Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
"Pick up. Pick up. Pick up," Adam begged.
"This better be good," Ernie growled into the phone by way of greeting. "And I mean, Zoe is in jail and I'm the only one who can get her out, good."
"I'm outside the store. It's locked up, but Zoe's Jeep is still out front, along with another car I don’t recognize. No lights on inside. She's not answering her cell phone and she was supposed to be at my house an hour ago."
Ernie’s tone changed. "Call the cops, I'm on my way with a key but I’m half an hour away." Ernie hung up.
Like I hadn’t already called the cops. And Code at Onyx Security. Unfortunately, there was a highway death that had Nash occupied and Code was in LA, thinking Pacific Rim was handled. Nolan was on his way, but his, Renzo’s, and Ford's ETAs were at least twenty minutes out.
Fuck it.
If I broke through the front window, that would cause the alarm to go off. That could be a good thing, or a very, very bad thing.
Pacific Rim people were okay with killing.
I called Ernie again.
"What?"
"Besides the front and back doors, which are both locked, any other windows? Roof access? Anything?"
"Just the doors, that I know of."
I ended the call and stepped back onto the sidewalk, far enough to see the roofline.
It was a flat commercial roof, maybe fourteen feet up.
I could see the square housing of an HVAC unit up there, a big one, old enough to have been serviced by ladder a hundred times.
Which meant a service hatch. Which meant it was almost certainly unlocked, because HVAC guys never locked roof hatches and building owners never thought to check.
I needed to get up there.
The building was a standalone, brick on three sides, the alley running along the right.
I walked it fast, hands in my pockets, scanning.
There was a recycling bin, the big commercial kind, solid enough.
I stepped up onto the bin, then onto the dumpster lid, and got my hands on the brick parapet. Old mortar, rough enough for grip.
I went up and over quietly.
The roof was flat and graveled, the HVAC unit humming in the far corner. I moved toward it, staying low, keeping my weight spread so the gravel didn't crunch. The service hatch was on the near side of the unit, a simple metal panel with a twist handle.
Unlocked. Of course.
I pulled it open six inches and listened.
Voices. Two of them, and neither one was Zoe. One was scared. One wasn't.
I opened the hatch the rest of the way. A metal ladder led straight down into darkness. The warehouse in the back, from the sound of it. I could make out the edge of shelving units.
I went down the ladder one rung at a time, moving slow, testing each step before I committed my weight. The voices got clearer.
"She was right here," the scared-sounding one said.
"Then find her." That man sounded pissed.
I hit the warehouse floor and pressed my back against the shelving.
My eyes adjusted. I could see the glow of a work light toward the back of the space, two figures moving between crates.
The big one was walking away from me, the smaller one toward me.
He had something in his right hand. I couldn't see it clearly but I didn't need to.
I was sure it was a gun. My blood froze.
I needed something. My eyes moved over the shelving beside me. Packing materials. Bubble wrap. A box of tape rolls.
Then, on the lower shelf, a rubber mallet. The kind used for assembling crates without damaging the wood.
Good enough. It fucking had to be.
I picked it up without letting it scrape the shelf.
The smaller guy took two steps toward the far wall, squinting into the dark between the crate stacks. His back was to me now. I moved out from the shelving, closed the distance in four steps, and hit him hard at the base of the skull with the flat face of the mallet.
I grabbed him as he went down and eased him to the floor without a sound.
I winced as his gun clattered loose from his hand. It was a small semi-automatic. I picked it up, dropped the magazine, racked the slide to clear the chamber, and put the pieces on separate shelves.
"Arnie?" The scared voice came from the far corner, uncertain. He sounded like a teenager.
I stood up.
"Arnie's not going to answer." I kept my voice level. "My name is Adam Beckett. I'm Zoe's boyfriend. Put your hands where I can see them and tell me where she is."
A long silence.
"He said he was going to kill her." The kid’s voice cracked. "I wouldn't let him. I swear to God, I wouldn't let him."
"Hands."
Both hands came up. He was a big kid, easily six-three.
"Where is she?"
"I don't know. She got loose. I swear I wasn't going to let him hurt her. I told him that. He hit me." His voice dropped. "I think she went toward the crates but I didn’t want to tell him."
"Zoe." I kept my eyes on the teenager and raised my voice. "Zoe, it's Adam. It's over. Come out."
Silence.
"Sweetheart. I've got you. Come out."
A scraping sound from my left, behind a stack of wooden crates near the far wall.
Then a hand appeared on the edge of a crate that was lying on its side, braced against the floor.
Then Zoe pulled herself out of it, straw in her hair, a cut above her eyebrow dark with dried blood, her shirt torn at the shoulder.
She was the best thing I had ever seen in my life.
She made it three steps before her knees went and I was already moving. I caught her before she went down, both arms around her, and she grabbed the front of my shirt with both fists and held on.
She didn't make a sound. She just shook.
I held her tighter. "I've got you."
"He had a gun," she said into my chest.
"I know."
"I couldn't get to the panic button."
"I know."
"The crowbar wasn't where it was supposed to be."
"Zoe."
"What?"
"Stop talking."
She laughed, a short bark, and held on tighter. I hugged her close, relishing the feel of my woman.
Over her shoulder, the kid hadn't moved. He was still standing with his hands up, tears running down his face.
"Did you call the police?" Zoe asked, her voice muffled against my shirt.
"Nash caught a fatality on the highway. Nolan O'Rourke from Onyx is closer, he'll be here first." I pulled back enough to look at her face and tipped her chin up.
The cut above her eyebrow had bled and dried.
There was going to be a bruise. Something cold and hard moved through me looking at it. "Who hit you?"
She jerked her thumb at the big guy. “Lance. With a tape gun. Then he rolled me in shrink wrap.” She grimaced with disgust. “I should have fought harder.”
“Honey, he has a foot and a hundred pounds on you,” I tried to console her.
“It was a fucking tape gun, Adam,” she groused.
It was at that moment I knew she was going to be just fine. I changed tactics.
“What was going on here, anyway?”
“Long story. Can we go home?”
"That's probably a concussion. I need to get you to an ER."
She shook her head. “Probably just a mild one. Don’t make a big deal out of this, okay? I want to go home.”
“I can’t take you to your house—”
“No, not to my house. I mean home. To your house. To James.”
“Yes, Zoe. God yes.” I kissed her. “After we get you checked out, tough girl.”