Page 159 of Oddly Fine

Hayes understood. They were all worried that law enforcement’s delay in moving in on Mario’s stash would give him time to get rid of the evidence—which was the politically correct way they’d found to talk about the numerous executions potentially occurring because Mario needed to move fast to cover his tracks.

Special Agent Gentry had promised to post a few agents to watch the factory to alert them of any suspicious activity, but Hayes was certain Mario would not be that stupid. If he did clean house—which was increasingly likely with every hour that ticked by—he would do so quietly. It would be a ghost operation. Hell—he’d probably burn the fucking place down if it came to that.

Beckett was damned close to just snapping and storming the factory like a—ridiculously injured—one-man army. Hayes wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop him if he did.

Matthew wasn’t helping, either. He was every bit as anxious and wound up as Beckett. He’d taken to muttering to himself as he paced back and forth. Hayes and Beckett agreed it was best he stay with them in the smaller condo and not return to his primary residence until everything was settled. The only ones in a good mood seemed to be Nickel and Adeline, who’d spent the entire day watching mindless TV shows and eating takeout.

By the time Beckett’s phone finally rang with Gentry’s ID, it was 1:00 a.m. Beckett quickly grabbed his phone before Hayes had even managed to get his eyes open.

“Thérault,” he muttered roughly, wincing as he sat up too quickly. He’d put the call on speaker, and there was a strange mix of static and mumbled conversation in the background before she started speaking.

“The dirt on your boots matches the land the factory was built on,” she said hurriedly.

“That’s enough?” Hayes said, surprised.

“Not on its own, but we got really fucking lucky, and the hair you brought us belongs to one Ulrisa Comaneci. She went missing about seven months ago while touring Italy with her friends. They notified authorities that she was missing, and her DNA was on file in CODIS.”

“Holy fucking fuck!” Beckett exclaimed, clearly surprised their crazy-assed theories were all coming together.

“Time is of the essence; we’re moving in on Mario right away. If you want in on the action you need to be—”

“We can be there in ten,” Hayes said, cutting her off. Beckett had somehow made it to his feet and was pulling on his trusty cargo pants, albeit slowly with a few muffled groans.

“Haven’t even told you where we’re meeting,” she chuckled.

“Unless it’s in New Jersey, we can be there in ten,” he replied, sharp and focused. She chuckled again, apparently more amused than annoyed, which was a first for them.

“I’ll text you the address,” she said, before she hung up, the chaos in the background of the call making it clear she was at the helm of a very large operation.

“You’re not gonna beg me to sit this out?” Beckett asked as he struggled to put his t-shirt on. His chest was still a mess of bruises and cuts—and the giant bandage taped to his chest was a little pink with blood. By anyone’s standards, he should be in bed, resting. Hayes knew that, but he merely shook his head and padded his way over to the other side of the bed. Slowly and gently, he eased the t-shirt over Beckett’s head, managing not to dislodge his bandage in the process.

“If you fall in love with fire—it’s best not to spend your time attempting to snuff it out,” Hayes said, pausing to cradle Beckett’s face and press a tender kiss to his lips. They were still swollen, and if Beckett smiled, his cut would most likely open again. “Even if I forbid it, you’d go anyway.”

Beckett looked prepared to lie his way out of that but then—he winked at Hayes instead.

“I knew you weren’t just a pretty face,” he said, and it was as close to being a genuine compliment as Hayes was going to get at this hour. Beckett kissed him once more for good measure. Hayes could taste the blood from Beckett’s split lip when they separated.

Two minutes later, they were in the car, and on their way. For better or for worse.

Chapter 30

Beckett knew all too well what he was looking at, although he’d have wholeheartedly preferred to have been wrong for once. The room was small, the ceilings low, and even from the doorway, he could feel just how packed the space was from the musty quality of the air and the heat that rolled off the sequestered bodies.

There was a widespread hum of fright as he took his first step forward. Like a crowd hushing itself—or frightened prey sitting in silence, afraid the beast might hear them. A little to his right he heard a terrified squeal and for his own sanity, he pretended it was a mouse. At least for a little while longer—

“I’m not here to hurt you—” Beckett promised, his voice as low and quiet as he could make it.

He’d been the wrong choice for this, he realised belatedly. In their initial rush to get things moving, he’d somehow convinced Agent Gentry to send him in first. Her agents were spread out all over the building, making arrests and controlling the freaked-out workers. Beckett had bypassed all the protocols and headed straight for the entrance of the condemned basement. She’d not fought him on this. He sort of wished she had now. It had been a selfish request. They should have sent in a woman, hell even Hayes would have been a better choice. Beckett looked like one of the bad guys, especially with his banged-up face and heavily muscled physique.

There was more whimpering, but no one moved. The room became deathly still, like they were trying to disappear into the walls. Beckett sighed.

“I’m going to turn on a light, alright?” he said, mostly to reassure himself. He doubted any of these victims spoke fluent English. Not if their intel about their home countries was correct.

He switched on his baton flashlight, aiming its powerful beam towards the floor. It lit up a small area that was damp, with roughly finished walls and a dirt floor. Exactly like the room he’d been held in by Meathead and friends. He swept his light around the room, slowly moving the beam higher, finding evidence of blood and other fluids covering the ground. He nearly gagged.

It took all of his self-control not to scream when he first caught sight of all those frightened souls. They were gathered in small groups, pressing themselves together at tightly as possible, staying as far away from the door as they could get. They varied in age, size, and ethnicity—it was impossible to profile why they’d been chosen, but here they were, looking like wounded animals caught in a trap.

“I’ve got at least 15 people here,” Beckett said, speaking into the comms. “We’re going to need backup,” he sighed, tasting blood in his mouth as he bit down on his tongue to keep from screaming with rage. “And lots of ambulances.” He didn’t have to be a doctor to recognize that some of them were in terrible shape.