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“That’s it!” I look up at the high ceiling, where little round glass balls are fixed to the metal at regular intervals. “We should do something bad! Something they’ll notice on the cameras. And when they come to yell at us, or, even better, send the police, we can explain what happened and they’ll go after Wimpy and Rex.”
Bear follows my gaze. “That might work. But I don’t know if anyone is monitoring the cameras in real time.”
“Surely, they are,” I say, adjusting the weight of the box, grateful Clyde and her kittens seem to be sleeping through the worst of this. “I mean, your products are worth a lot of money, and that’s only one of the bays. I bet there are valuable things in the rest of the building, too, that the management wouldn’t want to leave unprotected. Even on a holiday.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Bear says, seeming encouraged as he glances around the hall. He pauses, pointing at a bright red fire extinguisher in the corner. He glances down at me, mischief in his dark green eyes as he asks, “Run down the hall, spraying foam? Or use that to break the glass and get into the office?”
I bite my lip, torn between my rule-following side and the part that’s willing to go to extremes to make sure this nightmare is over as soon as possible. “Break the glass,” I blurt out. “I’ll help pay for the damages. And that way, even if no one’s watching, we can use the phone in the office to call for help.”
He nods and heads for the extinguisher. “I agree. Move back a little. I don’t want to risk hitting you or the cats with shattered glass.”
“What about you?” I ask, as I pad down the hall, to what feels like a safe distance. “Do you want my sweater to wrap around your face or something? I have a t-shirt on underneath.”
“No, I’ve got it,” he says, gripping the red tube tightly in both hands. “I’m pretty sure the glass will break in thick chunks, like glass from a windshield, but I just want to be extra careful with you guys.” He pulls in a breath. “Here we go.”
He draws the cannister back and slams it forward. But just as the extinguisher makes contact with the glass—bouncing harmlessly off the apparently indestructible surface—the lights go out in the hallway.
A beat later, I hear squealing tires from not far away.
There isn’t time to figure out what that means—or ask Bear if he hears it, too—before a semitruck crashes into the end of the hall, just past the office, bending the metal walls and sending the solid door shooting through the air.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
MATTY
Ireach the warehouse minutes after the FBI agents. They happened to be closer to the complex when Al managed to get a lock on the signal from Clyde’s collar and launched into action right away.
Now, they’re gathered around the same van from the surveillance video, but it’s nose-down in a ditch, with no sign of Nora, Bear, or the Sweetwater cousins.
I pull up beside them, rolling down my window to shout my credentials into the rain, but I don’t stop to check out the van. I jab a thumb toward the warehouses behind me, and say, “I’m going to check Bear’s unit. Pretty sure that’s where they were headed.”
One of the agents says something about waiting for backup and understanding this is an FBI operation now that it’s crossed state lines, but I pretend I can’t hear him over the rain. I turn into the parking lot, zooming toward the entrance to Bay 12.
But at the last minute, I cut to the left, my wheels skidding in several inches of water as I shift direction. Something deep in my gut says to drive around to the back of the building. After all, there’s nothing to see here—no sign of the Sweetwaters or of a forced entry. If they’re still here, they’re probably around back, trying to get in without being noticed by people on the road.
Or maybe they made a run for it on foot.
Maybe wrecking the van was the sign they needed to abandon this mission and let Nora and Bear go. Maybe I’ll make this final turn and see my girl huddled under an awning in a loading bay, waiting for rescue.
Even as the thoughts race through my head, however, I know not to get my hopes up. Rex is too stubborn, and hell-bent on impressing his grandmother, to give up so easily. And Wimpy is too stupid.
I know this. Still, I’m surprised when I clear the side of the building and see a red semitruck without a load barreling toward the warehouse without any sign of slowing.
The rain is coming down too hard to see who’s behind the wheel, but I’d bet my pension it’s the Sweetwaters and Wimpy’s driving. Who else is dumb enough to floor it full speed at a building, risking debilitating whiplash or death in the name of gaining access to a warehouse full of toys?
I slam on my horn, alerting them to the fact that they’re not alone.
I’m hoping it might get them to turn the truck and make a run for it, but they don’t. Whoever’s driving slams on the brakes at the last minute, but it’s too late. The semi is going too fast to stop before impact.
I watch in horror as the man behind the wheel flies over the steering wheel and through the windshield. I’m no fan of the Sweetwaters, but I don’t want to watch a man die. I shove the SUV into park a few dozen feet from the crash and throw open my door. A beat later, I’m running toward the semi, which is emitting an impressive amount of smoke from the engine, especially considering how hard the rain is coming down.
I reach the passenger’s door just as Rex shoves it open, coughing hard as he clings to the seatbelt tight across his chest.
“Are you okay?” I ask, stepping up on the metal grate on the side of the truck.
“Fucking idiot. What the fuck was he thinking?” he wheezes between coughs. “I told him not to go so fast, but he didn’t listen. He never fucking listens.” Rex looks up, seeming to realize who I am for the first time. His shocked expression narrows with anger. “And it’s your fault. You sneaky shit. You were trying to steal our payday. As soon as this seatbelt stops biting me in half, I’m going to pound your face in.”
“Shouldn’t you be more worried about your cousin?” Shifting my gaze to where Wimpy lies unconscious, sprawled across the front of the truck, bleeding profusely from a cut on his forehead, I shake my head. “He might be dead, Rex. I can’t tell from here.”
