accounted for the sound she had taken for a shed door opening and closing.
Using the light, she quickly looked around. The end of the trailer, where her cell was located, was maybe three feet from a warehouse wall. The other end, where the bunks were, was ten feet from the door that the trailer entered through.
What she figured was a storage room had corrugated walls and a large rusted steel door with crudely made hinges. A run of wood steps led up to the storage room’s flat roof, where bales of hay, some ratty-looking furniture, and wooden crates were stacked. On the ground level, rolls of rusted barbed wire hung like Christmas wreaths on the walls.
The large door was before her; to her right several fifty-gallon drums-two of which had pumps in the tops with hoses ending in nozzles-lined the wall. Several plastic gas cans stood beside those drums. Between the drums and the trailer was a stack of firewood piled in a small trailer made from a truck bed.
She carried Eli down the trailer’s steps, her free hand gripping the flashlight. Lucy took a few steps out into the space toward the inset door, heard a loud squeak, and spun back toward the storage room. Her heart lurched, imagining Scaly-hands or the woman about to jump out into the warehouse. She played the light beam over the door. As she watched, the hinges squeaked and what looked like a gloved hand waved at her through the slowly opening door.
Lucy ran to the outside inset door and tried to open it, but to her horror she saw a massive padlock hanging there. The lock secured two rings that held a steel bolt to the iron frame so it could be opened either from inside or outside the warehouse. The woman hadn’t locked the trailer, or tied Lucy up, because she’d known Lucy could only escape from the trailer into a larger trap. And this was a trap where she and her son were not alone.
Panic rising, Lucy clutched Eli to her and backed toward the trailer. The flashlight’s beam told her that what had appeared to be a hand was a blunt muzzle. The heavy door had moved due to steady pressure of powerful shoulders.
First one, then several block-bodied dogs poured into the larger space. Soundlessly, they spread out as a pack and formed a low wall before her of hungry red eyes, sculpted muscle, and bared teeth.
29
Winter Massey parked in the shopping center’s lot in sight of Alexa’s sedan. He saw Click Smoot spring from the sports car and run, coat over his head, through the rain into one of those coliseum-sized media stores, where both the music department and the computer department had shelves upon shelves filled with television sets. Winter couldn’t imagine how any of these monster stores did enough business to keep the lights on and employ as many people as they did-which seemed to be about one for every five thousand square feet of retail space. He called Alexa on the cell phone.
“I need to grab a disguise or two,” he told Alexa. “If he moves, I’ll catch up.”
“Grab me a hat,” she said. “I’ll reimburse you.”
“Halloween’s on me this year,” he said.
Winter jumped from the pickup and sprinted into a sporting store. For himself, he selected three jackets in various designs and colors, two sweatshirts, half a dozen assorted baseball caps, and three pairs of sunglasses in different styles. For Alexa, he picked a tan jacket, a blue ball cap, and a pair of sunglasses with light yellow lenses. He paid cash for everything and drove back to Alexa’s car, then got out of the truck, opened Alexa’s passenger door, and climbed inside.
Eyes on the media store Click had gone into, Alexa said, “North Carolina combat shopping champion. According to my watch, that was a shade under two minutes.”
“I hope the items meet your approval. I wasn’t sure which ball teams you follow.”
“That’s easy. None of them.”
“So, aside from the job, what the hell do you do with your time, Lex?”
“Think about how to do the job better,” Alexa said.
“Sounds exciting,” Winter said.
“It sure can be.”
“Last time we talked, you said you had run into a brick wall career-wise. Something about the Bureau putting you out to pasture teaching at the academy.”
“I’ve made some enemies over the years, Massey, but I’m not teaching yet.”
“Okay, so when the string does run out, what are you going to do with your life?”
“Watch a lot of football,” she replied, putting a Panther’s cap on her head. “I might open up a security firm like the one that pays you a fortune to come in for a few days every week to teach failed cops and ex-football players to protect Texaco executives. Only I’ll have the kind of operation that gets back the employees they fail to protect from abductors.” She smiled. “Big office in D.C. Precious and I will. .” The smile started to evaporate from her face, but she salvaged it.
“Your sister,” Winter mused. “She’d be a solid partner. Hard as nails. Blind ambition. She’s a captain now, isn’t she?”
“A major.”
“That’s like a step away from colonel, isn’t it?”
“Antonia’s doing all right,” Alexa said.
“She’s an MP?”
Alexa nodded.
“Both Keen girls in federal law enforcement. Mama Jack must be proud.” Mama Jack had been the woman who had rescued Alexa and Antonia from the foster home shuffle.
Alexa turned her eyes to Winter and her expression softened. “Mama Jack died, Massey. Last year.”
“I didn’t know. I’m terribly sorry.” Winter had liked Mama Jack Prior, had admired that the fearless woman had opened her loving home to something like twenty-six children over the years. All children nobody else wanted.
“She was ninety-six. Went peacefully in her sleep,” Alexa said. “We all got to go out sometime.”
“I’m going to take a quick look inside,” Winter said.
“Go for it,” Alexa said.
Winter knew that, while Click might not remember him from the Westin’s lobby, the kid’s subconscious mind had a record of the stranger and his brain might send a subliminal danger message that would draw his conscious scrutiny, and then he probably would recall seeing Winter. To lessen the risk, Winter had not only changed clothes but also changed his height and posture. Slumping slightly, he altered his natural stride. He sauntered into the media store like a man with a reason to be there, and went directly to the CDs. He spotted Click standing at the computer counter looking at something in the salesman’s hands. The clerk was animated in his pitch about whatever the item happened to be.
Winter tilted his head down, acting like someone glancing idly through the stacks of CDs, and watched Ferny Ernest Smoot until he was sure the transaction was a normal one. Convinced, he walked out of the store and climbed into the car with Alexa.
“He meeting with anyone?”
“Seems to be buying something computer-related,” Winter reported.
“He see you?”
Winter looked at her.
“I can’t believe I asked you that,” Alexa said, smiling. “Sorry. I’m getting senile.”
“I wish we had another car and a couple of good people,” Winter told her. “This kid is shopping like he doesn’t have anything at all pressing to do. What about Clayton? Maybe he can come give us some assistance?”
She shrugged. “If we have to, I’ll ask him, but he’s not exactly a field person. Anyway, he’s far more valuable in his hotel room. He’s got traces running on Smoot credit cards, has nets waiting on voice-pattern matches.”
“I hope he keeps furnishing the same quality intelligence,” Winter said.
“I can just about guarantee that,” Alexa said.
