Part 17 (1/2)

Dammit, Morales, where are you?

I was on the far side of the warehouse from whatever commotion had gotten everyone outside, but there would be another truck coming around here any minute. Turning the stiff collar up on the coat was barely half a disguise. I sprinted down the side of the warehouse, trailing coat like Batman, and slid into the dark gap between the warehouse and the dispatcher's office. I made my way down to the end and peered out carefully into the central area.

There was a gentle rain falling, making blurry halos around the sodium floodlights. Mack trucks, looming blank-eyed and sinister in the dark, were lined up in rows, ready to roll. The commotion was centered around the last truck loaded. It was one of the ones carrying drugs, and there'd been a problem with the hydraulics. It looked as if the cab's steering had broken while it was maneuvering back into line. It was partly blocking the exit from the warehouse. Except for that, the dispersal might have started already. A huge lucky break for me and the Denver PD.

A group was standing in front of the faulty cab, centered around Windler. He was only an inch or two taller than my five-ten, but ma.s.sively heavy in the chest and shoulders. The bulk of him, the way he lowered his head, and his dark brown, unkempt hair and beard made me think of a bull buffalo. That crazed, wall-eyed look he'd given me this afternoon during my HR rounds shouted don't get in my way. He'd refused my questions and I was so going to report him for it.

Estes, the site manager, was standing alongside him, fidgeting and looking at his watch. They'd given up on the faulty cab. Another cab had been pulled up and was sitting there with its engine idling while they transferred the contents of the compartment. Headlights supplemented the sodium floodlight on the side of the office. The dispatcher, forklift operator and one of the drivers were staying to help, but the others were starting to drift towards their own rigs. d.a.m.n.

My cell tickled. I pulled it out and s.h.i.+elded the screen.

From Morales: Are you still inside compound?

At last, and he was treating it seriously. Yes. Trucks about to roll.

Shouting brought my attention back to the group. Nokes had come back out of the warehouse and squared up to Windler, gesturing in agitation.

”...some f.u.c.ker in here. The f.u.c.king hydraulics go on your truck and then some f.u.c.ker's let the air out of my tire.”

I couldn't hear Windler's response. His back was to me and he was drowned out by Nokes's panicked shouting.

”I'm telling you, there was someone in the warehouse. And they've been out here, f.u.c.king with your trucks. s.h.i.+t! We're busted, man, we're busted.”

So much for the lucky break. The hydraulics were nothing to do with me. He was adding two and two and getting a big number. The drivers were returning. Even the guys trying to switch the cabs had stopped and come across.

I didn't wait to hear what Windler said back to Nokes. It was time to find another hiding place.

The gap between the warehouse wall and the office wall was just right. I wedged myself in and walked my way up the wall, eased myself quietly onto the flat roof of the office. I was close enough I could hear some of what was going on, but I was well above everyone's eye line. And with all the people in the compound, hiding here would be a lot safer than creeping around. I pulled my ski cap lower and raised my head enough to see the group.

Nokes had calmed down a fraction and backed off to make a call. Windler was standing in front of the cabs, frowning.

Estes was alongside Windler, tapping his watch and talking in his ear. I could just about lip-read him. ”The next batch of drivers will be here any minute. We've got to do something. Just move them out?”

Windler shook his head as if dislodging flies. He looked up and spoke to the group loudly.

”Nokes is sure there was someone in the warehouse. We can't take the risk, but we can't take the risk of someone seeing rifles either. Rack the rifles in my trailer, take the pistols instead and keep them hidden,” he said, looking around. ”Spread out and check this place from one end to the other. In, on, under everything. You see him, f.u.c.king kill him. We'll hold anyone else at the gate. I'll come up with a cover story.”

I texted Morales again: They're looking for me. Real soon would be good.

Inbound, he responded. Head down.

What the h.e.l.l had spooked Nokes? It wasn't the missing coat-he'd have said. I'd left no trace. He hadn't seen me. He hadn't heard me. Smell? I'm trained; I wasn't wearing perfume and last I checked I smelled better than the coat I'd stolen. Maybe he was just right for the wrong reasons, like he'd been about the hydraulics.

The only benefit from this was that the drivers who were looking for me weren't driving away in their rigs. But if they did a good job with the search, they'd look up here soon. It was a straight race between the SWAT team and the search party. I distracted myself by trying to estimate how long it should take those men to search the compound, and comparing it with the response time the SWAT team quoted.

It had gone quiet, except for the idling engines. I peered over the shed roof again. Windler and Estes were still there, Nokes to one side arguing on his cell. Everyone else had gone off to look for me. Nothing like being wanted to give a girl a nice, warm feeling on a cold, wet night.

Estes held his pistol up in the headlights, checked it and chambered a round. He stuck it back in the pocket of his coat, unsafed. Idiot. The pair of them wandered over toward the office.

”Don't like this,” Windler muttered, not ten yards from me. ”Not tonight. It's trouble.”

”He's just jumpy, for Christ's sake, Guy.”

Windler wasn't going to be calmed. ”There's been something the whole f.u.c.king day.”

”What d'you mean?” said Estes. ”It's just a hydraulic pipe. It happens, man. Nokes is scared of his own shadow.”

”No. Right from the start today. That f.u.c.king b.i.t.c.h from HR poking around. Something off about her. Trouble,” he said again.

”Look, him or her, we'll find them,” Estes said. ”Then they'll be no trouble at all.” He chuckled and grabbed his crotch. ”If it's her, maybe we don't kill her right away.”

Windler had started to shake his head in irritation again when there was shouting from the gates. Awesome. The cavalry was here.

Windler was the first to react. He turned and sprinted to the new cab. It hadn't been connected to the trailer yet, and its engine was running. Nokes went for it too.

No freaking way. I leaped off the roof, coat flying, and landed next to Estes.

He turned to me, shock and disbelief on his face giving way to terror. I guess it was the makeup. He started scrabbling in his coat pocket, jerking at the pistol to free it.

”Pleased to see me, are you?” I said, as I grabbed his wrist and slammed my elbow into his face.

Everything happened at once. The pistol in his pocket went off and the bullet tore through his thigh. Windler's cab started to roll. Estes screamed and would have collapsed but for my grip on him. The SWAT team opened the gates to come swarming through. No! No! No! Shut the gates!

”FREEZE! POLICE!” was being bellowed from every angle. Someone was yelling my name. Shots were fired. I was standing right between the cab and the gates. It was barreling down on me, twelve feet tall and eight wide, hard bright chrome, lights blazing, engine roaring, dirt and gravel spurting out the sides. I felt a stupid sense of disbelief. He wasn't going to stop.

There was no chance Estes could get out of the way.

I wanted him in prison, not the morgue. I'm far stronger than I look; I lifted him up and hurled him clear. I'm also very quick; I nearly made it, too.

So, so close.

I was diving backwards when the cab hit me and I did the old rag doll flip through the night air.

”MAN DOWN!” someone screamed.

Oh, jeez, that hurt. I know it was dark and, yeah, I was wearing coveralls and a coat, but come on, guys, gimme a break. Then the ground came up like a huge fist and punched my lights right out.

Cold. Dark. Squeezed in a still, breathless s.p.a.ce. Why was I crying? Sergeants don't cry.

I opened my eyes. Rain, not tears, on my cheeks. Hands on my face, pinching my nose, gripping my jaw. Behind that, someone loomed, inches away. No! I won't go back to that cell.

I sucked in a panicky lungful of air and lashed out. I caught him on the chin, and Detective Jennings grunted and collapsed backward.

”Farrell!” Morales shouted at me. ”Stop!”