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Chapter Fifty-one
Blake couldn’t believe Kayla’s message that was staring him in the face. The old man with the dog had been their perp, and he’d been close to the house – right under their noses all this time.
He’d created a costume, gotten a dog and made friends with John, and he now held them captive in the pool boy’s van. Jesus! How could he have let them leave? Turns out, they would have been safer if they’d stayed home.
He grabbed his car keys and headed for the garage. Just then, he saw the van go past the intersection at the head of the street, and he rushed to catch up to them, giving orders to his crew the whole time.
“Newton, I’m following a 1990 blue Ford van, license number four, nine, six, XRR, heading south on Highway ninety-five. Do not intercept. Repeat, do not intercept. Follow at a distance. It’s Dylan Ross and he’s got four hostages. Do not spook him.”
“Got it, boss. I’m connected with your GPS. We’re heading out now and will be nearby in five minutes.”
Blake closed the phone and wiped his sweaty hands on his pants, one at a time. How could he have been so cocky, thinking he had it all figured out. Forgetting that the original plan of sneaking the girls from the house had been suggested by Prowler, he put the guilt on himself and it fit like a snug coat.
He saw Charli’s face, felt her last kiss, her whispered words that she kinda guessed she loved him. Her teasing grin when he questioned her, “Youkindaguess? Baby, you either know or I’m gonna have to work on you again.”
“Then for sure, I’m still guessing. Maybe if you try a little ahh… harder next time.” The giggle that followed had him pulling her close for one more kiss that left them both breathless and heated.
The van stayed within the speed limits, making it easy to keep them in his sights. He wouldn’t crowd too close because the backdoor windows revealed the upcoming traffic. It was safer to ride alongside a lane or two over. He couldn’t take any chances that he’d get made.
Time passed with visions crowding his head. The two sweet girls playing games with Charli; sticking up for John when they worried that Charli would attack. His favorite memory – the night before when he held the strongest, bravest, most beautiful woman in his arms and told her he loved her.
Suddenly, he saw the van pull off the highway to the right. He had no idea where they were heading. Son of a bitch, the animal was taking them on the Cypress Creek exit, and onto Dixie Highway to the industrial area where they had a lot of old warehouses and buildings. Seeing as today was Sunday, and most of the buildings would be closed, no one would likely pay any attention. The image of his girls alone with no one to care launched such a vicious pain in his gut, it almost doubled him over.Not on my fucking watch.
He pulled his wheel hard, cutting back through traffic, forcing cars to give way, creating a hazard anyone without authority would pay a hefty fine for. Too bad – he couldn’t take any chances on losing them.
By the time he’d made it through the traffic, the van was out of sight. Not wanting to be spotted now wasn’t an option. He needed to find them fast.
Blake called in his position and had one of his men at the station give him the reading from the map they’d picked up by satellite. Thank God for up-to-date technology.
“The van is arriving at a building called Hal’s Custom Marine Sewing, Blake. They’re pulling in right now. It’s a smaller structure where there are trees around the parking lot in front of the building. He had to know the business would be closed seeing as how it’s Sunday.”
“Find out who owns it; question them if Dylan’s been anywhere near there recently. The man is smart and creative. He plans for every development. What better place to kill his victims than a warehouse that’s empty for the day, then head off to the airport only a few miles away.”
“You’re close, Blake. Go another mile on 17th Street and right on Route 1. Pull over in the Cold Storage building’s parking lot and go on foot from there; otherwise you’ll drive into a trap. Back-up is on the way.”
“Affirmative. We can’t let him know we’re onto him. Keep a low profile until I say different, got it?”
“Yes, sir. Understood.”
