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“They brought me here with no blindfold, so I got a good look at the entrance and part of the building. And I’m pretty familiar with these layouts. The giant garage bays on the other side? That’s where they keep whatever they’re hiding and distributing. I heard music coming from over there. Typically, several of these small rooms are clustered along the front wall. So if we unlock that door and head right, there should be another room or two before things open up. We could potentially hide in one of them if necessary.”
She took my phone and wedged it in her bra. “I’ll see what I can record. Grab the folding chair.” She nodded to where I’d been tied up. “It’s a good weapon.”
Fuck, she was good. I folded it up and waited while she tested the lock. “When they threw me in here, I overheard an order about pulling out the snowmobiles. I think they were sending people out to look for you.”
“Even better. Fewer henchmen out there. Give me that multi-tool.”
I handed it to her, and she took a moment to assess the different functions. But I didn’t have the pleasure of witnessing Parker’s lock picking skills because voices echoed from the hall on the other side.
She flipped up the tiny knife on the multi-tool and plastered herself to the wall next to the door. I picked up the folded chair and did the same.
I stood, my heart pounding in my ears, for several moments that felt like hours.
Parker was totally focused, totally calm, watching the door, ready to pounce. She turned to me and mouthed, “I love you.”
My heart squeezed at the same time the nausea still roiling in my gut threatened to take over. How the fuck had I ended up here?
The door opened slowly, and when Parker nodded, I stepped forward, smacking the man who had walked in square in the face with the chair. Couldn’t tell who it was, but I hit him hard, and he fell to the floor. Only, he grasped the chair and dragged me down with him. Parker darted out of the room as I struggled to get back on my feet.
I didn’t recognize the man I’d hit, but he was barely conscious. So I pulled myself up off the floor and took off after her, locking the door behind me as I went. The hallway was well lit and, as I suspected, lined with small offices leading to a larger, open space. I hugged the wall, crouching low and searching for Parker.
The space was bare bones, with spotty fluorescent lighting and small, drafty windows. At the end of the hall was an open warehouse-style space that I could just make out from my vantage point. I stepped away from the doorway, trying to get a better look, and spotted Parker. She was fifteen feet ahead of me, clutching my multi-tool and peering into the warehouse.
A loud shout echoed through the open space. I plastered my back to the doorframe as a large older man came down the opposite end of the hallway. Before I could react, he grabbed her by the hair and was dragging her toward the warehouse.
I sprang into action, ready to fight him, but she locked eyes with me and shook her head. Her eyes were wide in a silent warning to stay hidden. No matter how hard it was to watch someone put their hands on her, we had the best chance of walking out of here if I wasn’t discovered.
“I found the cop,” a booming voice shouted.
The response came from a voice I recognized. “About fucking time.”
Mitch Hebert.
Chapter39
Parker
Iappreciated when a person made it clear who they were. No artifice, no pretense, nothing but total honesty. Mitch Hebert was an asshole and a criminal and didn’t even attempt to hide it. He flashed his money, treated people like dirt, and made a habit of casual cruelty. So his presence was no surprise. He was seated in a warehouse filled with weapons, criminal henchmen, and several thousand silver bricks of what I assumed was heroin or fentanyl.
He had been telling us all along. But it was still satisfying to see the evidence laid out in front of me. The space wasn’t huge. It was probably a couple thousand square feet, but it was a police officer’s dream. Clear plastic totes filled with pills, half a dozen pill presses, stacks of carefully organized cash, and a fuck ton of weapons.
Grinder, that piece of shit, was dragging me into the center of the room, first by my hair and then by my shoulders after I landed a solid kick to his elbow.
He deposited me in front of Hebert, who was standing behind a folding table. My buddy Stinger stood next to him with a .45 pointed directly at me.
This had not gone according to plan. But at least I had Paz’s phone stuffed into my bra. Every word of this conversation would be recorded.
“Oh look. It’s the trashy ex-cop,” Mitch said. He didn’t have a mustache, but the twirl was theoretical. “You have been such a pain in my ass. Sniffing around my business, asking questions everywhere. Running background checks on my employees.”
How the hell did he know that? Shit. I couldn’t worry about that yet. Instead of getting worked up over the possibilities, I kept my face cool and impassive.
“I know you’re working for the Gagnons, and I’ll tell you what I told their old man. You can’t stop me. I won’t let you or them get in the way of my business.”
At his side, Stinger studied the gun in his hand like he’d never seen one before.
“But you have, Mitch. You let your arrogance make you overconfident. We both know you’ve been sloppy. You’re clearly scraping the bottom of the barrel with these two numbskulls.” I nodded at Stinger, then tilted my head toward Grinder, who was still hovering. “And a dog walking business as a money laundering front? Doesn’t get more obvious than that.”
Mitch’s face reddened, and he clenched his fists on top of the table. “Shut the fuck up.”
