Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
Kingston
Ironwood is a storm of activity when we arrive.
A receptionist leads us down a hall to an open door.
We step inside. A huge table takes up what appears to be a conference room, and people sit at the table with laptops, phones, and file folders of fuck knows what.
Good thing they’re working hard to fix this.
I don’t know how someone got the drop on their guards, but I’m pissed as hell.
What the fuck are we paying them for, if our girl gets kidnapped?
She’s out there, scared. Hopefully not hurt.
I want to lash out at Ironwood, although I realize the rage is misplaced.
I should be angry at whoever took her, not at these guys, who are trying to help.
I’m really fucking furious, though.
Jaxon and Ryder wear matching grim expressions on their faces as they walk toward Sebastian and me. Jaxon’s beard doesn’t do much to hide his frown, and Ryder’s dark hair is messed up like he’s been grabbing it in frustration.
“We have everyone possible working on this,” Jaxon says, gesturing toward the crowded, busy room.
“And we realize it isn’t enough,” Ryder adds.
I don’t know what to say. It isn’t enough, but we’ll take whatever help we can get, and we’ll do whatever we can to move things forward and get our girl back.
Lin Rosewood, Sebastian’s cousin, sits at the table. She sees us and gives a quick wave before returning to her computer screen.
“Hi, I’m Leonie, and I need your phones,” another one of the Ironwood people says, holding out her hand. “In case of a ransom call or text.”
Sebastian and I hand over our phones, and I turn back to Ryder and Jaxon.
“Tell us what you know,” I say.
“Ella was being guarded by Keith Mayberry and Cora Fenton,” Ryder says.
His light blue eyes are rimmed in shadows—he looks almost as exhausted and upset as I feel.
“Keith overcame Cora, probably surprised her. Knocked her out cold. She’s got a concussion, but she’ll be okay.
She woke up long enough to trigger the alert on her watch.
She didn’t see where Keith took Ella and Gianna, but both women are gone now. ”
“So where does that leave us?” I ask. “What kind of leads do you have?”
“Well, we lost them on the traffic cams as they were leaving the Old Thirty-Three.”
Sebastian clenches his fists. “Fuck, does that mean we lost her?”
“No, not yet. We’ve been trying to track down who’s behind this from the beginning,” Jaxon says. “But we never had any luck, until Keith made his move.”
“What does that mean?” Sebastian asks.
“What do you know of Max Ruberetta?” Ryder asks me.
“Ruberetta? Tyler Analytics manages his accounts.” He’s a pill; nobody likes him. He’s been giving Kristin a headache from the beginning.
“Tyler Analytics doesn’t manage all of his money or accounts,” Jaxon says, dropping a file on the table. “Turns out, he’s been running an illegal gambling ring and lending out money with less-than-savory terms.”
No wonder I always got a slimy vibe off the guy. “ He took Ella? Holy fuck, he…he probably loaned money to her brother.”
“And he’s the reason we hired Keith Mayberry,” Ryder continues.
“Ruberetta was our client, too. Mayberry was one of his own personal bodyguards, is what Ruberetta told us in the beginning.” Ryder pulls up a headshot of a blond guy with a short, military-style haircut.
“Ruberetta wanted us to train him up. We did the requisite background checks and Mayberry passed without a single red flag. When Ruberetta said he wanted to cut the hours he was being guarded, Mayberry needed more hours, and…here we are. Shit.”
“There’s nothing you could’ve done,” a huge, red-haired guard says. I recognize him—he goes by Squid.
I point to Olivia, Jaxon and Ryder’s fiancée, who’s just come into the room with a tray of coffees from the shop down the street. “Would you have put Mayberry in charge of watching her?”
“Without any hesitation,” Jaxon says. “The past four months, Mayberry has been one of us.”
“It’s true,” another guard says, nodding a thanks as he takes a coffee from Olivia. “I thought Keith was good people. He was like a brother—he was even invited to my wedding.”
I’ve heard enough about how great Keith Mayberry used to be. “So now what’s the plan?”
“We’re looking into every asset of Ruberetta’s that we can get our hands on,” Jaxon says. “Properties, buildings, anything that could signal where he might take Ella, would be the most helpful.”
I’m already taking my phone back from the Ironwood tech. “I have some of those.”
I call Kristin, because there’s a better chance of her hearing a call than a text.
“Kingston,” she says groggily, “what’s up?”
“Emergency,” I say. “I need access to Ruberetta’s accounts, immediately.”
“I’ll forward the most recent files,” she says. “Is there anything else I can do to help?”
We aren’t a bank, so we can’t just freeze his access to everything he owns. All we can do is analyze what he has and advise him on how to make the most of it. But we can also look at what he owns.
“There’s nothing to do right now,” I say, “but don’t bother working on his profile any further. He’s no longer a client.”
“Let me know if you need anything else,” Kristin says.
“I will, thanks.”
The call is over, and I immediately download and convert Ruberetta’s files into universal files that don’t rely on Tyler Analytics software to read.
“Where should I send these?” I say to Jaxon.
We get the files up on the Ironwood system and I give my phone back to the tech for monitoring. The list of Ruberetta’s property assets is astounding, so Jaxon and Ryder quickly divide their people into teams to start evaluating which ones Ruberetta’s people be most likely to take Ella to.
“We can’t discount the idea he might take her to a motel or something,” Ryder says. “Somewhere he doesn’t own.”
I nod. “It’s possible, but I think he’s too controlling. He’d want them to be in a place with fewer variables.”
“Makes sense,” Ryder says. “We’ll focus on his property for now.”
“Police are monitoring traffic cams,” Jaxon says. “Baldwin and Marks are both looking for Ella.”
With this many people, we’ll find her soon. We have to.
“Hey,” Leonie says. “I think we have a ransom call. Unidentified number.”
I rush to her side and reach for my phone, but Jaxon barks, “Don’t pick up.”
“What?” Bash says, incredulous. “They’ll think we don’t care?—”
“They can’t make demands if we don’t talk to them,” Jaxon says. “It’ll give us more time to figure out where they’re hiding. We know who they are, now we just need to know where they are.”
“But what if they have Ella right there on the phone?” I ask, reaching for my phone anyway.
“Then they’ll hurt her if they think it will affect you,” Jaxon says.
My hand falters. “This can’t be standard ransom negotiation behavior.”
“We don’t have a standard, we base every action on the info we have at hand.” Ryder’s voice is kind, but firm. “They can’t influence you into doing what they want if you’re not speaking to them. Do not engage right now. We need a few more minutes with these docs.”
I want to argue with him, because the chance to talk to Ella right now…it’s right there, in that slender piece of plastic and glass.
“They’re texting now,” Leonie says. “ You know who I am. I know you’re good for the money. Three million. Four if you wait for the baby to be born. ”
Fuck.
“No engagement yet,” Jaxon repeats.
I just want to pay the money, get Ruberetta to give back my girl and her family, and end this. I open my mouth to say so, but a burst of activity at the other end of the room stops me.
“I got it!” one of the other Ironwood people shouts. “I think they’re here—this warehouse in the Bellefleur.”
I make note of the address. Bash and I grab our phones and race for my car while everyone else rushes to theirs.
* * *
Sebastian
Supposedly, the police are going to meet us at the warehouse. I almost hope they don’t. I want to be left alone in a room with the guys who took Ella. The only person who’d be able to walk out on their own two feet afterward would be me.
When we pull up to the warehouse, the gate is closed, but Ironwood guys are already opening it up. Apparently a little B&E isn’t a concern of theirs right now. Good, because it isn’t a concern of mine, either.
We pull into the lot and get out of our cars. Three buildings surround the lot. Faint light emanates from the high windows of the building in the middle—so that’s where Ironwood is going to focus the rescue efforts.
I search for Jaxon or Ryder, finally find Ryder, and say, “Tell your people to look before they do anything. There’s a pregnant woman in there. Try not to do anything that could hurt her or the baby.”
“Got it,” he says. “I’ll pass it along.”
Kingston and I don’t go in. We’re not wearing the right gear, and they are. We’re not carrying weapons, and they are.
I fucking hate it, though. Waiting. I feel useless. Ironwood opens the large door and their people pour into the building. Gunshots sound. Ironwood’s using rubber bullets, but I bet Ruberetta’s guys aren’t. Fuck, I hate this, I should be in there, finding Ella, making sure she’s okay.
Silence.
That’s it—I don’t care if going inside is dangerous. I can’t wait anymore.
I look over at Kingston. He nods—he can’t wait, either.
As we approach the large doorway, a couple of Ironwood guys are pulling out an unconscious man—from the man’s informal clothing, I guess he’s one of Ruberetta’s. They’re bringing out a second guy, too, and this guy is awake and fighting them.
I run up to them. “Where’s Ella? What happened in there?”
“We’re still clearing the building,” one of the Ironwood people says. “Don’t go in.”
“I need to find Ella,” I say. “I’m not waiting.”
Kingston’s right behind me as we dart past them. Maybe this is stupid, but I can’t stop myself. I have to get in there and find Ella. She’s probably scared, worried. She could be hurt. And these Ironwood people are more worried about carrying out the bad guys?
The warehouse is lit with two tiny bulbs, but everything within view is showing me that Ella isn’t in this part of the warehouse.
She must be toward the back, which is filled with towers of wooden crates, stacked around like a kid’s macabre block city.
In those shadows, it’s dark and it’s hard to see.
I don’t care. I need to find Ella. Panic chokes me, makes it difficult to breathe, but I know it’s just feelings.
I need to move past the panic. She could be hiding back here, not knowing what’s going on.
“Ella?” I call.
No answer.
I nearly trip over something on the floor. Bending down, I realize it’s a man lying facedown.
“Who the fuck is that?” I ask Kingston. “Is he one of ours?”
Just as the question leaves my lips, the guy flips over. I just saw this asshole’s picture—it’s Keith Mayberry. He’s holding a knife. Fuck. Not this again. I refuse to be stabbed today. Been there, done that, got the fucking hospital bracelet as a souvenir.
Mayberry grabs my leg with his free hand and tries to stab the knife at me with his other. No fucking way. I brace myself on the crates behind me with my arms, and kick him in the face with my other foot.
His head snaps back and his eyes close. He’s alive, I think.
And I’m free. I turn to Kingston just as someone else leaps out at us from a nearby stack of crates.
He wraps his arms around King’s neck. King bends forward, then drops backward, hoping to knock the guy off of him.
It works—the guy’s head hits the crates with a dull thud and he loses his grip on Kingston.
I exchange a look with King. That was close.
It’s probably best not to shout for Ella at this point, because it’s giving us away and, just like the Ironwood people told us outside, the room hasn’t been cleared yet.
I can hear Ironwood people still walking through the other areas, talking to each other through their radio sets.
A woman’s pained scream reaches my ears, coming from a padlocked door a few yards away from us.
“There,” I point, already running toward the door, Kingston on my heels.
“I don’t think so,” a man says, stepping directly into our path. He’s got brown hair, gray at the temples, and a boyish face. He’s tall, almost as tall as Kingston.
“Marco Ruberetta,” Kingston says.
“Hello, Mr. Tyler.”
“We just want our people back,” Kingston says.
“Imagine my delight.” Ruberetta’s lip curls in a cruel smile. “I thought I had some punk off the street owing me money. Same shit, different day. Then it turns out he has a little family. And his sister is the girlfriend of two of San Esteban’s richest men.”
“So give her back,” I say. “We’ll give you the money. We just want her safe and unharmed.”
Ruberetta shakes his head. “Might have done, if you hadn’t brought in reinforcements.”
He never would have let her go. He’d have bled us dry while slowly doling out crumbs of hope.
“You’re lying,” I say.
“Maybe.” There’s that cruel smile again. What a hateful, ugly man.
“It’s over,” Kingston says. “Ironwood is here, and the police, and everyone’s onto you.”
Ruberetta grins. “If I’m going down, I’m taking everyone with me.”
He reaches for his pocket—probably a gun. I don’t give myself enough time to worry about it. I rush at him, already swinging.
It is a gun he was reaching for. It’s out of his pocket, in his hand, and pointing right at me.
He gets off a shot before I’m on top of him, tackling him to the ground.
We land and I feel the impact through my whole body, my teeth clacking together.
Lucky my tongue wasn’t in the way. I throw a punch, then another, hitting his smarmy, ugly face over and over again.
He tries to buck me off at first before giving up.
“Bash!” King shouts. “Bash, get off him. Fuck?—”
Something about King’s voice penetrates my blind rage. I turn around.
Dark wetness blossoms from his chest.
My friend has been shot.