Delta
From Burke’s location just within the mouth to the hallway, he saw his two teammates approach the white SUV from behind it, a woman beside Wilson, whom he held by her upper arm.
As they rounded the front of the SUV, just steps away from a position that would allow Tom and Valerie Butler to see them, both men drew their weapons.
Wilson nodded at Burke and Tessman, indicating they should join them as they converged on the treatment room and the Butlers.
“Move forward now,” Burke whispered to Tessman, whose gaze was still on their six.
Burke set the camera onto the floor and pocketed Tessman’s phone, and then drew his weapon in the span of about a second and a half as he took his first step forward. He could feel Tessman moving with him. Neither of their footfalls were heard.
As Burke came into view of the Butlers, so did Wilson, Rogers, and the woman. Both of the Butlers reacted with startled expressions on their faces and gasps. “Let’s keep those hands where we can see them,” Wilson said. He released the woman. “Go over there and join your friends,” he said to her.
Burke fell in beside Wilson and Rogers. Tessman remained with his back to them, his weapon at the ready, scanning the interior of the warehouse for any threats as the woman walked towards the Butlers.
“What is this?” Tom Butler demanded.
“That’s them, the two men who visited me at the urgent care,” Valerie chimed in.
“So much for you being a frightened domestic abuse victim in need of our services,” Burke remarked harshly. “You have a lot of explaining to do.”
“Who are you?” Tom Butler spat.
“The men with guns who have questions you need to answer,” Wilson answered.
“What’s wrong with this man?” Rogers asked, stepping towards the unconscious man on the table.
“He’s merely sedated,” Tom Butler said.
“Who is he, and why is he sedated?” Rogers asked.
“He’s a patient, and this is a private clinic and you’re trespassing,” Tom Butler said.
Burke always found those types of responses comical. “This is a warehouse, and you dragged his unconscious ass from a Cessna out at the municipal airport and transported him here in the back seat of your SUV,” he said, pointing to the car.
“They said they’re law enforcement, but they refused to show me badges or a warrant,” the woman from the front office said.
“I am a medical doctor and I demand,” Tom Butler began, but Wilson interrupted him.
“Shut up, Doc. As a matter of fact, both of you, hands behind your backs.” Wilson was losing his patience.
Burke and Rogers re-holstered their weapons and rushed forward. They had the two secured with their hands bound in zip ties behind their backs seconds later, despite the pair arguing with them, demanding to know who they were, and physically resisting. They forced them to sit in chairs.
“Stay there,” Burke warned, with a hand on Tom Butler’s shoulder when he tried to stand.
Rogers then examined the unconscious man on the table.
The vital signs monitor displayed a heart rate that was slow, blood pressure that was low, and a respiration rate that was concerning.
While he examined the man, Burke opened the fingerprint app on his phone and pressed each of the man’s digits to the screen to capture his prints.
“What drugs was he given?” Rogers asked.
“We’re not answering a single question until you identify yourselves,” Tom Butler said.
“We’re the people with the guns. We’re the people who Valerie called in for help as a domestic violence victim,” Burke said.
“She claimed she feared for her life from her husband and that he was a member of a private militia.” He pointed towards the back hallway and the storeroom they’d been in.
“Based on what we saw in that storeroom, I think the last part is true.”
Tom didn’t look surprised by what he heard, and Valerie didn’t look as though she was being exposed, nor did she look frightened.
“That’s what I thought,” Burke said. His gaze focused on Valerie. “Why the false report and request for help?”
“We need to find someone who completed the form for help this past April,” Valerie said after trading a long stare with her husband, where a silent conversation was taking place.
“And who was that?” Burke asked.
“It was a woman and two men who showed up in April, and none of you fit their descriptions,” Valerie said.
“That would have been our colleagues,” Wilson said.
“A younger woman and two older men, one Hispanic, the other with very gray hair,” Valerie said.
Burke knew she meant Briana Woods, and Bravo Team’s Tommy ‘Louisa’ Flores and Eddie ‘Needles’ Winston, as they worked several of these cases together in that timeframe. “Who was it and why do you need to find this person?” Burke asked.
“Her name was Jessica Rosenthal. I don’t know what name she’s going by since she fled Detroit or where she is now. She’s the daughter of a very good friend of mine, a friend who recently passed away. I need to let her daughter know her mom died,” Valerie stated. “I promised her mother I would.”
“We’ll take all the info on her in just a second. But first, is there anyone else in this warehouse?” Wilson asked.
“No,” Tom said.
Wilson nodded to Burke and Tessman. “Thoroughly check the place out.” Then his gaze went back to Tom Butler. “If you’re lying, you just lost any goodwill you may have gotten from us.”
“There’s no one else here. I give you my word,” Tom said.
As Burke and Tessman turned away from the treatment room, they heard Rogers again ask, “What drug was this man given and how long has he been unconscious? His vitals don’t look good.” It also came through their comms.
“We’re monitoring him,” Tom said. “It was a cocktail of klonopin and fentanyl, and he had an adverse reaction to it.”
“Why was he drugged? And who is he?” Wilson asked.
Tom and Valerie exchanged a long stare again.
“Jesus Christ, you either spill it all or you get no latitude from us whatsoever,” Wilson snapped. “His prints will come back, and we’ll know who he is.”
“You still haven’t identified yourselves,” Tom pointed out.
“That’s right, and we’re not going to either until you provide some answers,” Wilson pushed back. “Right now, just remember that we’re the ones with the guns and waning patience.”
It didn’t take long for Burke and Tessman to check out every inch of the warehouse. The closed doors in the back hallway were also storerooms. In one of them, they found a crate of automatic weapons, M4 carbines. Burke transmitted through comms what they’d found.
What they didn’t find was anyone else in the warehouse. The Butlers had told the truth about that. They weren’t answering any other questions, though. Tom Butler defiantly answered questions with questions.
Burke and Tessman rejoined the others.
Wilson nodded to them.
“Nice M4s, look brand new in their shipping crates,” Burke said, motioning to the back hallway.
He held his phone up. “The serial numbers and the UID, that’s the Unique Identification barcode, if you’re not aware, will let us track exactly where they came from.
This just crossed into a whole different level of serious shit you’re in.
Finding this Jessica Rosenthal is the least of your worries. ”
Valerie Butler closed her eyes and her lips quivered.
“He’s my son,” she said after a few quiet moments.
She reopened her tear-filled eyes and stared at the man lying on the exam table.
“His father is the leader of a prepper group, and he is involved with a three-state private militia. They’re dangerous.
I am afraid of him, of them. I only lied that he was my husband. ”
The four men’s gazes flashed to the man on the table. He appeared to be in his mid-twenties. Burke did a quick mental calculation, as did the others. Valerie Butler was forty-one years old. She could have given birth to him when she was in her teens.
“What’s his name and why was he sedated and flown in?” Burke asked.
“Brandon Ellison. His father is Mark Ellison, currently residing just outside of Minneapolis.”
“We’re listening. Explain,” Wilson prompted.
“Tell them everything, Valerie,” her husband said when she remained quiet.
“When I was fourteen, I was coerced into having sex with a family friend. I won’t call it rape, but it wasn’t consensual either. I wasn’t old enough to give consent, nor was I really given the chance to say no. Brandon was the result of it. I had to relinquish custody of him when he was born.”
“What exactly does that mean? Can we have it again with some more details?” Wilson asked.
“You appear to be intelligent. Figure it out,” Tom Butler said protectively.
Burke stared at Valerie. “This family friend, who I’m going to assume was much older than you, he had the approval of one of your family members. And you were told to have sex with him, weren’t you?”
She nodded. “Some fourteen-year-olds are sexually active, promiscuous even. I wasn’t.
I wasn’t na?ve either. I knew what sex was and that pregnancy could result from unprotected sex.
I also had no one I could go to, no one I could trust when an innocent relationship turned into something that wasn’t appropriate, turned into something that was criminal.
And it wasn’t a one-off. Pregnancy didn’t occur the first, second, third, or twentieth time Mark Ellison came into my bedroom with my father’s consent.
Of course, the little baggie of coke he slipped my dad each time went a long way to ease any guilt my father may have felt about it, not that I ever saw any sign of guilt or remorse from him.
Not even when I became pregnant. Not as my belly grew.
Not even when I was in labor for twelve hours, or when I cried myself to sleep for months after I had to give up that precious little baby and not see him for over twenty years.
” Her gaze went back to the man on the table.
“How’d he and Mark Ellison come back into your life?” Wilson asked.