Immediately, she jumped back into the shadows. Halfway down the street, someone was smoking a cigarette, the red glow of the tip punctuating the darkness. Behind him stood a large metal-sided building. In its second-story corner, Cassidy saw a row of small square windows connected in a row.
Parked near a door stood a black Mercedes—she couldn’t read the plate from this far away, but Cassidy knew it in her bones that it was the same car that had transported Izzy. Cassidy looked again at the second-story windows, unable to detect light from inside them. A crop of butterflies dive-bombed her stomach, their wings scraping past her insides.
The man extinguished his cigarette and returned to the building, entering through the doorway. He’s waiting for someone, Cassidy realized as a chill tingled through her spine.
Cassidy discretely checked the clock on her phone: almost midnight. She imagined a gang of bikers standing guard around the warehouse. How was she going to get inside? How was she going to get to Izzy?
Walking one block further, she turned right, hoping to find the back of the building unguarded. She passed several smaller buildings until she reached the building’s loading dock and roll-down door. High above it, a large, square window had been propped open several inches.
Not seeing any guards, Cassidy hurried closer, stepping carefully over the gritty pavement so as not to make any sound. She climbed the steps to the loading dock and carefully tugged on the bottom of the dented roll-down door. It didn’t budge.
Looking up, Cassidy noticed how the windowpane extended outward from a top hinge, meaning it might be possible to pry it open further. Cassidy scanned the area for something she could climb in order to get high enough to get through it, taking in every detail, until she came across a stack of pallets leaning against the building behind her.
When in the field, equipment broke all the time, or the supplies you needed weren’t available, especially in places like Costa Rica or even Sicily, so Cassidy had become a master improviser. Though Héctor took this to an art level, Cassidy knew that if she could find some way to attach the rungs of the pallet, it might work as a ladder. She crossed the street and picked up two pallets, then carried them back to the loading dock. She returned for a third, scanning the gutters for anything she might use to tie the pallets together, and came across a broken tie-down and further on, a half-used roll of packing tape, flattened and dirty from being run over.
Returning to the back of the building, her mind narrowed to her purpose and the ladder took shape. She peeled open the tape roll to attach two rungs, cringing when it screeched loudly. She slowed, unrolling the tape inch by inch, tuning in for sounds of footsteps or noises from inside. Once everything was secure, she rotated the giant ladder upright.
Cassidy gave the ladder a shake for good measure, then kicked off her flip flops and began to climb.
Twenty-Nine
The pallet jiggled and squeaked as the wood flexed with her shifting weight, but it held. The pallet ladder extended several feet higher than the base of the window, which meant that Cassidy had to lean sideways to get her hands on the bottom ledge of the window. Once there, she paused, her hands gripping the sharp metal edge, her feet still on the pallet ladder, and listened. A fan hummed from the darkness, but otherwise she heard no distinct sounds of occupancy. Peering into the space, she made out rows of floor-to-ceiling metal shelving. A forklift stood at the head of the central row, its basket extended.
Peering inside the window, she noticed she was over an office, the open walls extending to several feet below her Across the warehouse floor Cassidy noticed a set of stairs leading the second floor. Cassidy tried to construct a 3D map of the building in her mind. Izzy was obviously not at the warehouse level but maybe the stairs led to a loft, or more offices. Had everyone gone upstairs by now? Had whomever they were waiting for arrived?
Cassidy had to get inside. Bracing with one hand gripping the side of the window frame, she tried to pry the window open further. The thick glass and metal felt stiff and heavy, but she was able to gain a few more inches before her feet started to wobble on the shaky pallet. Cassidy tucked under the window, her heart racing, not daring to look down, and pushed off the pallet. The metal window ledge bit into her palms and hips as she lifted a shaky leg and swung it over the window, carefully moving her hand to make room. The top of the open window pressed down on her shoulders and head, forcing her to duck in an uncomfortable position. Plus, the metal window ledge now pressed painfully into her crotch. She tried to use her bare feet to grip the metal siding, but it was too slippery.
Below her several feet, the top of the office walls circled the office space—easy to lower onto but they were only eight or so inches wide. She would have to land onto it perfectly, then balance as she lowered the rest of her body, and then somehow get down without falling on her head. The hard metal of the gun dug into her skin and for a moment, she wondered if it might eject from its location during her maneuvers. She imagined it tumbling into space, its black metal flashing, then landing with a loud clatter, or worse, a bang as it accidentally went off.
As a child, she had been a fairly serious dancer, but those skills seemed very far away as she thought through the maneuvers that would take her to the ground inside the building. A deep breath later, she slowly swung her leg over the window ledge, folding her
