Chapter 2
They went in Clare’s car, which already had a baby seat.
Before leaving the rectory, the chief called Lyle MacAuley, who had promised to meet them after notifying the Warren County Sheriff’s Department.
The chief also insisted they stop at Hadley’s house so she could get her gun, pancake holster, and restraints.
Carrying never made her feel particularly safer, but at least she felt more like a cop and less like a harried mother.
“Could we please hurry a little more?” Clare looked out the window. “I swear I saw a one-legged man pushing a wheelbarrow pass us.”
“And this is why I’m driving.” The chief resettled his hands in the classic two-and-ten position on the steering wheel.
A good thing, too, Hadley thought. The last Sunday before Christmas was as busy a day for traffic as they’d see until the Fourth of July holiday.
She had heard about Reverend Clare’s lead foot, and she had no interest in seeing how fast she could speed through the bag-and- package-laden vehicles around them.
“What’s the plan?” she asked.
“You and I should go in first.” Clare twisted in her seat to talk to her. “He’s never seen you, and you don’t look like a cop.”
“So you want to give him two more hostages?” Van Alstyne shook his head.
“Just long enough so I can see if Tiny is there. Then you and Lyle can come in with guns blazing.”
“Oh, yeah, that would make the setup even better. You and Knox and this woman caught in a crossfire. And what if March just shoots you on sight?”
“He doesn’t want to kill me. At least not right away. He wants to humiliate me. He wants to see me scared and weak.” She turned around again to face Hadley. “Right?”
She sighed. “I know the type. Men who don’t feel tall unless they’re standing on a woman.”
“I really don’t like this.”
Clare turned to her husband. “Okay, what’s your plan? Keeping in mind you can’t scare March away or leave him feeling so trapped he’ll resort to violence.”
He made a sound like a small engine motor, then subsided. “All right. But I’m coming in with you.” He held a hand up to stop any protests. “It’s that or we wait for Lyle and the sheriff’s deputy.”
Hadley was about to give her enthusiastic support for this, but Clare beat her to it with an exasperated, “All right. You come in, too.”
Cal March’s place of business was a featureless corrugated steel building the size of a barn or small warehouse.
Two rolling doors, big enough to let box trucks in and out, barricaded the shorter end, and on the longer side, a small portico shielded a door.
A row of narrow windows tucked just beneath the roof let in daylight from all directions, but there was no other way to look in or out.
“No vehicles,” Hadley observed.
“Probably parked out of sight.” He let the car roll toward the front door and parked it crossways. Easy to get back into in a hurry, not in the direct line of fire. Please God, don’t let there be fire.
The chief checked his gun. “Keep yours out of sight for now.” Hadley nodded. As they stood by the door, her heart was pounding so hard they could probably hear it inside. She took a deep breath, and Van Alstyne opened the door to …
Not much. Two box trucks with room for more, oil spots on a cement floor, tools hanging off the opposite wall, a stack of tires.
“Hey!”
She jerked her head around. At the far end of the building a flight of metal stairs led up to an office. Two men in greasy jeans and plaid shirts stood on a metal walkway in front of its door. There was a wide window overlooking the truck bay, but Hadley couldn’t see anything inside.
“Hey!” one of the men repeated. He swung a rifle toward them.
“Oh, Christ, not these idiots.” The chief raised his voice. “It’s me, Dillon.” He swept Hadley and Clare to the front and gently pushed them toward the stairs. Dillon shook his gun toward Van Alstyne as if he could prod him back. Hadley glanced at Clare, who was clearly as confounded as she was.
“For God’s sake, put that thing down. You’re going to hurt someone. Or put a hole in Cal’s building, and you know he’s not going to be happy about that.” He gestured toward the stairs, and in a menacing tone said, “Get up there, you two.”
Hadley, inspired, turned to him. “You’re not going to get away with this!”
For a moment, she thought he was going to crack a smile. Instead, he growled, “I already have.”
They mounted the stairs. By now, the other guy had dropped his rifle. “What the hell, Van Alstyne? We left you at camp. I thought…”
“You thought what the captain wanted you to think, Austin.”
“What are you going on about?” Dillon still looked as if he wanted to shoot them all. Well, maybe just the chief. “Who are these females?”
Clare made a noise.
“These are the two who were trying to turn Cal’s wife against him.
He’s got you guarding her, right?” They stepped onto the walkway, which was a good five feet wide.
Behind each of the men was an upturned crate, a still-smoldering cigarette resting on one.
Clearly, their guard duty had been pretty relaxed.
“The captain had you knocked out! He said—”
“Haven’t you ever heard of a double-blind bluff?
Jesus Christ, I told him you all needed more training.
The whole thing was a setup. You finding me, me being a ‘prisoner.’” He air-quoted the word.
“There are traitors in the organization, and the captain wasn’t sure if they were in the militia or with the law enforcement on our side.
It was my job to go deep undercover and smoke ’em out.
” At this point, both men had lowered their weapons.
“Obviously, I’ve been out of contact, so tell me, is there going to be a pickup to transport these prisoners, or are they being sequestered here? ”
“Se-what?”
Van Alstyne placed his hand on his small-of-back holster and pressed forward, a tired guy cracking his lumbar. Hadley tensed. “You two. All I can say is Knox, now!”
She pushed the guy in front of her right over his crate.
He shouted, fell onto the metal surface, rifle clattering, and then she was straddling him, gun out, flipping him over with a rush of adrenaline-fueled strength.
She kneed him in the back and yanked one arm around, then the other, and had him in zip cuffs before the echo of his yell had died.
She spun around, but the chief didn’t need any help; Dillon was trussed like a Christmas goose, cuffed arm and ankle.
He wheezed slightly as he pushed himself back into a standing position.
He turned and glanced down to the man she’d secured. “Good job.”
“Thanks.”
“Everybody okay?” Clare touched her husband’s arm and reached toward Hadley.
“I’m fine.” She holstered her sidearm and moved toward the office door.
“Hang on.” Dillon was threatening and cursing inarticulately. The chief ignored him to crouch next to her guy, whose face was pressed against the grating strips. He stared at Van Alstyne, wide-eyed. “Austin, are there any booby traps or alarms inside the office?”
“No.” He pointed his chin in the direction of his zip-tied comrade, who was promising a bloody end to them all. “Is this part of the secret double blind?” he whispered.
The chief winked and held a finger to his lips. “Where’s Cal?”
“He went with the rest of ’em.”
“To a new destination, or are they still going to…”
“No, still Albany, as far as I know.”
The chief’s face changed. He leaned closer and closed his fist around Austin’s collar. “What do you know? Who did you tell?”
“Nothin’, I swear! I wasn’t in the action team and nobody tells me nothing! I’m not the traitor! I couldn’t be!”
Damn, the chief was good at that. Hadley’s high-alert, still spiking after the action moments before, almost calmed with her admiration for his interrogation technique.
Reverend Clare, on the other hand, was even more wound up. “Russ, please. Can we go get Tiny?”
He stood up. Even Hadley could hear his knees cracking. “Yeah, of course. I don’t think—”
Reverend Clare didn’t wait to hear the rest. She flung open the door and stopped abruptly, blocking the way for the rest of them. “Kevin?”
Hadley’s heart lurched sideways in her chest. She and the chief both lunged for the doorway, pushing Reverend Clare into the room, half stumbling after her.
She vaguely registered Tiny March behind a cluttered desk, but her attention was all on Flynn. He was on the floor, leaning against a battered filing cabinet, his arms drawn behind him and his ankles bound with zip ties. A wide strip of duct tape stretched from ear to ear, covering his mouth.
Hadley could hear Tiny weeping and Clare consoling her, but it seemed to be coming from far away.
The chief knelt next to Flynn. “You look like hell, but I’m glad to see you, kid.” He twisted to look at her. “Knox, did you bring your cutter?”
She couldn’t speak. She shook her head.
“See if there’s anything in the desk we can use to release him.”
Flynn shook his head. His hair, grown longer, slid off his forehead, and she could see the purpling around one eye and a cut high on his cheek.
“Okay, at least let’s get this off you. You’re gonna be losing some of your beard here—you ready?”
Flynn nodded. He made a sharp, loud sound that turned into a roar as the chief ripped the tape off his face. “Goddamn, that hurt!”
Van Alstyne dropped the tape and briskly rubbed Flynn’s face where the adhesive had torn away hairs. Hadley, remembering Brazilian waxes of her youth, winced in empathy.
A bellow came from the truck bay below. “Russ? Knox?” MacAuley had arrived.
The chief jerked his head toward her. “Get Lyle, he’ll have cutters.” He squeezed Flynn’s shoulders. “Not long now, kid.”