Chapter 12
KNOX
Iwiped my bloodied hands with my white handkerchief, biting back a smile at the sullied fabric, the proof of an evening well spent. The chaotic darkness that constantly plagued my mind was finally reduced to a low hum in the back of my head.
This calm wasn’t the result of the interrogation I just had with my latest culprit. It was the hazel-eyed woman responsible for his capture who seemed to both calm and ignite the darkest parts of my mind.
I entered the small observation space behind the interrogation room, where Clark and Brandon sat recording and monitoring the investigation, giving me cues, and noting important information.
Clark immediately turned in his chair, his eyes wide with what I assumed was hero worship, rather than horror at realizing his boss enjoyed violence.
“Sir, that was amazing. We got the location of three of their hideouts.”
I twisted my neck, bones cracking, as tension loosened around my shoulders. “He’s still not talking. He definitely knows more than he’s letting on.”
“What do we do, sir?” Brandon’s eyes moved from me to the barely conscious Russian kidnapper, a.k.a. Greg Martin, on the other side of the two-way glass.
“Keep him in custody. I need more information from him.” I stared at the blood dripping down his neck, his swollen eyes, and his shattered nose. Pleasure unfurled low in my belly as I recalled those few minutes I let loose.
Mom would disapprove, my mind screamed.
Mom would ask me to hit them harder if she knew the vile piece of shit he was, I argued. I looked back at the now-unconscious fucker and rolled my eyes. “Get him treated,” I told Brandon and Clark, leaving the room and heading to my office.
As I walked into my office, my pocket vibrated with a notification on my phone.
Hugh: I have access to the units and eyes at every entrance of the building. Meet me when you’re done.
Anticipation flared like a wildfire in my gut, and I immediately turned around, striding out of my office.
I sent a quick message to Brandon and Clark, letting them know I had an urgent lead to follow and that I’d see them tomorrow.
It was eleven at night already. The interrogation had taken a few hours.
Without checking if they saw the message, I shoved my phone back in my pocket and walked—sprinted—out of the precinct.
Life had become a colorless, monotonous existence that I was simply trudging through, curbing my instincts and suppressing my true emotions.
Until my little hazel-eyed vigilante popped onto my radar.
My heart almost grew in my chest at the memory of her angry, defeated face the last time I saw her.
Life was starting to get a little more colorful these days.
Apparently, Dominic Park owned the top twenty floors of the building, with the top ten occupied and the others still vacant.
This time, when I walked through the main entrance of the building, I didn’t wait in line at the reception desk.
Instead, I walked past it and tapped the card at the turnstile with the little glass doors that led to the elevators.
The security detail didn’t blink twice when the glass doors slid open without a hitch.
As soon as I was inside the elevator lobby, I dialed Hugh.
“I’m in the lobby,” I said the moment the call connected.
“You’re welcome. I’ve hacked into the cameras and the twenty fucking trip wires installed throughout the top five floors and put their security feed on the loop. Those are the only floors pulling heavy power, with the highest consumption on the 130th floor. You can start your investigation there.”
I pressed the elevator button and watched it come down from the 110th floor. “You sure nobody’s on any of the floors right now?”
“The heat signatures from my thermal drone didn’t detect anybody on the 130th floor. That floor looked like an interesting space from my drone camera though. The four remaining top floors looked like your typical apartments. There are some heat signatures on the 131st floor. So skip that.”
“Got it. How long do I have?”
“I’ve set up alarms for us in the traffic camera system.
Since I already tracked the vehicles you mentioned leaving the building half an hour ago, some are headed to Brooklyn, some to the Bronx.
I’ll get an alert as soon as any of these vehicles enter a two-mile radius of the building.
But plan to be out in two hours, max. You’ll have to tap the card I gave you on a little keypad in the elevator, then enter a code. I’ve already texted it to you.”
I bit my lip as I checked the code he’d sent. “Do I use the emergency staircase to move between the floors? Or does the code work for all the top floors?”
“Use the elevator to reach the 130th floor and get out there. Use the emergency staircase for the rest. You already have the key to opening it from the inside, as well as a master key to enter all the apartments.”
I patted my pocket to confirm. “Thanks, bro. I’ll buy you a beer.”
He scoffed obnoxiously. “I’ll take the most expensive bottle of scotch the next time we go for a drink. Thank you very much.”
“Only if I find something good,” I said, entering the elevator.
As soon as I stepped in—thankfully, I was the only one in the elevator—I tapped the key card to the keypad near the elevator panel and entered the six-digit code. Thanks to Hugh’s genius, it worked, and the elevator shot upward.
Anticipation coursed through my veins, the long-awaited answer to the mystery behind the vigilante—or more like vigilantes—would finally be unveiled.
I expected to find a dungeon-esque space with weapons and high-tech tactical gear hanging around. I expected to find the names and faces of all the people involved in the vigilante group plastered across the walls. At least, I hoped it was.
But when the elevator doors slid open, a massive, sophisticated black-and-gold door dominated the lobby. My heart pounded as my feet drew me to the entrance. I ignored the camera stuck atop the door, knowing Hugh had it handled, and pressed the key card against the keypad beside the doorknob.
With a flash of a green light and a soft beep, the door clicked open.
Just to be on the safe side, I slowly crept into the door, one hand resting on the gun in my holster. My feet halted at the space before me. Right across the entrance, my eyes fell on the name of the vigilante group embossed on the wall.
WILDCATS.
Underneath it, they had a little slogan that read: When the law doesn’t work, WE do.
My mind immediately flashed to my little criminal. Fury and hunger collided in a battle right behind my sternum. The audacity of this group to mock the very people giving their everything to abide by the law, to follow the law, to uphold the law.
But then, the face of my masked girl flashed in my mind. Her guarded eyes, with a hint of mischief in that occasional twinkle, the way she launched into a fight unafraid of her opponent, the way she stalked her prey in the dark, and the wild, dangerous aura that clung to her like a second skin.
She was certainly a Wildcat.
It fit her.
Once I moved past the empty reception desk on my left, my body froze at the sheer magnificence of the “apartment” in front of me.
The space was semi-dark, with sleek blue LEDs lining the walls.
The moonlight shining through the glass facade created an ethereal play of lights and shadows.
The large, open floor plan was covered in professional exercise mats.
The entire glass wall looking out over the city was lined with dumbbell racks, cable machines, and cardio equipment.
Large and small exercise balls were stacked neatly on the side.
It looked like a professional gym had thrown up in here.
Perpendicular to the glass facade, a massive armory wall held weapons ranging from knives of every size, axes, hammers, nunchucks, a fucking spear, batons, baseball bats, knuckle dusters, and heavy chains.
My mind pushed me toward the wall, my hands itching to explore, but I forced my legs from moving on top of the mats.
I could not afford to leave any evidence behind, not even an accidental dirty footstep on a mat.
I crept farther down the hallway, which opened into a large, glass-walled office with six giant screens. I slipped my gloves on and pulled out my flashlight. This side of the area was a little darker. I turned the door handle of the office, but it failed to budge.
Fuck.
I could see several large maps and photos strewn across the center desk, with about ten chairs around it.
So they were a huge fucking team. We weren’t dealing with four or five vigilantes. There were at least ten of them.
I opened my phone, pointed my flashlight at the table, and clicked the pictures through the glass. I could get Hugh to try improving the image resolution.
Moving on, I turned to the right, and another massive space opened up.
Bingo.
This was what I needed.
The brainstorming room, a.k.a the evidence room for me.
Three large walls were covered with hundreds of pictures of what might be their targets.
Several maps pinpointed locations with specific crimes noted in front of them.
I didn’t have time to study them all, so I quickly pointed my flashlight at them and snapped as many pictures as I could.
I stuck a few hidden cameras and recording devices in nooks and crannies.
But I was pretty certain my little criminal would find them.
The Wildcats were not an amateur vigilante group. These people seemed to know what they were doing, and they had been doing it for quite a long time.
If this group was outed to the public, they might become heroes of the city, or I’d have a whole bunch of copycat groups taking the law into their own hands. Maybe the best way to take them down was silently, keeping them completely under the radar.
Once I had a thousand pictures of the entire space, including their little kitchen, I quietly moved out and onto the next floor via the emergency stairs.