Chapter 13
Thirteen
This should be straightforward. Find Ralph, question him about the conspiracy, get the evidence they needed to shut down this operation.
Maybe he’d lawyer up, maybe he’d try to run, but either way they’d get their answers.
Then Rowan could get to the rodeo and watch Huck compete.
Simple plan, clean execution, family time afterward, happy ending loaded up for mission success.
The drive to Rousseau’s office took twenty minutes through the winding roads that connected the rural crime scene to downtown Renegade.
Rowan’s fingers drummed against the passenger door handle while Detective Martinelli navigated the curves, plotting their entrance.
Two-man entry through the front, Saxon covering the rear exit.
Check for vehicles in the parking area, assess security measures, identify escape routes.
Standard building clearance protocols. Simple interrogation setup with Martinelli taking lead, Saxon documenting, himself reading body language and microexpressions.
Aw. He needed to step back, because clearly this wasn’t Martinelli’s plan as he pulled up to the front of the office complex. All modern glass and steel, with manicured landscaping, the building spoke of corporate money and legitimate business interests—so not the look of an evil lair.
Except it made it the perfect cover for criminal activity, right?
Martinelli’s radio crackled with updates from the surveillance team. “Subject’s residence appears empty.”
“Copy.” Martinelli keyed his mic. “Maintain position and report any movement.”
Saxon pulled up beside them in his truck.
They approached the main entrance together and found the door unlocked. Their boots scuffed against polished concrete as they crossed the lobby. The receptionist’s desk was unmanned and the office shut down for a Saturday.
“Hello?” Rowan called out, his voice carrying in the empty space. “Anyone here?”
A door opened down a hallway, and a young woman emerged. Her hair was pulled back in a neat bun, and she clutched a stack of papers against her chest. Her eyes darted between the three men. “Can I help you?”
“We’re looking for Ralph Rousseau,” Martinelli said, displaying his badge. “Official police business.”
“Mr. Rousseau isn’t here.” She frowned. “He didn’t come in this morning.”
“When did you last see him?” Martinelli asked.
“Yesterday afternoon. He left around four and told me to cancel all his appointments for today. I came in to finish up the paperwork on a couple upcoming closings.”
“Did he say where he was going?” Rowan said, refusing to glance at his watch. But he still had time.
“No, but…” The woman hesitated, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper. “There were some men here yesterday. They didn’t look like clients.”
“What did they look like?” Saxon said.
“Professional, but sort of scary. They wore expensive suits, but like tough guys. They went into Mr. Rousseau’s office and closed the door. When they left, Mr. Rousseau seemed rattled. He left shortly after that.”
Rowan glanced at Martinelli, who said, “Rattled how?”
“Like…I don’t know. Maybe like someone had just threatened him?”
Saxon and Rowan exchanged glances.
“Ma’am,” Martinelli said, “we’re going to need you to come with us to make a formal statement. And we’ll need access to Mr. Rousseau’s office.”
“Is he in trouble?” Her voice fell, quavered.
“We’re trying to figure that out,” Martinelli said.
They followed her down the hall to another office. When she opened the door, she gasped.
“This his office?” Rowan asked.
She nodded, her hand to her mouth.
Desk drawers hung open, papers were scattered across the floor, and a wall safe stood empty with its door ajar. The chaos said panic.
“Looks like he was gathering documents,” Martinelli said, walking into the room. “Don’t touch anything.”
He said it to Rowan, maybe, but he wasn’t an idiot.
Or maybe he said it to Saxon, because he’d picked up a business card from the floor, studying it. “This is interesting. TerraCorps Mining Solutions.”
“They’re one of our clients,” the woman said.
His phone buzzed with a text. He glanced at the screen, expecting an update from the surveillance team. Instead, he saw Sierra’s number.
Sierra
Huck’s asking for you. Competition starts in 30. Where are you?
Shoot. He needed to go. But they still didn’t have Rousseau in custody.
“Problem?” Saxon asked.
“Time’s running out. Huck’s competition starts soon.” Rowan pocketed his phone. “We need to find Rousseau fast.”
Martinelli’s radio came to life. “Detective, we have a situation at the Rousseau residence. Neighbors reported hearing gunshots earlier this morning.”
“Copy that. En route.” Martinelli was already moving toward the door.
The drive to Rousseau’s house took a thousand hours, a.k.a. fifteen minutes. “If Rousseau’s been killed or kidnapped,” Rowan said, “we’re not dealing with a local businessman gone bad.”
“You’re thinking organized crime?” Martinelli asked, taking a corner that required Rowan to brace himself.
“Maybe.” He looked out the window. He should have gone to the rodeo. But he couldn’t leave with this knot in his gut.
Tall pines flanked the entrance to the Rousseau estate, the driveway winding nearly half a mile through manicured landscaping before the house came into view.
The home rose four stories, with balconies on the upper floors overlooking lawns so perfectly groomed they could have graced the cover of a landscaping magazine.
Police vehicles lined the drive, their red and blue lights slashing across the massive stone structure like a scene from a crime drama.
A uniformed officer approached as they climbed out of their vehicles. “Detectives? We’ve got a problem.”
“What’s the situation?” Martinelli asked, already pulling on latex gloves.
“House is empty, but there are clear signs of a struggle. Blood on the kitchen floor, overturned furniture, back door standing open.” The officer consulted his notes. “Neighbors heard gunshots around six thirty this morning. Nobody called it in though.”
“Any sign of Rousseau?” Saxon had pulled up behind them and now stalked up.
“Negative,” said the officer. “But we found his wallet in a bedroom drawer. If he left willingly, he didn’t take much with him.”
Rowan studied the house. “Security system?”
“Disabled from the inside. Maybe he knew his attackers.”
Rowan turned to Martinelli. “Think about it. We get evidence pointing to Rousseau, we come looking for him, and conveniently he’s been taken.”
“What are you thinking?” Saxon asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe he knows something they don’t want us to find out.”
“Or maybe he crossed them,” Saxon said. “The real architects of the conspiracy eliminated their local operative before he could be arrested and questioned.” He pulled out his phone.
“I wish we had those GPS tracking rings we used during firefighting operations. Would make finding people a lot easier.”
“Wait,” Rowan said. “You could call Jamie Winters. See if she can track Rousseau’s GPS through his phone.”
“She helped us thwart the bio-bomb conspiracy last summer. If anyone can locate a missing person through technology, it’s Jamie.” Saxon was already dialing, stepping away.
Martinelli just stood there, frowning.
“What?” Rowan said.
“What if they’re using him as bait?”
Rowan stilled. “What?”
“Any reason to think they’d want our attention elsewhere?”
Rowan frowned. “Where?”
“I don’t know. Just that the Blackwoods’ place has been targeted a lot. I keep thinking about Rousseau’s office. Looks a lot like the damage left at Sierra’s place.”
Rowan stilled. “Huck and Sierra. They’re at the rodeo.”
“They’re probably fine, right? All those people. Still, I think we get a unit out to her house.” Martinelli picked up his walkie.
Rowan grabbed his phone. Another text had come in.
Sierra
Seriously, where are you? Huck’s event is starting.
And then another, about ten minutes later.
Sierra
Are you okay?
And then three missed calls. Oh, he was in trouble. He pocketed the phone. Better to show up, pronto, and explain face-to-face.
Saxon was jogging back from his vehicle.
“Got him.” Saxon’s voice cut through his brooding. “Jamie tracked his phone to an industrial area about twenty minutes from here. Looks like a food-processing plant.”
“Food processing?”
“Alpine Fresh Foods. They make frozen pizzas.” Saxon consulted his phone. “Jamie says his GPS signal has been stationary there for the past three hours.”
Martinelli approached. “What’s the plan?”
“We go get him,” Rowan said. “Three of us, quick entry, fast extraction.”
“Hold on.” Martinelli raised a hand. “We don’t know what we’re walking into. Could be a trap, could be a hostage situation. Protocol says we call for backup.”
“How long will that take?”
“Hour, maybe two.”
“We don’t have time for protocol,” Rowan said. “Every minute we wait is another minute they have to eliminate Rousseau or move him to a different location.”
“And every minute we rush in unprepared is another chance we get ourselves killed.” Martinelli’s gaze fixed on Rowan’s.
Saxon stepped between them. “What if we compromise? Fast reconnaissance, assess the situation, then decide if we need backup?”
Martinelli considered this, then, “Reconnaissance only. We see what we’re dealing with before making any moves.”
Rowan got in the truck with Saxon, not needing any of Martinelli’s ire.
The drive to Alpine Fresh Foods took twenty minutes through industrial sections of the city. He stared out the passenger window at warehouses and processing plants, his hands clenched in his lap.
“I hate this,” he said finally.
“Hate what?” Saxon said.
“Being helpless. Not seeing the entire picture. I’m walking in blind.” Rowan’s jaw tightened. “And not just now, but with Sierra, and Huck and…” He blew out a breath. “Last night, Huck nearly got killed.” He actually put a hand to his chest.
Saxon glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “Well, look who’s human.”