Chapter 22 #2
I crouch and study it. There’s no obvious tampering. I could easily force it open, but that would be suicide, right? Entering without backup would probably have Dean and Arrow wanting to murder me if I don’t get murdered first by whoever’s inside.
So I keep moving. Around the side. The ground is littered with trash, broken bottles, old cardboard. My boots crunch softly. I see a side door. It’s closed but the frame has scratch marks. Like it was pried open recently and shoved shut again.
I lean in and listen. Silence. I push lightly. It doesn’t budge. I move on, circling toward the back. And that’s when I see it. A car parked behind the warehouse, tucked awkwardly near a stand of trees like whoever left it wanted it hidden but didn’t have time to be clever.
It’s a mid-size sedan. Dark color. Dusty. Nothing fancy. But my instincts flare hard. Because it doesn’t belong here. And it’s too clean to be a junker. Too intact.
Salem sees me pause and suddenly her hands press to the glass. I motion again for her to stay. Then I approach the car slowly, eyes scanning around it. It’s empty. Obviously. The windows are slightly fogged from temperature shifts. The windshield has a small parking sticker. The plates are local.
I crouch and look at the driver’s side window. There are smears on the inside glass, like someone pressed a hand there. My stomach turns. I try the door handle. Locked.
I step back and look around again. Still nothing. This is so wrong. Everything about it is wrong. I pull my phone out and snap a quick photo of the plate. Then I retreat along the same path, moving faster now, pulse kicking.
I get back to the SUV and open the door.
Salem’s voice bursts out. “What did you find?”
“A car,” I say, keeping my voice low. “Back of the warehouse.”
Salem’s eyes widen. “Is someone here?”
“I didn’t see anyone,” I answer. “Doesn’t mean no one is.”
Her face tightens. “Should we leave?”
“Yes,” I say immediately. “Now.”
I slide into the driver’s seat and start the engine.
Salem grips the edge of her seat. “What about the car?”
“I took the plate,” I say. “I’m calling Poe.”
Salem’s lips part, then she nods like she’s trying not to fall apart.
I pull out of the lot slow at first, then faster as soon as we hit the service road. I don’t like the way my body is buzzing. I don’t like that Salem’s breath is shallow. I don’t like that I have a bad feeling that this car is not just a clue. It’s a message.
I call Poe on speaker through the secure burner line.
He answers immediately. “If this is about your feelings again, I’m hanging up.”
Salem lets out a tiny sound that might be a laugh. It’s shaky, but it’s something.
“Plate check,” I say. “You near a terminal?”
Poe’s tone shifts. “Yeah. Read it.”
I read the number.
Poe types. I hear the faint click of keyboard keys. Salem watches my face like the answer is going to decide whether she can breathe. A few seconds pass. Then Poe goes quiet. Too quiet.
My grip tightens on the wheel. “Poe?”
His voice comes back, lower. “Where are you?”
“Outskirts of Magnolia Ridge,” I say. “Warehouse lead you gave me. We found the car behind it.”
Salem’s hands twist in her lap.
Poe exhales slowly. “That plate is registered to Arthur Charles.”
The name hits us like a gunshot.
Salem goes completely still.
My throat constricts. I force my voice to stay steady. “You’re sure?”
“Positive,” Poe says. “Registration is current. Address listed. Owner’s name is Arthur Charles.”
Salem’s voice is barely there. “That’s… that’s my father.”
I glance at her, my chest tightening at the way her face goes pale. Like the floor just vanished.
Poe’s voice comes through, sharper now. “Ozzy. If that’s her father, and his car is behind a warehouse tied to Goldenbell activity, you need to tell Dean immediately.”
“I will,” I say. “We’re leaving the area now.”
Salem’s breath trembles. “Why would his car be there?”
I don’t answer because I don’t want to say the options out loud. Because the options are all bad.
Poe’s voice softens slightly, but it’s still Poe, still blunt. “Salem, right.”
Salem flinches at hearing her name from a stranger. “Yeah.”
“I’m Poe,” he says. “I’m sorry you’re in this. I’m running another check now. Any reports on the vehicle. Tows. Tickets. Anything recent.”
Salem’s throat works. “Okay.”
I turn onto a main road and drive away from the warehouse, forcing myself not to check the rearview mirror every two seconds. Forcing myself not to speed like panic has a gas pedal.
Salem stares out the window, eyes unfocused. Her voice is thin. “So he was there.”
“Maybe,” I say.
“Or someone else was driving his car,” she whispers, like she’s trying to protect herself from hope.
I glance at her. “Possible.”
Salem’s hands curl into fists. “But you said he’s missing.”
“He is,” I say. “Or he’s hiding. We don’t know yet.”
Poe’s keys click again on the line. “Ozzy, I’m seeing something. Hold.”
My stomach tightens. “What?”
Poe’s voice goes colder. “Vehicle was flagged on a traffic cam two nights ago. Heading out of town late. No follow-up. Then nothing until… today.”
Salem’s breath catches. “That means he was moving.”
“Or someone was moving him,” I say quietly.
The silence that follows is heavy.
Salem finally turns her head and looks at me. Her eyes are glossy but fierce. “We need to go back,” she says.
“No,” I answer instantly.
Her jaw tightens. “Ozzy.”
“We needed a clue,” I say, keeping my voice calm. “We got one. We do not go back without backup.”
Salem swallows hard, then nods reluctantly.
Poe’s voice cuts in. “Dean needs to know now. Send him the plate and location.”
“I will,” I say. I end the call and immediately message Dean through the secure channel with the warehouse coordinates, the plate, and the registration name.
Then I glance at Salem again. She’s staring at her hands like she can’t decide whether to shake or fight.
I reach over and cover her fist with my hand. “Hey.”
Salem looks up.
My heart slams in my chest at the rawness in her eyes.
“We found him,” she whispers.
I swallow. “We found his car.”
Her voice cracks slightly. “That’s closer than I’ve ever been.”
I squeeze her hand. “We’re going to do this right. We’re going to bring him home if we can.”
Salem nods once, sharp and determined. “And if he knows something, he’s telling us.”
A dark little smile tugs at my mouth. “That’s my girl.”
Salem’s lips part, startled by the words. Then her expression shifts, soft and terrified and warmed by something she doesn’t trust yet. “Okay,” she whispers. “Then what now.”
I keep driving, eyes scanning the road, mind already mapping next steps. “Now,” I say, voice steady, “we get back to Rainmaker, we lock down, and we wait for Maddox to bring the storm.”
Because if Arthur Charles’s car is parked behind a warehouse tied to Goldenbell, the game just changed. And I have a feeling the next move is going to be violent.