It rolled in a large circle before disappearing somewhere into the darkness. Olivia hadn’t noticed him switch it off, she’d been so intent on Angela.

“Now, let Angela go.” She called to him, placating him with her palms which were already stretched toward him.

“Nuh-uh.” He condescended with his voice and it infuriated her. “You both take three steps forward.

“This isn’t Simon Says!” Brock growled.

“Well, if it’s games we’re talking about here,” Carl raised the gun, slanting it down to perfectly align with his wife’s crying form. “Then let me remind you that you’re playing with a human life.”

Brock sighed. He was the first to move forward and Olivia choreographed her steps with his. After they had both taken three steps forward, she stopped, an annoyed flicker across her face. “Okay. Now what?”

“Now, see, that’s better?” Carl grinned at her. “Much better. Now what? Well…”

His smile grew even wider and Olivia was sure she heard a successful laugh escape his lips. “Okay, honey. You can stop crying, now.”

On cue, the crying stopped. No sniffles, no descent into quieter sobs before muffling them. Just stopped. Like some kind of recording on a television set that was turned off. Olivia’s eyes widened. What in the world? She didn’t have time to complete that thought before the door to the warehouse slammed behind them, resulting in an echo that reverberated around the entire spacious room and encased them in thick darkness.

“What’s going on?” Brock demanded. Olivia felt him turn, as she also looked behind her to see what had happened to the door, but her eyes could make out nothing in this pitch-blackness. The only sound now was her heart hammering in her ears. Just as her eyes began to make out lumps of shapes in the darkness, one that stood particularly close startled her. She wanted to lash out at the form, but a click sounded right near her head.

Another click sounded near where Carl was and row by row, the lights above them flickered on. The LED white lights snapped to attention, dousing the warehouse in what felt like daylight, compared to the dark. Olivia didn’t dare turn, because as the light reached her, she found herself staring into the smiling, beautiful face of Angela Schmidt.

“It’s about time you did what he said.” She pushed the gun closer to Olivia’s face. “All of that talking, it’s a good thing that I wasn’t on the ground, or I’d be dead long before now.”