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Turk barked agreement, and Faith smiled and switched the cruiser’s lights on.
CHAPTER TWENTY
She saw the big rig two miles away. She swore under her breath and called Michael. “How long on backup?”
“Twenty minutes.”
“What? Why?”
“Small town, and everyone’s looking for Chung.”
Faith sighed. “Well, send them ASAP. Chung’s definitely here. I just saw his truck.”
“Yeah? All right. See if you can figure out exactly where he is. Thenwait for us. Do you understand?”
Faith’s eyes flickered to the left, and she was glad he wasn’t there to see that. “I understand.”
“Good. Call me when you find out exactly where he is.”
“Will do. See you soon.”
She parked the cruiser behind the rig and left the lights on. Stealth was the wrong strategy now. She needed Chung to know they were there. She needed Warhol to know they were there and put up a fight before Chung used the pheromone.
What she really needed was to go back to two hours ago and head straight here instead of detouring at Chung’s and Warhol’s houses.
Well, there would be time to self-incriminate later. Right now, she had a victim to rescue.
She rushed from the cruiser, Turk following. "Go find them, Turk," she said. "Find them, butstay back.”
Turk dipped his head in acknowledgment, then trotted ahead of her. She followed him as closely as he could while he worked his way around the fence. After a few minutes, he barked and worked his way through a cut open portion of the fence. Faith followed, and after a minute with his nose to the ground, he barked again and sprinted ahead.
She followed him while he led her to the crest of a small hill on Vanheusen’s property. As she drew closer, she could hear dogs. They didn’t sound angry yet. That could either mean they had already killed Warhol or that they hadn’t yet.
She drew her service weapon and pulled the slide back, then scaled the hill. Ten feet from the top, she dropped prone and army-crawled up to the crest.
As if on cue, that’s when she could just make out a human voice crying, “Please!”
She looked down and saw the dogs. They milled around a few feet behind a slightly built man holding an aerosol can. Chung. Ten feet in front of Chung was the quivering form of Arthur Warhol.
She pulled her radio and called Michael. "Michael, I've found him," she said softly. "He's in a shallow depression on the south side of the property. He has the victim and the dogs, and he's preparing to kill the victim."
Michael swore. “We’re still ten minutes away.”
“I need that sooner, Michael. We’re seconds away from go here.”
“I don’t know what to tell you,” Michael said, “We’re still thirteen miles out and five of those minutes are in traffic. Listen, Faith. If it comes to it, save yourself. Do you understand?”
Faith didn’t answer.
“Faith?”
“Just get here as soon as you can, Michael,” she said.
She hung up and listened intently to the two men below.
“I don’t know what I did!” Arthur was begging. “Please! I don’t know what I did!”
Chung looked at him with a mixture of amazement and disgust. "You know, the sad thing, Arthur, is that I believe you. You really are so utterly backward that you lack the capacity even to understand that you've done anything wrong."
