Chapter 25

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Welker was losing his shit.

Moira was in serious trouble, and even though the team was headed back at breakneck speed, they were still at least forty minutes away.

He’d had a bad feeling when they’d arrived at the convenience store in Millinocket. The crime scene had been quiet. Too quiet. There had been six squad cars from town parked across the street from the venue, with eight officers amassed behind them. Mason had approached, with Welk and his other squad leaders…

Forty minutes earlier:

“What’s happening?” Mason asked the officer who seemed to be the one in charge.

“Damned if I know.” The man looked frustrated and confused. “We got a call from the manager right before we notified you. He relayed that there were four armed men in the store, then the line went dead. We were on scene within seven minutes, and have been in position ever since, but we haven’t seen a soul. There hasn’t been a sound from inside; no shots fired, no plea for negotiations, nothing. So, we waited for you.”

Welker knew Mason appreciated that. There were too many cops with delusions of grandeur who threw caution to the wind and went in, guns blazing.

Welker perused the physical particulars of the op while the two men talked.

The store was one of many in an old, small-town block, with alleyways between it and the architecturally interesting buildings on either side. The sign on the storefront read , Your Everything Mart , even though the chiseled lettering on the granite blocks above the door proclaimed it had once been a United States Post Office.

The officers, by the looks of the deserted street, had done a good job evacuating and setting up foldable-barriers to keep curiosity seekers away from the crime scene.

Welker brought his attention back to the boss.

Mason’s brain was cooking on all burners. “Is there another way into the place besides through the front? If there is, is it being monitored?”

The officer blinked. “Uh, I’m not sure, and…um, no,” he responded a little sheepishly.

Mason didn’t call the guy out. Like most departments, they were probably underfunded, understaffed, and had their hands tied by local ordinances that allowed them just so much jurisdiction.

Not so, SWAT.

“Okay. Thanks. We’ve got it from here.” Mason spun away and barked over his comm. “Opal? You and Nolan pull up blueprints of the interior. And you know I don’t care how you do it.”

“Aye, aye, Chief,” Opal’s voice came back, smartly.

“Welker,” Mason turned to him. “Have your squad put up a drone and do a remote perimeter search.”

Welker was on it instantly. He approached his four unit-members, where Sin had obviously heard the order and already had their tech—whom they called The Beast—out of its protective suitcase.

“Nice work, Sin. Let’s launch that baby, stat,” Welker told her.

“One minute…” Sin logged into her computer and set up the video feed, then fiddled with a few other things before picking up the controller and…

“The Beast is airborne,” Welk declared to everyone listening on their comms.

H-squad huddled in around the computer, and watched the screen as Sin expertly flew The Beast toward the front of the store. Hovering, she zoomed its cameras in through the one section of glass that hadn’t been plastered with window-scape ads.

She made a frustrated grunt.

“Not a thing, LT,” Sin clipped. “No movement on the interior. Nothing.”

“Go topside and see if there are any escape hatches on the roof, then do a full perimeter sweep.” Welker knew he didn’t have to tell Sin her business. She was damned proficient at the controls. But he narrated anyway, if just to make sure the rest of the team was up to speed on what was going on.

Sin swooped The Beast skyward, and gave them a birds’ eye view of the roof. There was nothing up there but a large air-conditioning unit—along with an ancient one that looked like nothing more than a pile of rust—some vent pipes, and a lone Frisbee that some kid could have lost any time since the nineteen-fifties.

“Moving to the right,” Sin told him.

Again, nothing. The wall was entirely bricked up. The same with the left.

Welker watched Sin smoothly maneuver the drone down the side alley and around toward the back, where… Yes. There was a small access road, a dumpster, and a back door.

“Zoom in on the door,” Welker ordered. It looked almost like it was…

“It’s ajar, LT,” Sin confirmed, flying closer.

Welker spoke into his comm. “Mase. We have confirmation of a back door, and it’s slightly open. There’s also, via another larger alley, access to the rear of the building for trash pick-up…and a SWAT team.”

Mason didn’t hesitate. “Squads A and D, rendezvous with Welk’s unit behind the store. And I don’t have to tell you all to take the long way around so you won’t be spotted by anyone inside who might be watching.”

Mase got quick affirmatives from Welk, Mike, and Hops, while Sin brought the drone back in, put it back in its case, and ran it over to place it on the steps of the bus before rejoining their unit.

Welker, with his “minus-one” squad—Sin, Brent, Vic, and Ryker—jogged down the street to the mouth of the wide alley which would give them a quick in and out. They were immediately joined by the two additional units Mason had deployed.

Welk easily deferred to Mike, who was always the chief’s second in command.

“Unit H, take the right side of the door,” Mike ordered. “Unit A, the left. And D, I want you poised behind the dumpster in case things start to go to hell once we’re in.”

Within seconds, everyone had taken their positions.

“B, E, and F,” Mason’s voice sounded over their devices again. “Flank the front windows, ready to breach at my go. All remaining units, give cover from your twenties outside the building, and be ready for secondary entry if needed once our front-line people are in.”

Welker knew the balance of the well-oiled team would have themselves spread out around the area for optimum coverage, along with deploying their best snipers onto nearby roofs.

From Welker’s location behind the building, he heard Mason working the bullhorn, alerting their adversaries. “Attention inside the convenience store. We have the building surrounded,” he warned. “Come out with your hands raised, toss your weapons aside, and no one will get hurt.”

There wasn’t a sound of movement from within that Welker could hear, nor did Mase get any shouted-out responses to his plea.

The Chief gave it two minutes before he issued a second, similar statement, then he was back on the comms when an answer wasn’t forthcoming. “Okay team. If that’s the way they want to play it. On my go, we enter through the back and the front, simultaneously. Fire only if threatened, and have determined that use of lethal force is necessary.”

That was standard protocol. But for the books, Mason always reminded them not to rely on their weapons alone.

Mason hated the paperwork that went along with a messy op.

“Everyone in place?” he asked rhetorically, two minutes later. “All units sound off,” Mason commanded.

Their letters were barked out by the squad leaders, one after the other, with Welk chiming in when it was his turn, to let the boss know his officers were ready.

“Okay,” Mason declared. “On my mark. Three, two, one… Go. Go. Go.”

Welker, first in position on the right, reached out and yanked the door fully open, going in low, while his teammate, Ryker, right behind him went in high. With their heads on a swivel, SWAT members poured in after them, and…

Dammit. There wasn’t a person standing inside except those team-members who had come in through the front, the automatic door now closing behind the influx of squads.

With a well-practiced nod of Welks’ head—along with Mike’s—their two units, aided by the others, began methodically sweeping each aisle, shouting “clear” each time they were certain no tangoes were lying in wait.

“Chief,” Mike’s voice eventually came over the air, confusion in his tone. “There’s a pile of five cell phones on the floor in front of the candy display. I’m going to approach.”

Welker stealthily ran to Mike’s side, where they gave each other a nod and inched forward to have a look at the devices.

That’s when they heard it. A distinct shuffling behind the long counter to their right.

Welk and Mike looked at each other and slowly backed up.

“Chief,” Mike stated with a voice that wouldn’t be heard by whomever was hiding. “We have possible activity behind the counter. No visuals.”

“Everyone stay in position until I give the word,” Mason barked. “Sin? Where’s that drone?”

Sin, who’d moved in behind Welk, started to come to her feet, but?—

“On it, boss,” Opal responded from the bus before Sin could answer. That was good. The faster this was accomplished, the better, and it would have taken precious minutes for Sin to get back to The Beast.

“Sandrine, are you near the door?” Mason asked brusquely to one of their teammates who was stationed outside.

“In the alley, twenty feet to the right,” Sandrine came back.

“Acknowledged. Once Opal gives the word The Beast is in flight, I want you to get that front door open for her to fly it through.”

“Copy that, Chief,” Sandrine replied.

Welker knew things could get dicey from here. If the perps were hiding behind the counter with the hostages, they’d get a load of the nosy drone, and there’d be a stand-off, for sure.

It would be up to Mason how that eventuality would be handled.

Welk heard the door swish open, then the quiet fan of The Beast heading their way in the otherwise dead silence.

Welk had confirmation it wasn’t just him. Everyone was holding their breaths. Waiting…waiting…

“Clear, Chief. Hostages only,” Opal’s voice rang out, loud and clear. “I repeat. There are hostages only behind the counter, bound and gagged on the floor.”

Welker and Mike moved in quickly, with others on their team covering them as they cautiously leaned over, weapons poised just in case, and…

“Son of a bitch,” Mike swore.

Five victims were huddled on the floor, hog-tied, with duct tape over their mouths.

“Five vics, all alive,” Welk growled out, leaping over the counter with ease and bending down. The woman he landed next to, regarded him with large, terrified eyes.

“It’s okay,” he spoke gently. “You’re safe now.”

The woman nodded her understanding, and while Welk carefully undid her bindings and eased the duct tape off her mouth, one of the other captives who’d been divested of his bindings first by another team member, was already talking.

“They came in with guns,” the man said in an accent he recognized from his sister-in-law, Sabira. “I could see them through the one-way glass in my office. There were four of them. That’s when I dialed 911. A masked man came in and I thought he was immediately going to shoot me, but he nodded and gestured to the phone like he was giving me permission to tell the dispatcher about them. Only after I managed to say that, did he grab my phone away and bring me out here, to stand with my employees and these two customers.” He indicated one man and the woman Welk had assisted.

Welk froze, replaying what the store owner had said. His mind was busy drawing conclusions, and he didn’t like what he was imagining. Not one bit.

Mike continued the questioning. “What did they do then? What did they take?”

Welker’s gaze went to the register. The drawer was still closed.

Fuck.

“That’s the thing,” the man continued, as the team, one by one, got the other victims loose. “They didn’t take a thing. They confiscated our phones, then made us all come behind here where they tied us up. It was all done so quickly.”

One woman raised her hand to speak.

Sin laid a comforting hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Go ahead. It’s okay,” she told her softly.

The woman cleared her throat. “I did hear one of them say, ‘that should keep them busy for a while’, whatever that was supposed to mean, before they left us alone.”

“I think, as soon as they were finished with us, which only took a very short amount of time, they went out the back door,” the first man added. “I heard them disengaging those locks, and a few minutes later I heard the sound of motorcycles leaving the alley.”

Welker and Mason looked at each other.

“It was all a diversion,” Welk growled, voicing his thoughts out loud. “Dammit. It was the 227 MC, and they’re after Moira.”

Welker heard Mason and the rest of the team agreeing with his assessment while he drew his phone from his pocket. He had no idea exactly what they were saying because his focus was all on his woman. His hands shook as he hit her number.

Please, please, please , he implored to whatever god might be listening. Let her answer and be fine .

His hopes were dashed when the phone rang and rang and rang, then went to voicemail.

“Mase,” Welker bit out over the open comm. “I just tried Moira, and?—”

Everlee cut in. “I’m one step ahead of you, Welk. I put two and two together as soon as I heard there were only hostages inside and that the perps had taken off on bikes. I called Moira. She didn’t answer, so I contacted the only person I trust who’s got boots-on-the-ground near her.”

Hayden , Welker thought, and Everlee confirmed it.

“I just got off the phone with Hayden, and it’s not awful, but it’s not good, either.”

Welker couldn’t seem to catch his breath. He waited for Ever to continue, gulping in air while his heart raced.

Everlee laid out exactly what had gone down, and that although they didn’t yet know if Moira would be able to get the evidence she sought, it was still a goddamned cluster fuck. What the hell was Moira thinking, going in while she wasn’t at full strength?

Mason took over.

“Welk, you and your squad head out. Units J, G, and F, cover his ass. The rest of us will be right behind you as soon as we hand this situation over to the local PD. We have to believe that Moira’s plan is sound, and that between her, Hayden, and Boone, they’ll have the situation under control by the time we arrive. Now go.”

Welker’s feet were already moving.

He didn’t need to be told twice.

Welker was half way back to Margaret’s house, and after repeated calls, he still hadn’t heard a fucking thing. He knew the op Hayden had described necessitated radio-silence, but not knowing what was going on—what was happening to Moira—was killing him.

And speaking of killing, if anything happened to her, nothing would stop him from going after those involved.