Chapter 5 - THE CRANE AND THE CAGE
The impact caught Vincent completely off guard. He gasped, stumbling backward and firing a wild shot that punched a harmless hole into the corrugated tin roof high above us.
Before he could recover his balance, I drove my elbow upward into his wrist, sending his pistol flying into the darkness. I grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket, spun him around, and slammed his face hard against the concrete pillar.
He went limp instantly, slumping into a heap at the base of the steel column.
Across the warehouse, Geller and his partner stopped dead in their tracks at the sound of the gunshot. They whipped around, drawing their weapons, but I was already moving. I dropped and scooped up my Sig Sauer from the floor, rolling behind a massive stack of wooden pallets just as a hail of bullets chewed up the wood inches from my head.
“Flank him!” Geller screamed to his partner.
I didn't wait for them to close the distance. I fired twice through the gaps in the wooden crates. The second shot caught Geller’s partner in the thigh; he went down with a howl of pain, dropping his gun.
Geller panicked, scrambling backward toward the exit doors while firing blindly into the shadows.
“Julian! We’ve got a problem!” Geller yelled as he bolted out into the rain, letting the heavy steel door slam shut behind him.
Silence rushed back into the warehouse, broken only by the heavy panting of my own breath and Sarah Vance’s soft, trembling sobs from the center of the room.
I didn't hesitate. I sprinted across the concrete, dropping my gun back into its holster, and pulled a hunting knife from my boot. In three swift motions, I sliced through the thick nylon ropes binding Sarah’s wrists and ankles.
She tumbled forward out of the chair, her legs giving out from exhaustion and fear. I caught her by the arms before she hit the floor.
“Can you walk?” I asked, scanning the exits.
“My—my ankles are swollen,” she gasped, clutching my forearms with white-knuckled grip. “My baby... Emma is still in the Tahoe...”
“I know,” I said, lifting her smoothly into a fireman’s carry over my shoulder. She was terrifyingly light, starved and worn down by months of running. “We’re getting out of here. Stay low.”
I carried her toward a secondary fire exit at the back of the warehouse that led directly to a narrow service alley behind the pier. If Julian had left guards outside the main entrance, they wouldn't be covering the back.
I pushed the heavy panic bar on the fire exit. The door clicked open, and the freezing rain rushed in to meet us.
We stepped out into the dark, rain-swept alleyway.
Parked twenty yards down the alley was my black Tahoe. But the driver’s side door was wide open, and the interior dome light was glowing yellow against the wet pavement.
No Marco. No Emma.
My stomach plummeted.
“Marco!” I shouted, keeping Sarah lowered behind a row of metal trash bins.
No answer. Only the hiss of the rain and the distant rumble of a passing freight train.
I eased Sarah down behind the dumpster, handing her my Sig Sauer. “If anyone other than me or a little girl comes around this corner, you pull the trigger. Do you understand?”
“Calder, where are you going?” she whispered, terror widening her eyes.
“To get your daughter,” I said.
I crept forward, hugging the brick wall of the warehouse until I reached the open door of the Tahoe.
Inside, the scene was chillingly clean.
Marco’s phone lay on the floor mat, screen shattered. A smear of fresh blood stained the leather headrest of the driver’s seat. But Marco was gone.
And on the back seat, sitting neatly beside an empty wrapper from the bakery croissant, was the tarnished silver locket Emma had dropped when they took her.
I picked it up. It was still warm.
A sharp footstep crunched on the gravel behind me.
I spun around, my fist cocked, ready to strike.
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Standing ten feet away in the pouring rain, holding a silenced pistol aimed straight at my chest, was Julian Vance.
And standing right beside him, gripping Julian’s coat with one hand while tears streamed down her little face, was Emma.
