Luke lowered his hand, giving the order to move. The officers behind them were silent as they waited. Tension filled the air, so thick it seemed to weigh her down.
The SSD had gotten a warrant. Fast. They’d tried to reach Malone for permission to go in, but he had been unavailable. More pills, according to Beth. He’d dosed up and gone down for the night.
When she got the signal, Sam’s feet seemed to fly over the gravel driveway. Her breath blew out in cold puffs of foggy air. Her heart thudded in her chest. Was this what it had been like for Monica and Luke? When she’d been taken and they’d been desperate to find her, had this icy fear filled them?
Hurry. Can’t be too late. Hurry.
Now that they were so close, she was afraid of what she’d find. Jeremy’s mutilated body flashed in her mind’s eye.
Hurry.
Ramirez kicked the door open. Sam went in behind him, staying low, her gun up. Her left hand held a flashlight above her weapon. The place was pitch black.
And it smelled of death. A heavy, deep odor of blood and bleach. Someone had been killing and trying to clean up the mess.
Sam found the wall. She stuck to it like glue and started moving quickly.
The second that the kidnappers heard them—if they were there—they’d run. Or kill Quinlan. Probably both.
Quiet.
Luke was in the lead now, slipping around the corner. She followed. Her light swept the ground.
And landed on the body.
A man lay slumped on the ground. Dark black liquid pooled near his body. No, not black. The blood just looked black in the darkness.
She bent and pressed her fingers to his throat. Nothing, noth—A jerk of his pulse beneath her fingers. Jesus, still alive.
She stared at his face, then her eyes darted to his left ear and the line of piercings. She knew him. Recognition clicked instantly. Kevin Milano, the bouncer at The Core.
Well, damn. The kidnappers had been using an inside man there, someone who could contact them when their prey came by for a drink.
“We’ve got a man down,” she whispered into her mike. “Get the EMTs ready. We’re clearing the scene and—”
A shout echoed in the warehouse. A deep, guttural cry of fury, and Sam rushed into the gaping darkness.
Max paced the lot, his gaze sweeping from the left to the right.
“Easy,” Agent Kim Daniels told him. “I know it’s hard, but in just a few minutes, this will be over.”
That was what scared him.
His gaze raked to the left once more. There was one car parked in the shadows near the edge of the street. One lone car. He frowned, staring at it. A BMW that looked so out of place. Nothing else was there. No one. But that car…
He squinted, struggling to see a bit better. No streetlights, but there was a reflective decal on the back of it. Kinda looked like a dolphin. Beth had a decal like that. She’d gotten it when she and Frank went to Orlando for a business trip last fall.
What were the odds?
“That car… it’s Beth’s.” Same model. Same damn decal. Same position on the far left of the bumper. Dammit. Dammit. He whirled away from the car and raced for the warehouse.
But Kim jumped in front of him and slammed her hand onto his chest. “What are you talking about?”
“That car!” He pointed back to the BMW. “It belongs to Frank’s assistant, Beth Dunlap.”
But why would she be here?
Pitch black. The only light spilled from their flashlights. Sam rushed into the darkness, twisting and turning as she followed the beam.
A soft squish of sound. Ragged breathing. Groans.
Her flashlight revealed an open door before them.
Luke went inside first. “FBI! Freeze. Stand down, it’s—fuck.” Horror there, and Luke wasn’t a man to be horrified.
Sam sped in after him, the glow from her light joining his on the floor. Quinlan. Quinlan was there, covered in blood. Slashes on his arms, his bare chest. Deep, oozing wounds.
He had a knife in his hand. A bloody knife. His tight fist gripped the hilt of the knife that he’d shoved into another man’s neck.
The man gasped, and it was a choking, watery gurgle of pain. Her flashlight fell on the man’s face. Not the kidnapper. Not him.
Frank.
Tears leaked from Frank Malone’s eyes. The knife had plunged, hilt-deep, into his throat. Blood poured from the wound, soaking Quinlan’s hand and staining Frank’s shirt.
“D-Dad?” Quinlan’s broken whisper rasped out as he stared at his father, now illuminated in the pool of light. “Dad!” Quinlan started shaking, hard, his whole body trembling.
Luke grabbed Quinlan’s arms and heaved him back. “Get the paramedics in here, now!” The order was yelled into his mike. He put his hand over the knife and held it in place. Removing the blade would just make the wound bleed faster. “Secure the scene,” he barked to Sam and Ramirez. “Check every damned room. Find them!”
But she couldn’t move. Quinlan was still in that small bubble of light. He lifted his hands, torn, bloody hands. “The b-bastard told me… s-said… I’d hear the gunshots… s-said… said… my dad would be d-dead….” He lurched forward and grabbed his father’s hand. “Dad! No!”
“Get more units in here,” Sam spoke quietly into her mike. “We’ve got three victims.” Her voice grew stronger. “We need uniforms searching every room. Move!”
Ramirez was already moving. He headed back into the dark hole of a hallway.
Malone’s eyes were on his son. Wide. Desperate. His lips trembled but only groans and gurgles came out of his mouth.
Sam fell to her knees beside him. “Malone, Malone, stay with me. Focus. You’re going to be all right.” Lie, lie. He wouldn’t make it. His skin had already started to turn ashen. So much blood.
A gun lay on the ground at his side.
Quinlan began to rock back and forth. He had on a pair of jeans, nothing else. Sobs shook his shoulders.
Attacked his father.
Another watery gurgle tore from Malone’s lips.
“What was he doing here?” Luke demanded, putting pressure on the wound, but the blood wasn’t slowing.
“S-sorry…” Quinlan’s wild cry. “So… fucking… sorry, Dad!”
Frank’s lips moved. Max.
“He’s here,” she told him. “Just hold on, okay? He’s here.”
“Dad, don’t die!”
But he was dying. She knew it. Luke knew it. There was too much blood. The wound was too deep.