A short fictional work based on the tv series 'Without a Trace'
Rating: PG-17 (Language, violence)
Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the show or characters. This story is for entertainment purposes only, without profit or gain of any kind.
Note: First, thanks to all of you who've read both of my earlier Without a Trace pieces, Nothing Gold Can Stay from last year and more recently, In Extremis: Epilogue. I truly appreciate your kind and generous support, it really does make a difference hearing from you, it helps me write better.
A big huge Debt of gratitude to my friend and advise giver and most excellent editor, Christy. Thanks Pard, without you, this story wouldn't be here.
Warning, this story might be long, (those of you who've read my Magnificent Seven Fic's know how hard it is for me to write short stories. Stop laughing Laramee, I can hear you!)
Without Further interruption, let the tale begin.
Jose Sanchez was a large man, several inches over six foot. He was all muscle and still had much of the same body he wore in college playing football. At forty-seven, he was just beginning to get gray strands in his thick dark hair. Aside from the imposing way he carried himself, his glare was legendary in the local area. The dark eyes could melt through the roughest surface. It was those eyes and an annoyed growl that met the rookie agent when he tapped on the open door to the SAC's office.
"...New York... uh... Agents Malone and Johnson are here..."
"Okay, Diaz, thanks." Jose rose and handed the rookie a file. "Go find Kelly and get me more, this isn't enough for a warrant."
"Yes, sir."
"And Diaz?"
"Sir?" The eager eyed newcomer turned, shifting uncomfortably and adjusting his tie.
"Don't trip on the way over."
"Trip? No sir." He scowled at the rest of the team who snickered from where they sat at their desks.
Jack found a grin as the all-too-green rookie went past him and Vivian. They were standing in the center of a new office. The lingering paint fumes still hung in the air. His dark eyes scanned the impressive layout of desks, computers, phones and a room at the end with all glass walls. Behind them were surveillance equipment and very high tech monitors.
"Impressive."
"Thanks," Jose extended his hand to the speaker who he assumed was Jack Malone. "Ten years I've been bitchin' for an upgrade. Last year they got funding and we moved in this week. But the bodies don't change." His eyes went to the hall where his confused rookie reappeared. "Son?"
"Yessir?" Diaz turned, flushing as those dark eyes glowered at him.
"It's upstairs... fourth floor."
"Yessir... I knew that."
"That's what I thought," Jose sent back and bit back a smile. His visitors chuckled and he stepped aside, nodding to a conference room.
"How green?" Jack asked of the rookie.
"First week," Jose grumbled. "He came with the new furniture. I'm gettin' too old for this shit."
"I know how you feel," Jack commiserated, entering the bright room.
"Help yourself." Jose nodded to a counter on the wall. Large coffee urns, mugs and fixings were waiting. Next to the counter was a refrigerator. "Juice, soda, ice tea..."
"Thanks." Jack opened the refrigerator and got himself a coke and Vivian a Diet Peach Snapple. "Where are we on this?"
"We brought them in about an hour ago. They're downstairs in a holding cell. The little girl is fine, but I sent a couple of my agents to the hospital with her to have her checked out." Sanchez brought a box over and pulled some containers out. "Sandwiches and house chili," he set a large hot container down and smiled evilly. "You've been warned."
"Duly noted," Jack took a bowl and spoon from the box and opened the container.
"They haven't been charged yet. I wanted Agent Johnson there to question them." The Phoenix lawman turned to the female agent who was opening a turkey sandwich. "You've been waiting a long time for this."
"Yes, I have and thank you," Vivian replied. "Did they say anything?"
"She started to." Sanchez poured himself a cup of coffee and chuckled as Jack Malone's face turned red. "Hot enough for you?"
"Just a little," Jack choked through the mouth that was on fire. He took a sandwich, unwrapped it and dumped out the insides, wolfing down the bread to kill the fire. Half of the coke soon followed.
"She turned to him and got upset, telling him it was 'his fault' and 'I knew this wouldn't work'. She claimed 'her plan' had been better." Sanchez recalled. "He told her to shut up and wait for their lawyer."
"What about the girl?" Jack wheezed.
"Nice kid, considering what's she's been through, she's doing well. She told us he was her Uncle David and they came to America to see her mommy again. She doesn't remember much about being taken. Could be she was drugged or kept sedated. She recognized her father in the photo we showed her. She said her 'Uncle David' told her that her father died and that her mother was sick, too sick to take care of her. Once her mommy got better, they'd all live together in a new house."
"So they planned this whole scheme?" Jack wondered, taking the other half of the sandwich he'd massacred.
"Looks that way," Sanchez eyed the clock, "When you're ready, we'll go find out."
"I've been ready for three years," Vivian decided, finishing the half of a sandwich and drinking a large gulp of tea. "Let's go."
Pete Gibson finished his taco and tossed the wrapper in to the back of the van. He took a long swig of soda, belched and sent the napkin he used behind him as well. His icy blue eyes moved to the digital clock in his van.
"Three more minutes," he predicted of the pretender's pattern.
With Malone and Johnson out of the way for another twenty-four hours or more, he was free to make his next move. The pretty, blonde woman's cell was ready and waiting. Once again his blue-eyed fly would be the sole witness and unable to recall what transpired. But this time he'd 'awaken' from his trance far away from the confines of New York. In an abandoned house with Samantha Spade's bloody clothes next to him. He felt the adrenalin rising and had to calm himself down.
"Clockwork," he chuckled as the lean man jogged around the corner. The neck and upper chest of the gray sweatsuit were covered in sweat. "Naughty boy," he noted as the young man stopped, bent over and winced, rubbing his ankle. "What would your doctor say?"
Once the blue-eyed fly entered the building, Gibson moved to the back of the van. He eyed the first class surveillance equipment and got a rush. He sat down, put the headphones on and began to listen.
Sam yawned, rubbed her eyes and finished her mineral water. She sighed and looked at the piles of notes, folders and photos on the conference room table. She had copies of the information that Chris Boone supplied on Taylor's investigation and those on the missing nun as well. She had spent the afternoon with Trisha Collins from Boone's team, reviewing the files and info that they had on Danny's early troubled life. Just maybe one of his old enemies, gangmembers gang members or friends had a debt to repay.
She moved to the window and watched the traffic below. It was getting harder each day to come to terms with the fact that Danny might never return. The thought of losing that cocky, shit-eating grin he wore for good was too hard to bear. She pushed the image of a nameless grave away and thought about the other victim. Recalling Jack's words about therapy, she decided to gently suggest visiting Lisa Harris to Martin. She turned to the wall and picked up the phone. The machine came on, again. She waited for the beep to sound and spoke.
"Hey, it's the gourmet chef checking in, you want Chinese or Italian?" She heard the click as Martin picked the phone up.
"Hey," Martin managed, flopping onto the sofa. "Either, I'm not very hungry."
"Okay, I'll be over in about an hour. We'll go out; you've been in too much."
Martin sighed once and nodded, rubbing his eyes. Lord he was tired. No matter how much sleep he got, he was always weary. The fatigue that possessed him had little to do with the physical need for sleep. It was the emotional and mental toll that was conquering him. He heard nothing but concern in her voice and that was something to hold onto. He wasn't used to having friends, real friends who gave a damn. Someone who liked him for who he was, not what name he carried.
"Martin? You there?"
"Huh?" He blinked, "Yeah, sorry Sam. I'll be out front. See you."
The troubled agent took a fast shower then, scrubbing his body until it hurt. No matter how hard he washed, Danny's blood lingered. With every passing day, the almost permanent stain got worse. The smell choked him, causing what little food he consumed to come back. As he dressed, he eyed his soiled clothes and thought of his odd day.
He didn't remember Jack's visit, only flashes of a pissed-off face while he was throwing up. But he'd found the note from Jack Malone. It seemed that his boss found him at the Irishman's bar and brought him home. He stayed all night and that meant something. His father's change of behavior was tied to Jack, although the senior Fitzgerald would never own up. He knew they'd crossed paths inside this place and that Jack would have said something. Whatever the reason, his father had been very understanding. Martin had been too sick to converse much, but he was glad his father stayed the morning and talked to him about Danny. His voice had changed and he'd seen a new light in the old man's normally icy eyes. He promised his father he'd come down to Washington over the weekend to talk.
After tossing on some khakis and a blue denim shirt, he padded back into the bathroom to scrub his teeth and blow dry his hair. He didn't like the reflection that looked back at him. Far too many shadows were chasing him these days. Spitting out the minty sensation, he glared at the man in the glass and left. He grabbed his wallet, his cellphone and leather jacket and headed outside. The burning orange orb in the sky seem to mirror the heat that he felt inside his churning stomach.
"Eight fuckin' days," he whispered into the wind. "Where are you Danny?" The only answer he got was those damned icy fingers gripping his gut and that stench rising again. He closed his eyes and rocked back, just as the horn sounded.
"Right on time, Agent Spade," Pete whispered, watching the car pull up. He turned to the keyboard of the computer in the van and rubbed his hands in delight. "Time to get this party rolling." He began to type, giving the computer the right signals to initiate the cheese in the mouse trap that would lure the blonde victim into his hands.
"Hey, you okay?" Sam didn't like the pale face and pinched features that greeted her.
"Yeah, just still a little green," he noted climbing into her car.
"I know a little place not far from here," she said. "It's quiet. We need to talk." She turned the corner and heard the annoyed chuff escape his lips. "You need to talk to Lisa."
"Look, Sam..."
"No, you look," she replied sharply. "I resisted too. I fought it and pushed it away. I lost valuable time and the only person I fooled was myself. I could have gotten any of you killed because I was blind to the fact I wasn't being honest with myself."
Martin didn't reply. He kept his eyes on the passing houses, buildings and ballfields. She didn't continue the conversation and he closed his eyes. She was right, he knew that. But what she didn't know was why he was resisting; that if he told Lisa Harris about the breakdown in the cave that led to his visit with Doctor Gibbons, she'd have to report it. It was a direct bearing on Taylor's disappearance. He didn't want to lose his badge. But he couldn't go on like this anymore. He didn't know what to do. His phone rang and he sat up while reaching for it.
"Hello?"
"Martin?"
He was so dumbstruck he couldn't utter a sound. His eyes shot open and his mouth gaped widely. His heart began to hammer in his chest and he couldn't seem to find any air. He pulled the phone away and stared at it, as if seeing it for the first time. The pins and needles that pricked him at the sound of that voice now consumed every inch, nearly causing his numb fingers to drop the precious line. He blinked, put the phone to his ear and forced his sandpaperish whisper to come out.
"Danny?"
"What?" Sam nearly veered off the road. She pulled into the curb, put the car in park and grabbed the phone.
"Danny? It's Sam..."
"...ank... God... where... are... you. Need... help... hurt... b...b...bad... can't..."
"Danny, I'll find you. Where are you? Are you inside a building or outside?" She crammed the phone to one shoulder and dug out her notebook, pulling the pen cap off with her teeth.
"Where is he?" Martin pressed, too stunned to be annoyed that Sam took over.
"...old... cold... rats... hell all over..."
Sam winced at the weak voice and the ensuing coughs. She needed him to stay alert and shoved her concern back down. She gathered her jangled nerves and forced her shocked body to work.
"Danny! Pay attention. I can't help you if you don't talk to me. Where are you? Inside or out? Can you see a landmark?"
"...in... side... old... ware... how... how... sssss..."
"Good, that's good."
"....vats... beer... maybe... dunno...."
The voice was getting weaker and she had to push hard to hear him.
"...dogs... red... dogs... fancy... h...h...ats..."
"Danny? Danny?" she hollered, but the line was now dead. She dropped the phone into her lap and examined the notes.
"Where is he? What's wrong? What did he say?" Martin demanded, then grabbed her arm roughly and yanked it hard. "GODDAMMIT TALK TO ME!"
"He's alive!" she said calmly, staring hard into those emotive blue eyes.
She didn't say anything else for several seconds, letting that sink in. He calmed down, pulled back and dropped his face into his hands. She took a breath and moved her hand over, gently rubbing the back of his neck. She winced at the almost iron-like tension housed there.
"Sorry..." Martin managed, finally drawing his head up.
"He's in a warehouse, he sounds hurt. It's abandoned . I think it might be an old brewery, he mentioned vats and 'red dogs and fancy'."
"I don't know this area that well, not for something old."
"I do," she replied already dialing the phone. "Eric? Thank God you're home. I'm fine..." she answered the NYPD detective's question. "We just got a call from Danny."
"You're kidding?" Eric Keller, the pretty blonde agent's sometimes paramour said. "When? Where is he? Jesus..."
"He's hurt and he thinks in an old brewery. The line went dead, I didn't have much time. Listen, he mentioned 'red dogs and fancy hats'" She scanned her notes. "Do you still live up the street from Bulldog's?"
"I'm on it," he jumped up, grabbing for his gun and denim jacket. "You call it in?"
"I'm gonna call Chris Boone now. Call me!"
"Yeah," Keller replied, tossing his phone into his pocket and heading out the door
"Miss Mosley? Mrs. Harrison or Mrs. Hughes?"
Vivian coolly approached the woman sitting alone at the table. Her hair had been cut short and dyed a dark auburn. But the face was the same, one she'd seen in her sleep. A set of startled blue eyes met hers for a moment then went back to the nervous fingers clutched together on the table.
"Is it Karen or Leigh?"
"Leigh Mosley. Karen was my mother's name. I used it to..."
"To what?" Johnson pressed, then played a hunch. "To lure Robert Harrison into your trap?"
"It wasn't like that," she replied, bringing her head up.
"Then why don't you tell me what it was like."
"How's my daughter? I didn't get to say goodbye. They took us out... she was napping."
"She fine," Vivian replied, "and she'll be reunited with her father soon. Are you ready to tell me what you know? Or do you want your attorney present?"
"I'll tell you," Leigh decided. "I should have done this a long time ago."
Vivian was alone in the room; Jack and Jose were on the other side of the two-way glass. David Hughes, Karen Harrison's partner in crime, had refused to say anything and already contacted his attorney. The woman looked away, her eyes darting back and forth. Vivian saw the stressed woman's fingers twisted in uncertainty and moved in. "Look, you're in a lot of trouble, big trouble. Kidnapping is a federal offense. Abby was taken out of this country against her will. That man you consorted with is tied to a lot of illegal activity. Don't make this harder on yourself than you have to."
"I had a baby...before Abby, David took care of it. Afterwards, he got me a job at the Trop waiting tables. He had some money and I didn't want to push plates at blue-haired old ladies forever." She paused and sighed hard before continuing. "He liked me, couldn't keep his hands off of me. So I came onto him hard. We had an affair and I got pregnant."
"Abby's his child?"
"Yeah," she whispered, shaking her head. "It wasn't supposed to go down like this."
"Damn," Jack spoke from behind the glass. "That's something I wasn't expecting."
"The little girl's almost eight," Jose shook his head. "Not a very good plan. Something went wrong a long time ago."
"It was David's idea. He knew... had met Robert through the Hunters, friends of his. He said he saw how taken Robert was with their new baby and how he spoke about how much he'd always wanted a child. I was only a few weeks pregnant."
"So you conveniently sit next to him at the Hunter baby's christening and charm the wallet right out of his pocket."
"He had more than enough!" she snapped. "Hey, I was good to him. I played the loving wife bit so good, I deserved an award. He got what he wanted."
"He got his heart broken, his life shattered," Vivian snarled, "Is that what you think he wanted?"
"No!" she screamed, began to sob and paused for a moment to think. "It was supposed to be after she was born. We'd separate and divorce. I'd get my share and move on. He'd have visitation. David needed money to relocate to London to open his practice. My cut would give us more than enough, then there'd be child support."
"Charming," Vivian countered. "What happened?"
"Robert was offered a big job... huge. It was with an overseas company. His fee would be close to a half a million dollars and some bonuses. David decided we should wait until the job was done, so we'd get a bigger cut."
"It took longer than you expected?"
"A lot longer due to construction delays and weather, but right before Abby turned five the job was done. Robert decided he wanted to retire and move north to New England. He wanted Abby in school up there and to spend time with her."
"But you didn't ask for a divorce?"
"No," she replied, shaking her head ruefully. "We met, I didn't know him that well really. We got married right way and then Abby came. If I'd left then, it would have been different. But..."
"But you liked being Mrs. Harrison and didn't want to give it up?"
"No," Leigh Harrison admitted. "And with every year that passed, it got harder. I liked Robert, he was good man and he adored Abby. I got cold feet. When David contacted me again, I refused. I told him I couldn't go through with it."
"So he took her," Vivian interrupted.
"Yes... to force my hand. He didn't want ransom. He wanted it all. He wanted me to... force... to plan an accident, so Robert would be killed. I'd get all the money."
"This guy's a real piece of work," Jack commented to the glass, shaking his head.
"I was thinking of something a little further south," Jose noted, tapping his beltline.
"Oh yeah," Jack agreed, turning back as Vivian continued.
"Why didn't you tell us this three years ago?"
"I didn't want to go to jail!" Leigh sobbed. "What we did was wrong. I didn't want to get caught. I thought if I made him a deal, got him the money somehow..." her voice trailed off. "You have no idea what Hell I went through over this!"
"Why three years? Why now?"
"A few weeks after he took Abby, he had a bad car accident. That changed everything. He nearly died and it's taken until now for him to get over therapy and learn to walk again. Months went by and I couldn't reach him. I couldn't live with Robert... anymore. I couldn't look at him without being consumed with guilt, so I asked for a divorce. Then David called, he found out about the divorce. I was shocked. I'd been trying to for three years to find him. He said enough time had passed and it was safe. He made it sound like it wasn't wrong. He said I was free now and we could be together again." She began to sob again.
"Why didn't you call me?" Vivian asked.
"I couldn't risk it. If David found out..." her voice trailed off. She wiped her eyes and sniffled a bit before continuing. "I knew this wouldn't work. I told him that. My plan was better."
"And that would be?"
"Before he took Abby, when he told me I'd have to kill Robert and become the wealthy widow." She paused to collect herself. "I told him a better way to go would be a divorce. I'd get half, that'd be enough. He didn't like that idea."
"Come on, Vivian," Jack coached from the other side of the glass, "Ask about Hollis." He wanted to know the connection between Hughes and the dead junkie.
"Okay, what happened? We know he was planning on flying to Phoenix right after he arrived."
"Abby was sick, she had an ear infection. The plane ride over was horrible for her. He drove instead. He called one of his old street runners to steal a car for him. They were to meet near the boardwalk."
"Who was this man?"
"I dunno," the confused woman shook her head, "Billy Bob or Donny Lee or ..."
"Jimmy Ray?"
"Hollis," Mosley finished. "That was his name. He called me when David and Abby got onto the Turnpike heading for Philadelphia. I could barely understand him, he was as high as a kite. He said David got him some real good shit."
"Oh, it was quite a ride," Vivian agreed, leaning over the table. "Right to the morgue!"
"Hey, you can't pin that on me!" Leigh tossed back.
"Honey, you're in no position to be threatening me. If you ever want to see Abby again you better cooperate. Did David admit to you what he'd done to Jimmy?"
"No," she shook her head. "But I know other things about him. I was there at the safe house when Annie changed her mind. She wanted her baby. They killed her."
"They?" Vivian's eyes narrowed. "Are you saying you saw David Hughes commit murder?"
"He gave the order to that quack who worked for him, a drunk with no medical license. He's dead now, his name was George Hoover. That freak didn't use gloves for his exams..." She shuddered. "Annie's room was next to mine. I heard them fighting. She was ready to deliver any day and wanted to leave. He told her she'd never leave alive and she screamed. I got out of bed and snuck into the hall. I saw them carry her out. David told that drunken doctor that after the baby was born to give her a shot that would stop her heart. I never saw her again."
"What was her name?"
"Annie Sweeney, she was sixteen. She was from Atlantic City, her mother was a hooker. She didn't have a father. She'd cry at night, saying how nobody ever loved her. She thought maybe if she left, her baby would love her, that they'd have each other."
"Okay," Vivian spoke. "I'm sure if you can supply us with other information about Hughes and those black market crimes, the judge will take that into account." Vivian sat down, opening the folder before her. She explained the charges and the details of what would transpire. Jack and Jose moved down the hall, prepared to file charges against David Hughes. She moved the recorder over and listened as more details came out.
Eric Keller had scoped the perimeter of the seventy-five year old brewery. He flipped his flashlight around the darkened interior. It had been closed for years and twice developers had bid on it only to have the plans fall through. Broken windows dotted most of the five story facade and the insides had been stripped of the valuable copper pipes and most everything else. The center of the large building was a huge cavity, dominated by large vats. Around the perimeter on each floor were old skeletons of offices, storage and other rooms. He didn't see any cars parked in the lot and eased his lean frame into the entry. He went inside and kept behind the door, letting his eyes adjust to the old warehouse's floor. Just beyond the vats he saw an old but faded painting on the wall of a bulldog.
"Bingo!" he noted of what Spade had told him Taylor had seen.
His eyes went to the floors above where each had a view of the large painting. Taylor could be anywhere. How did he get here? Was he being held here but escaped his captor? Or had he been held in one of the nearby abandoned buildings and sought this for refuge? Was he pursued from another place and took shelter? Keller saw no signs of life and was about to pull his phone out, when he heard a car motor. He ducked down and crawled over to the busted window by the entry. He peeked outside and saw a familiar blonde getting out of a car.
"Anything?" Sam called out, opening the trunk of her car. She got a flashlight out and pulled out her weapon. Keller had just exited the old brewery. He shoved his gun in his holster and approached.
"Backup's on the way. You get Boone?" he asked, scowling openly at Martin Fitzgerald who was behind Samantha Spade. "What the hell is he doing here?"
"Danny's my partner, you arrogant piece of ...!" Martin sent back, not liking the arrogant tone.
"Hey!" Sam turned and warned the irate Fitzgerald with one glance. Then she turned back to the NYPD man. "Yeah, I updated Chris, he's heading over here, let's go." Sam met Keller's hot gaze which went over her shoulder. She turned, placing a hand on Martin's chest. "No, you stay. You're a civilian."
"Aw, come on Sam. Danny could be dying. He called me, I'm the one who..."
"No!" She was adamant She waited until she saw Martin step back and then turned away, walking toward the building.
"You're off duty and your head's not clear. You step one foot inside and I'll arrest you." Keller warned, then inched closer. He jabbed the angry blue-eyed agent's chest hard with his index finger. 'You fucked up once and Taylor nearly bought the farm. I won't take that chance, not with her."
"Fuck you, Keller!" Martin growled and struggled as he was manhandled and shoved over the hood of Sam's car.
"I'll cuff you," Eric warned, watching as Sam disappeared inside. "You want that on the news? Backup'll be here in five minutes. You want them to see you harnessed?"
Martin didn't reply and sagged against the car. He felt another shove as his face was pressed into the warm hood. Then the tension left and his arm was released. He heard boots on gravel as Keller ran to catch up to Sam. Martin shook off his anger and paced, rubbing his neck. He kicked the stones and glared openly at the building. Sam was on his team, not Keller's, who the hell did he think he was?
"He could be anywhere," Keller spoke as he paused just inside the darkened entry. He watched the beam of her light flicking around the room. "And he might not be alone. Don't call out..."
"I've been carrying a badge longer than you, Eric," she replied sarcastically and turned to face him.
"What are you pissed off at me for?"
"Oh, I don't know," she tossed back with vinegar. "Could be the Gestapo tactics you used on Martin."
"He got what he deserved and don't start with me. He fucked up and Taylorpaid the price. He isn't half the fed Tayloris."
"You don't know a damn thing about him," Sam hissed, dark eyes flashing. "And bullying him wasn't necessary. Is your head above your waist now? Can we do this right?"
Keller sighed hard and cursed under his breath. How was it that a prick like Fitzgerald could get under her skin like that? She couldn't be that blind. It wasn't bad enough he was a rookie, but his old man was a Bureau legend and major league pain-in-the-ass. Maybe that was it; maybe she wanted to score points with the old man. Couldn't be on talent, Fitzgerald couldn't find his dick with both hands and a map.
"Sorry," he issued and got a an icy stare. So much for winning her favor back. "It's a big place, we'll cover more ground if we split up. That mural," he coughed, flashing on the dusty wall,"can be seen from all five floors. I'll go high, hit five and work my way down."
"We cover this floor first," Sam decided, overruling him. "Then if we don't find Danny, we'll split up. Let's go."
While the other two were inside, Martin continued to simmer. His shoes tore up the gravel as he paced beside the car. With every very tense step his anger grew. His short fuse was burning quickly and Keller's handprints seem to burn in his neck. He didn't like the NYPD detective and didn't know what Sam saw in him. She didn't seem the type that went on looks alone. Maybe they had a history once and that was enough. But being manhandled by the arrogant lawman got Fitzgerald's blood boiling. He'd respect Sam's order, she was the senior agent on the scene. He heard a wail of sirens in the distance and gauged that help would arrive in short order.
His eyes caught movement from the far side of the lot. The sun had gone down and the colors of twilight blue made it difficult to see. A shadowy figure wearing a mask peeked around the corner and disappeared.
"Hey!" Martin called out, running across the lot. He slapped his pocket and pulled out his phone. He was about to call Sam when two shots rang out. "SAM!"
"Sam?" Eric pulled his phone out and waited. They'd found nothing on the first floor and had split up. He'd just cleared the stairwell to the fifth floor when he heard those shots.
"I'm okay, that came from the third floor," she updated. "I'm heading up."
She ran up the stairs and hit the door, exiting onto a large hallway. Like the other floors above, the vats in the center of the ground floor were visible below. She skirted the wall and kept the light flashing, wary of the broken railings. She heard the door and ducked behind a doorway, pulling her gun up. It was Keller and just as she motioned to him, his eyes lit up. He tapped her on the back and nodded. There at the far end of the very long passage a body was laying on its side. It was a male with dark hair, a bloodied pale shirt and dark pants. He appeared to be Danny's size and had the same coloring. As they got closer, the pale olive green shirt caused her to flinch. She saw something on the pocket that looked like dark stitching. She recognized it; it was a favorite of his and worn often.
"Oh God, Danny." She started to run to him, but was pulled back.
"No," Eric denied, flashing to the huge hole in the floor, making it impossible to reach the fallen fed. "You stay here, keep that light on him. Try calling to him. Could be he saw us and couldn't call out, he shot those bullets. I'll backtrack and go around the long way, come up behind him."
"Okay."
As Keller retreated, Sam propped the light on an old metal box. The beam hit the body which was too far away to see facial features clearly. But what she could see was so much like Danny and the echo of the phone call still lingered. Was he alive? She squinted and tried to see if the chest was moving at all.
"Danny... Danny, can you hear me? It's Sam. Danny?"
Martin froze in the stairwell, he heard Sam's voice just above and took the stairs two at time. It was very dark and he had to squint to see. He adjusted to the dim lighting and peered ahead. He saw Sam looking down the long corridor and moved sideways, leaning on the short wall that overlooked the main floor. He saw a body far down the hallway. Not just any body, Danny Taylor's!
"Oh God..." he whispered. Just as he was about to go to his fallen partner's aid, he saw a shadow loom up rising over Sam, who was totally unaware of the sinister threat. The metal glint of the weapon in the assailant's hand caught his eye.
"Lookout!" he screamed, diving at the space between the huge arm and her unprotected back.
Prelude | Page 1 | Page 2 | Page 3 | Page 4 | Page 5 | Page 6 | Page 7 | Page 8 | Page 9 | Page 10 | Page 11 | Page 12 | Page 13 | Page 14 | Page 15 | Page 16 | Page 17 | Page 18 | Page 19 | Page 20 | Page 21 | Page 22 | Page 23 | Page 24 | Page 25 | Page 26 | Page 27 | Page 28 | Page 29 | Page 30 | Page 31
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