Chapter 32
The DOT service lot sprawled out in front of them, its aging asphalt spider-webbed with cracks, dirt, and dark oil stains.
State trucks and orange-striped utility vans lined the edges near metal storage units.
A sagging chain-link fence ringed the perimeter, and beyond it, thick stands of pine and scrub oak pressed in on all sides, muting both sound and sight.
After Brian killed the engine, he and Rafe climbed out of the truck. The lot was still washed in late-day light, the sun hanging low but stubborn over the tree line, painting everything in muted gold and long shadows.
The Special Response Team was already there.
Voices carried through the humid air in low tones.
The massive SRT communications and supply van idled near the center of the lot, its rear doors wide open with three collapsible steps down, waiting to be used.
Five guys from the tactical team were scattered about, mentally preparing for battle and stretching their shoulders and limbs—loose, but not relaxed.
Fabric whispered. Velcro hissed. Metal clicked softly as weapons were checked and rechecked.
One operative prepared a drone for deployment.
With Rafe on his heels, Brian headed toward where his brother and Captain Lee Bowden were deep in conversation just outside the open doors of the command center.
Brian held out his hand to the captain. “Thanks for coming, Lee. What do we know so far?” He glanced at his watch. “We’ve got less than twenty minutes before the deadline Diego gave Andy.”
“We’re definitely at the right place,” Sean said.
“I did a drive-by, and the idiots didn’t even ditch the stolen van.
It’s in the alleyway next to the building.
I ran the plates of a few other vehicles nearby, and at least three of them belong to known Devil’s Crew members.
But I noticed something weird. On a nice day like this, still early, you’d expect a lot of locals hanging out outside, kids playing in the street, that sort of thing.
But it was quiet. Freakin’ eerie, bro. Like everyone knew something was going down, and they wanted no part of it. ”
“Drone’s going up,” one of the SRT operators, Sandra Milford, called from her post inside the van.
The compact quad-copter lifted smoothly into the air, its quiet hum nearly lost beneath the idle of engines and the buzz of cicadas warming up for the evening.
Bowden, Rafe, and the Malone brothers climbed into the van without a word, forming a tight line behind Milford as the drone’s feed streamed in real time onto the screen in front of her.
“Let’s hope we can get a little more intel,” Rafe murmured.
The drone cleared the tree line, and a full minute later, the target site filled the screen.
It was four stories of aging brick, siding, and dirty windows—no frills.
The front of the building faced a two-lane road, with cars parked along both curbs.
An alley ran tight along one side—where the stolen van sat—and a small parking lot on the other.
A second alley lay behind it, separating the building from the backyards of a row of older homes.
The front of the building faced a two-lane road, with cars parked along both curbs.
But like Sean said, almost no pedestrians were in sight.
Brian leaned closer to the screen, his jaw tightening.
Tess was there. He didn’t need proof—he felt it in his bones.
The problem was finding her.
The drone caught glimpses through a handful of partially open blinds and curtains, but almost every apartment looked still.
In one third-floor unit, an elderly woman sat in a recliner, asleep in front of a TV showing the local news channel.
In another, a young mother shifted a crying infant from shoulder to shoulder while a toddler clung to her leg, exhaustion written in every movement.
On thermal, most apartments read cold and vacant.
The handful that weren’t displayed a single adult-sized heat signature—nothing clustered, nothing unusual.
If this was the building—and Brian was certain it was—then she wasn’t on any of the occupied floors.
“Drop it down to the basement windows if you can without being caught.”
Milford tweaked the controls, and the drone shifted smoothly into position.
Grimy windows sat just above ground level, heavy security bars bolted across the outside.
The three on the east and north sides were negative for heat signatures, but they hit pay dirt on the west side.
Six people were in that part of the basement—two paced, three looked like they were sitting on chairs or boxes, and one sat on the floor.
Ten to one odds that was Tess. A slight shift—left, then right—told him she was still responsive. She had to be terrified.
I’m coming, baby. Hold on a little bit longer.
“Zoom in on the entrances so we can see what we’re dealing with,” Captain Bowden instructed.
The drone zipped around the building, stopping briefly at each door so they could evaluate the best way to get in quietly.
After all were inspected, Milford sent the drone back up and away from the building so they had real-time intel on anyone coming or going.
Captain Bowden grabbed a large tablet and headed outside, calling his team to gather around. Brian, Rafe, and Sean joined them.
“The clock’s ticking on this one, boys, so we need to go in hard and fast,” Bowden said, his voice clipped but steady.
He’d already accessed the county building department’s database and pulled up the floor plans on the tablet, setting it on the hood of someone’s car so everyone could see the screen.
He started with the basement, pointing to where they’d seen the heat signatures.
“Best guess is five hostiles and one victim, but that’s unconfirmed, so watch your targets.
Three entrances, but the rear service one only opens from the inside.
So, we’ve got the main front, and another on the east side leading to the parking lot.
No sign of fob readers, and it’s unknown if we need a key to gain access.
We’ll get that intel on site. Didn’t spot any lookouts, but again, that’s unconfirmed. Watch your sixes.”
“Two teams,” he continued. “Sean, Brooks, and Peterman, you’re with me at the side door—Bravo. Montoya and Brian, you’re with Hawkins, Delgado, and Whitaker at the front—Alpha. Hawk and I have point.” He eyed the two brothers and Rafe. “You got your vests and gear?”
“Yeah,” they responded in unison.
“Good. Hawk, give them some comms, and then let’s hit the road. Milford will monitor the situation from here.”
After getting their bulletproof vests and borrowed earwigs on, they loaded up into two unmarked vehicles and Brian’s truck and raced out of the lot.
He checked the timer counting down on his watch.
00:09:18
Nine minutes. Shit. We’re cutting it close.
As he followed Bowden’s SUV, the memories of the shootout at the warehouse a few weeks ago tried to resurface—the metallic echo of gunfire, the burn of air against his ear as that round passed too close to ignore. An inch or two from being gone. From never seeing his family and Tess again.
He forced the flashback down. Tess’s life depended on him being sharp.
He hadn’t frozen then, and he wouldn’t now.
As they parked in the target building’s lot, Milford’s voice came over their comms. “Still no sign of lookouts. Six heat signatures still in the same area of the basement.”
“Let’s move,” Bowden ordered as they exited the vehicles simultaneously.
They split cleanly. While the Bravo team headed for the side entrance, Alpha made a beeline toward the front. Late summer light still clung to the brick facade, the heat of the sun reflecting off it.
Rafe was prepared to pick the lock if necessary, but they lucked out.
A gray-haired man exited the front door with a small white dog on a leash.
His eyes widened when he saw the five men in full protective gear, badges on their hips, and weapons in hand.
Stepping to the side, he held the door open for them, then hustled down the sidewalk, practically dragging the dog behind him.
The air shifted immediately as the door quietly closed behind them—damp, stale, heavy with mildew and something sour underneath. The stairwell lights buzzed faintly overhead. From below, male voices drifted up. Laughter. The scrape of a chair.
“Alpha in,” Hawkins whispered into his comm unit.
Bowden’s response was immediate. “Bravo in.” Either the side door was unlocked, or someone had let them in, too, because it would’ve taken longer for someone to pick it.
00:05:47
Brian felt the narrowing begin. The outside world faded. All that existed was their immediate surroundings.
Quickly and quietly, they located the stairwell at the near end of the first-floor corridor and descended in tight formation. The temperature dropped as they moved lower.
Hawk reached the bottom of the stairs first and raised a fist.
The rest halted instantly.
The basement wasn’t one open room. It was expansive. They’d known that from the floor plans.
Concrete stretched in multiple directions beyond the landing—wide open areas were broken up by rows of chain-link storage cages filled with residents’ belongings. Mattresses wrapped in plastic. Old dressers. Bicycles. Holiday decorations in cracked bins. Tires stacked in corners.
Down one hallway, several solid-core doors stood closed—utility rooms.
Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting uneven light and deep shadows between the cages.
Voices carried through the open space.
Close.