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“Last I checked, a smell isn’t enough to indicate any wrongdoing.”
Barking echoed again and Jackson shrugged free of the two men holding him. “But a dog’s sense of smell might uncover something.” He marched past the police and Ward’s people and exited the tent. Scanning, he found Blaze barking wildly near a neat pile of storage trunks, ones that were used on bigger digs.
Jackson ran toward the dog and the trunks. He immediately noticed scuff marks in the ground, suggesting the trunks had been slid around some. Motioning to nearby officers, he enlisted their help in moving the trunks to reveal a hatch door.
“Son of a bitch.” He dropped to his knees and pounded on the door. “Isabel? Eugene?”
“Jackson?” Isabel’s voice was muffled, but he was thrilled to have found her. If she could answer him, perhaps she hadn’t been hurt.
Blaze barked up a storm and pawed the ground as if he was about to dig his mama free with his own claws.
Jackson pulled at the ring on the door, but it didn’t budge. He leaned over the door and fingered a keyhole. “Get me the goddamn key!”
“I’ve got your key.”
Something poked him in the back and when he turned around the nose of a rifle was aimed at his chest.
There was a split second where everyone—each cop, each team member, even Jackson—went silent and still. In the next breath, activity broke out everywhere. Guns were drawn, punches were thrown, all-out combat ensued around Jackson as he stared at the nose of that rifle.
“Doctor Ward gave the okay to waste you, Henley,” the huge, bandaged guy holding the rifle said. “I think there will be a little extra in my paycheck this week if I pull the trigger.”
“Maybe so,” Jackson said, “but that extra coin isn’t going to buy your way out of Hell.”
“Jackson!” Isabel’s voice reached him and he could barely swallow around the lump in his throat. If he died right now, Isabel and Eugene might perish down there. If he died right now, he might never hear Isabel say his name again.
If he died right now, he’d lose everything.
