“Call her lieutenant and see if he can tell us where she is. I want Hank to be there should we need him.”
Blake used the headphone jack to connect his phone in order to hear and dialed the number. Finally, he was put through to Chloe’s boss.
“Sir, I’m looking for Chloe. Can you tell me where she is?”
“I sure wish I could. We found Hank and her vehicle outside the Palmetto Museum. Chloe’s nowhere to be found. Can’t raise her on her phone or her radio.”
Chills swept him. “That’s not like her, sir.”
“Of course it’s not. And she sure wouldn’t let Hank loose.”
“Loose?” Blake shouted. “I thought you meant someone found him inside the vehicle.”
“No, looks like she remotely let him out. An officer passing by saw the door open and Hank jump out. He couldn’t see where there was a problem, but called it in and started looking around. When he gave me the address, I sent him inside the museum to investigate. He initially didn’t see anything that alarmed him but kept searching and found an office that looks like someone put up a struggle.”
Not good. Very much not good. “What did they say happened?”
“Chalked it up to an irate buyer who lost out on the painting he wanted.”
“They file a police report?” Blake asked.
“Nope. Said the man stormed out, and because of the computer smashed on the floor, they don’t have access to his information to give us.”
“That has the stench of a lie.”
“Pretty much. The museum director stated they didn’t want the negative publicity and they wouldn’t be pressing charges.”
“I don’t buy that either. Chloe’s in trouble.”
“I agree, now let me go so I can get back to looking for her.”
Blake hung up and found Linc watching him. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Chloe’s missing,” Blake said.
“Missing? What do you mean, missing?”
“I mean she’s missing and whoever has Rachel probably now has Chloe.”
He wanted to throw up.
Chloe drew in a breath of fresh air when the back doors opened. It chased the last bit of nausea from her system, but she didn’t let on to the masked man, who grabbed her by the forearm and pulled her into a sitting position, then out of the van. “Come on, you can sleep later.” Neal’s voice. Interesting. The other girls must not be able to identify him. Otherwise, why bother with the mask?
“Feel sick,” she mumbled and let herself sag against him.
He gave an exasperated grunt and lowered her to the ground. “Puke on me and you’ll regret it. The drug should have worn off by now anyway.”
“Tell that to my stomach.”
He let her sit there while ordering the other girls off the truck. She used the moment to take inventory of the surroundings.
Seagulls squawked overhead. A cold wind scented with salt and sand brushed her face.
They were near the water.
The door to a nearby warehouse stood open. A yawning black hole, waiting to snatch and swallow those who dared enter. Or were forced to.
Rachel walked past her without looking, her right hand clasping that of the girl she’d been sitting next to in the van. Chloe took a closer look and realized it was Lindsey. The others filed past and into the warehouse without fuss. Chloe wondered if she’d left enough of a message behind for someone to realize she needed help. Certainly, the fact that she’d remotely let Hank out would be a big red flag. If someone found him.
And before they’d sprayed her, she’d managed to knock everything off the desk, overturn the lamp, kick over the printer, and toss the laptop against the far wall. Then the biggest security guard had tackled her, knocking the breath from her while his partner sprayed her in the face. After that, darkness.
Neal gripped her arm once again and yanked her to her feet. A dozen self-defense moves came to mind, but she waited. “I know you’re a cop,” he hissed in her ear. “That doesn’t matter to me. You’re young and you’re pretty. You’ll bring a good price. Now go.” He gave her a hard shove and Chloe stumbled toward the door.
She reached for her weapon, not because she thought it was there, but because it was habit. And, of course, the gun was gone. Probably the first thing they’d taken once she was knocked out.
Neal shoved her into the dark interior of the warehouse. A quick glance at the contents brought a frown. Cars?
A hard hand on her shoulder snapped her head around. “This isn’t a tour. Keep walking,” Neal said.
Biting her tongue, Chloe did as ordered, taking in as much detail as she could while she walked. “They’re looking for me by now, you know.”
“Probably.”
The absolute unconcern in his voice sent chills skating up her spine.
“They’ll find me. They’ll find all of us.”
“No. They won’t.” He pointed her to the door and gave her another push.
Chloe wanted to punch him. She flexed her fingers and curled them into a fist. Growing up with three brothers had taught her how to fight. Most importantly, how to fight dirty. And when to make her move.
23
The chopper set down in the designated landing pad. Linc pointed to the waiting vehicle and, after shouting their thanks to the pilot, they raced for it.
Linc slipped into the driver’s seat and Blake snapped his seatbelt on. The keys were in the ignition. “How far away are we?”
“Not sure, but we’re following those guys.” He pointed and Blake spotted the two vehicles.
“The feds in the unmarked cars?”
“Yep. And we’ve got more meeting us at the port. There’s a team scouting the building right now and they’re supposed to report in. If the girls and their traffickers are in there, I don’t want to go in with sirens blaring and have them panic and start shooting or something.”
“Yeah.”
Linc pulled in behind the first dark sedan and they raced toward their destination—and hopefully Chloe and Rachel. Within ten minutes, Linc stopped the car. “We’re on foot from here.”
Together, they made their way down to the side of the warehouse where a SWAT member met them, looking decidedly unconcerned. “So far, there’s no activity that we can find.”
Blake nodded to the white van parked off to the side. “Who does that belong to?”
“Not sure.”
Linc sent a text. “Annie will run the plates. So, there’s no one inside?”
“No. The place is empty. We’ve already cleared it.”
“What about the other address?” Blake asked.
“No one there either.”
Deflated, Blake walked over to lean against the wall. “I had really high hopes for this place. I don’t get it. This was the address in the GPS. If they’re not delivering girls here, what are they delivering?”
“Cars?” Linc said. He didn’t believe it any more than Blake did.
Blake stepped inside the building and the first thing he noticed was the scent of the ocean. The second thing he took note of were the rows of cars. Row after row. He moved quickly, not completely convinced they weren’t in the right place.
Linc followed him. “This address was in that GPS for a reason.”
“Yep. I’m not ready to pack it up and go home yet.”
“Me either. What do you think it is about this place and not the other one?”
“I did my research while you were driving.” He reached the end of the rows of cars and stopped. “And this one has a boat dock.”
The water lapped at the sides of the empty area where a very large boat—probably a yacht—could sit. Linc’s phone buzzed. He checked it and drew in a breath. “And guess who that boat dock belongs to?”
“Let me see if I can get it in one. All the Wright Exports.”
“You win. Belonging to Henry Wright.”
“Let me hazard another guess. Uncle to one now deceased Ethan Wright–slash–Carson Langston?”
“Yep.”
Blake huffed out a breath and planted his hands on his hips. “Now what?”
“We see if a boat left here recently—what time and who was on it.”