Cheyenne McCray - Point Blank (Lawmen Book 4) (31 page)

Her heart beat faster as she climbed a set of concrete steps with crude handrails made of partially rusted pipes. From outside appearances, the warehouse might as well have been abandoned. It was obvious Mark didn’t put any effort or money into its appearance.

When she reached the side door of the warehouse, she saw an older model car and a rusted truck parked in back. On the other side of those two vehicles was Mark’s silver Mercedes. Her stomach flipped as she wondered just who was in the building besides Mark.

It didn’t matter. As long as she killed Mark, anything that happened to her was meaningless.

No doubt Mark had been operating under the orders of the cartel. But with Mark gone, they wouldn’t have the same links to the chain. They wouldn’t have Mark’s contacts or his suppliers. This part of their operation would be completely exposed and they would have to shut it down.

God, she hoped she wasn’t being naïve. She remembered he conversation in Denver that she’d had with Brooks.

The though of him made her stomach twist and her resolve to harden.

She reached for the side door’s knob. It squeaked when she turned it and she winced. The loud creak that followed when she opened the door was even worse. She rested her hand on the opening of her purse, the gun within a fingertip’s length. She held her breath, waiting for someone to investigate the noise, but the warehouse remained quiet. She let her breath out slowly.

Tables and tools filled the area where employees normally worked on the damned items she sold for Mark. She’d thought the employees just painted the statuettes and framed the prints, but this must be the place they stuffed the resin pieces with cocaine and padded the backsides of the prints with marijuana.

Two forklifts were in the back of the warehouse. Crates were stacked two-high down the center of the warehouse, dividing it into two parts. The employees worked in two-thirds of the warehouse, and the other third, normally visible, was usually a mostly clear area in front of a walled-in office in the corner.

Maybe whoever was here was in the other section and she just couldn’t hear them.

Her Keds were silent as she crossed the floor. Her heart beat like crazy as adrenaline pumped through her veins. She slid her Sig out of her purse and wrapped her fingers around the grip before holding it in front of her with both hands like her uncle had taught her.

When she reached the crates, she eased along, her back to the wood. She peered around the corner and into the second part of the warehouse that had been hidden by the crates.

Nothing more than some scattered boxes and a row of tools.

A faint inhuman scream tore her attention to her right, in the direction of the office. A chill rolled over her skin. Had that been a man? It almost sounded like a wounded animal.

She clenched her Sig’s grip even tighter as she moved to the office. It had big picture windows and she could see no one was there.

Another scream and prickles scrabbled down her spine. It was still distant, but the scream came from the empty office.

One step then another. She reached the doorway and slipped inside.

A third scream and loud sobs had her gut clenching. She followed the sounds to a closet with a partially open door. Through the foot-wide opening, she saw a paneled door, slightly ajar. If it had been closed, it was likely the door would have been invisible as it blended with the paneling around it.

But it was open. And the sobs were louder.

She held her breath as she touched the door and slowly pulled it open. The hinges didn’t make a sound, and she let out her breath in a moment’s relief.

On the other side of the door was a concrete landing with steps leading down into a dimly lit underground room. She eased onto the landing after checking to make sure no one was looking in her direction in case people were in the room. Immediately a smell like urine and filth wafted toward her and she came close to gagging.

Staying in the shadows, she crouched on the landing and surveyed the room.

Directly in front of her, she saw the large area was mostly filled with ancient black pipes and strange-looking black metal things like furnaces and boilers. It was probably some kind of old boiler room. One light hung from the high ceiling, illuminating a scene below.

She barely held back a gasp at the next thing that registered, and she almost lost hold of her gun.

A filthy, bloody, naked man hung from a rope, dangling above a fifty-gallon drum that was filled with fluid. The man’s body was covered in long welts and cuts, some fresh and some starting to scab over. A whip had clearly been taken to him many times. He shook and terror was obvious on his dirty, swollen and tearstained face that was dark purple from all the blood that had rushed to his head from hanging upside down.

The horror that filled Natasha was unlike anything she had ever felt before. Never in her most frightening dreams had she imagined seeing anything like this happening in front of her. Seeing something like this on TV and or in movies was one thing, but this was
real
.

“I’ve told you everything.” The man’s voice was so low and harsh that it sounded as if he had been screaming for days. “Kill me… Just kill…me.”

She wondered who he was talking to until Mark’s chuckle echoed in the boiler room.

Natasha’s skin went ice-cold the moment she heard him.

“I haven’t decided exactly how I’m going to kill you,” Mark said to the man. “The acid might be too simple.”

Acid?
Natasha’s heart slammed against her chest as she almost said the word aloud. That must be what the fluid was in the barrel beneath the man.

“Francis, you know you’re on the verge of being finished off.” Mark nodded to a burning candle and Natasha saw a thick rope above the flame was burned most of the way through. The rope was strung over a pulley and Francis hung from the opposite end of the rope. Once the fire ate through the rope, the man would fall into the acid and die a horrible death.

Rage burned through Natasha and she raised her gun and sighted it on Mark’s chest, aiming for his heart. She was going to kill him now.

To the right, a movement in the dim room brought her up short. Her stomach clenched. She counted at least five men standing in the near darkness. Men with guns of all sizes.

She lowered the Sig and tried to make herself smaller and slow her now rapid breathing. This would all end with her death. She would kill Mark and then his men would shoot her.

“I’ve had you up and down for days.” Mark smiled a sickly evil smile as he spoke to Francis. “You don’t know how you’re going to die or if you will live.”

“You’re going to kill me…” Francis’s words came out slow and uneven, and resigned. “You’ll never let me live.”

Mark shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not.” Her stomach churned as he walked to a selection of tools. “I have enjoyed our talks, Francis.” Mark chose a pair of pruning shears. “Now I think it’s time you lose the rest of your fingers.”

“No, God no.” The man wailed, tears flowing from his eyes over his forehead, followed by snot, as Mark gave him a slow smile that could only have been described as evil. “Don’t cut off my fingers. Just kill me.”

Mark started to walk toward Francis.

Click, click, click.
The sound came from behind Natasha, like high heels on concrete. Natasha’s stomach dropped. She pressed her back against the wall where she crouched and looked up.

A gorgeous woman in flowing cream slacks and a matching jacket strode through the door and onto the landing of the concrete stairs, a foot from Natasha. She had what must have been a $3,000 Versace shoulder bag in a pale orange shade that went well with her cream outfit.

She was beyond beautiful—no one word could describe the woman more than “stunning”. Her high cheekbones and exotic features made her look like a Greek goddess.

Natasha had seen glimpses of her before. She always seemed to make herself scarce when Natasha was around.

“Selena.” Mark laid the pruning shears down on an upturned paint can and went to the foot of the stairs. “My darling.”

She arched perfectly shaped brows. “I did not know you had company.”

He frowned. “Company?”

The beautiful woman looked down at Natasha, who felt blood drain from her face. “Hello, Natasha.”

Mark’s gaze cut toward Natasha’s former hiding place. His features turned livid. “So the bitch has come to me. That makes things much easier.”

Selena spoke in a smooth voice as she looked back to Mark. “Did something happen?”

His voice hardened. “Federal agents are searching my home now, thanks to her. Even though they won’t find anything there, they will come to my warehouse.”

Selena cocked her head. “What agents?”

“ICE.” Mark’s face darkened as he bit out the word. “Just found out she’s been fucking one of the agents. I had her home bugged over the weekend while she was in L.A. This morning I learned about the raid on my home. All they were waiting for was a judge to sign off on a warrant. Earlier Pancho called and told me the raid had begun.”

Natasha’s heart skipped a beat.
He knows about Brooks.
She slipped the gun into her purse, glad her right arm was still in the shadows.

Fury screwed up Mark’s face and he pointed to Francis. “Thanks to that sniveling traitor, I still have inventory in the warehouse because he disclosed our last meet location. Otherwise the agents would find nothing.”

Selena turned her gaze back on Natasha. She had a cool, unreadable expression.

“Get up.” Mark shouted at Natasha, his complexion growing darker. When she didn’t move, he yelled so loud his voice echoed in the room. “Get the fuck up or I’ll have my men dump you into the acid with Francis.” He narrowed his gaze as he continued, “It’s sulfuric acid. It will not only burn and damage skin tissue, but it can expose and dissolve bones.”

Ice froze Natasha’s veins and she rose slowly and stood. She felt the weight of the gun in her unzipped purse, just waiting for her to take out and shoot Mark when the opportunity came. God, she hoped it came.

“That bitch has destroyed everything.” Mark ground out the words. “I will lose all I’ve built and I’ll have to start over.” He gave Natasha such a poisonous look that she almost cringed. Instead she raised her chin. That was until he said, “I sent the order to have your friend, Gary Orson, killed after I heard the conversation with the agent you’re screwing.” He had a maniacal look as he added, “I got the call a little while ago from one of my men. Your friend is dead.”

The feeling of devastation and horror that swept through her made her head spin. She stared at him, unable to accept what he’d said. “You’re lying. You want to scare me.”

“Orson is dead all right.” He gave an evil smile as he went on. “As far as the fucking agents, we’ll be safe as long as we stay hidden in the boiler room. They will never find the hidden doors.”

“Someone left the office’s paneled door open, which no doubt is how Natasha got in.” Selena kept her voice low. “I closed it when I came through.”

Apparently Mark hadn’t stopped to think how Natasha got in. Maybe he’d been having too much “fun” with Francis.

Mark cut his gaze to the men lined up in the darker part of the room, his expression furious. “Who the fuck left the door open?”

Two of the men shifted their stances, but no one answered.

Mark scowled and whipped his attention back to Natasha, who felt like the earth was tilting from the news about Gary. “Come here. I have something special planned for you.”

“Nothing.” Brooks stood in Okle’s home office and clenched his hands into fists before attempting to relax them to avoid showing how pissed off he was. Although it was no doubt clear in his words and his expression. “Not one goddamned thing here to tie Okle to the Jimenez Cartel.”

Trace scanned the room. “We may not be able to prove his ties to the cartel, but we’ve got him one way or another.”

“We need more to make this case as tight as possible.” Brooks ground out the words. “I want the cartel. I want Rodrigo Jimenez.” No doubt existed in Brooks’s mind—El Verdugo and his cartel were at the root of it all.

“We’ll get Jimenez. It
will
happen. It’s just a matter of when.” Trace dragged his hand down his face. “It’s possible Okle has a hidden safe in his home office like Salvatore Reyes did, or he might have one somewhere else in the house or in his warehouse office.”

“Agents will be combing every inch of this place.” Brooks nodded. “In the meantime, we’ll go to Okle’s warehouse and see what we can find.”

Brooks and Trace fell into step as they headed out of the residence.

Trace’s expression was tight. “I want to get that sonofabitch by the balls. If it hadn’t been for you, Christie could have died because of Okle. I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”

“I already told Christie that her sour cream enchiladas and red velvet cake would make us even,” Brooks said.

Trace shook his head, but Brooks had made his friend smile. “My wife does make the best of both.”

Brooks managed a smile, too. “Damn straight she does.”

When they were outside the house, Brooks watched the activity going on around him. “We’ll leave a team here. Maybe we should have started at the warehouse.”

“We still have the recordings and other intelligence we’ve gathered,” Trace reminded Brooks. “We have plenty to put him away.”

“I’d prefer to see him six feet under,” Brooks said.

Trace nodded. “You and me both.”

Brooks reached Sofia by phone. She told him she would handle arrangements when it came to searching Okle’s residence and gave him additional instructions for the raid on the warehouse.

When Brooks was off the phone with Sofia, it wasn’t long before he and a team were headed toward the warehouse. The team included Landon and Dylan, who also would like nothing more than to see the end of the Jimenez Cartel.

Trace drove his truck and Brooks rode in the passenger seat as their vehicle led the team. Dylan and Landon traveled in the vehicle behind them, with more agents following in larger vehicles.

Brooks’s phone vibrated. He removed it from its holster and checked the display.
Jase Wright.