Within seconds, someone passed Linc a tool and he cut the lock off the doors. With gloved hands, he pulled the first door up and laid it on the side. Chloe did the same with the opposite door. Hank lunged for the steps and Chloe let him go. The thirty-foot lead would allow him to reach the bottom.
Linc shoved past her, the heavy beam of a flashlight lighting the way, weapon held ready. Chloe eased down the stairs behind him, her weapon also out and ready. Hank barked once as Chloe reached the bottom. Linc stood still. Silent. Staring. And then he was moving. Checking the area in the back while Chloe did the same at the entrance. She caught a glimpse of the chain-link cages to her right and sucked in a harsh breath, but kept going. The last thing she needed was a surprise with a gun.
“Clear!” Linc called.
“Clear!” she echoed.
Linc hurried back toward her and they headed to the cages together. “I need paramedics down here, now!” he barked.
Six cages lined the wall.
Three of them held girls who appeared to be unconscious.
Hank was already pacing in front of the cages as Chloe rushed over. “Are they alive?”
“I can’t tell.”
“Hank says there’s dope down here too. Or was at some point.”
“If they’re gone, they took it with them. We’ve got to get these girls out of here.”
Her gaze swept each girl, sprawled on the floor, eyes closed. Each had a bluish tint to their lips. Like Linc, she couldn’t tell if they were breathing or not. She jerked the door of the first cage, but it held fast. Linc spoke into his radio. “Need paramedics and something to cut a padlock off.”
Footsteps pounded down the steps. Chloe moved out of the way while four paramedics entered the area. One passed Linc a tool and he moved quickly to cut the locks off the cages, one by one.
As the doors opened, the paramedics went for the girls, who lay on the hard concrete floor.
“This one’s alive,” called the first paramedic. A female in her early thirties.
The second one looked up. Another female about the same age. “This one is too.” She went to work checking the victim’s vitals.
“This one’s not.” The third paramedic’s voice was flat. No emotion colored her words, but Chloe could tell the death affected her. Affected them all. The woman moved to help her partner in the second cage.
Priorities. Keep the ones alive, alive. Grieve the ones you couldn’t help later.
“Chloe?” Blake’s whisper reminded her that he could hear what was going on. And he’d just heard there was a dead girl in the hole in the ground.
“It’s not Rachel,” she said softly. “None of them are Rachel.”
His breath whooshed in her ear.
“Syringes are on the floor,” the lone male paramedic noted.
Linc stepped forward and pulled an evidence bag from his pocket. “I’ll collect those. We’ll test them and see what drug was used and if there are any prints on the plastic.” With a gloved hand, he collected the syringes and dropped them in the bags.
Chloe gripped Hank’s lead. “Come on, boy, do your thing. Is there anyone else here?” She led him through the basement, checking every nook and cranny, looking for secret rooms, booby traps, and anything else he might alert on. He sat next to one of the doors that Linc had opened and cleared, but there was nothing there. “Probably had drugs in this area,” she said.
And that was it.
She gave him his toy and he settled down with delight to give it a good workout. Chloe turned her attention to the medical personnel working on the girls. The Evidence Response Team had arrived and was getting to work.
“Come on, honey, wake up. My name’s Pete and I’d really like to see what color your eyes are.” When he got no response, he looked up. “I think we’re dealing with opioid overdoses here. Breathing is shallow, pulse is slow and erratic. Pale and clammy skin.” His light flicked across his victim’s hands. “Purple fingernails. Yeah. Let’s give them a dose of naloxone and get them out of here. Be ready to give another dose if necessary.” The three women paramedics nodded and went to work.
Linc stepped forward. “We need sheets from the ambulance. We need to contain any evidence.”
“I’ve got them.” One of the woman paramedics rushed up the stairs. When she returned, she had three sheets.
They spread them next to each girl. “Now roll them on gently. We’ll collect their clothes and the sheets at the hospital.” He nodded to Pete. “I can carry one if you can get the other.” The medical examiner would take care of the deceased teen.
“We’ll have to,” Pete said. “There’s no way to get a gurney down here. I don’t see any sign of neck or bone trauma. We’ll put collars on them and get them out of here.”
“Let’s do it.”
Chloe gathered Hank and ran up the steps, her heart in her throat. She didn’t want to be the one to tell Blake about their find, but knew he’d been listening in on the conversation and figured he was chomping at the bit to know the details. He already knew that Rachel wasn’t there. And if the three girls left to die in the cages were any indication, that was probably a good thing.
16
Blake could easily let himself tumble headlong into a major depression, but knew that wouldn’t help him bring Rachel home. Right now, he would be grateful that the dead victim wasn’t Rachel even while his heart grieved for the parents who would soon learn of her demise. He briefly wondered if they’d care. He hoped so. She deserved to have parents who would miss her, mourn her, and hound the police until they found her killers. He blew out a breath and clamped down on the surge of rage that wanted to spill out. No time for that.
Chloe approached with Hank. She’d taken him out to the edge of the woods to do his business, and he now trotted happily at her side, his toy once again clenched in those powerful jaws.
And then she hugged Blake.
Surprised, he froze, then wrapped his arms around her and squeezed until she gasped. Loosening his hold, he rested his forehead on hers. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“You didn’t. Not really. Want me to take you to pick up your truck?” she asked.
He’d left it at the office that morning. It seemed like a lifetime ago. “Yes.”
His phone rang and he grabbed it, not recognizing the number. Rachel? Did he dare hope? Blake pulled the earpiece out of his ear and lifted his phone. “Hello? Rachel?”
Chloe’s eyes widened.
“It’s me. I’m sorry.” Rachel’s sobs wrenched at his heart.
“Where are you?”
“They caught me, Dad. I wasn’t smart enough. I’m sorry.”
“Tell me where you are.”
“I don’t know where I am. They want you to kill that judge, Dad, or they’re going to kill me.” He was having a hard time discerning her words through her tears, but he got it. “I don’t want to die, Daddy! Help me! But don’t do it! Don’t kill him. Just find me!”
His heart shattered. “Rachel—”
“You’re the only one who can save me, Daddy.”
“I will, Rachel, I’ll find you, I promise.”
“Sorry, Rachel’s gone now,” a hard voice said. “And I really doubt you’ll find her.”
Blake flinched. “You’re asking the impossible.” He kept his voice low, aware of Chloe’s watchful eyes.
“Nothing’s impossible. It’s simply a choice. Kill the judge or your daughter dies. She was supposed to encourage you to follow through. She disobeyed, so now she’ll have to be punished. You have twenty-four hours. And that’s a gift you should be grateful for. She should already be dead. Twenty-four hours. Once I get word of his death, I’ll let Rachel go.”
Punished? Because she wouldn’t tell him to kill someone. “You touch her and I’ll kill you.”
“Don’t make threats or promises you can’t keep.”
“I always keep my promises.” The line went silent and Blake decided not to push. “How will you know he’s dead?”
A low laugh filtered to him. “I’ll know. Tomorrow, Deputy US Marshal Blake MacCallum. Tomorrow’s the day. We’ll be waiting.”
Click.
Blake held the phone to his ear a little longer, then lowered it slowly. “It’s not over yet,” he said. “Noah Hampton may have wanted the judge dead, but so does someone else.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, we’re back to square one.” He filled her in.