He groaned in frustration and flung the beer across the room. It clattered against the oak-paneled wall, foam spraying, and landed on the threadbare carpet. Several of the dogs immediately battled for possession of the can, snarling and barking.
Blinking groggily, he struggled off the chair and shuffled into his bedroom, the beers he’d drunk making him amble slower and more carefully than usual. The binoculars still hung around his neck. He fumbled them to his eyes and peered out the window.
The rain had subsided to a steady drizzle, the lake and woods layered in blackness. He saw the home in the darkness, though tall trees veiled the upper room at the rear of the house.
As he remembered what he had seen in there, fear quivered through him.
But he would have to face his fear. He would have to go back.
Because he was thinking that maybe the child at the window was his daughter.
44
The Silverado was equipped with the OnStar package, which included a GPS navigation feature. Corey entered the address Todd gave him and received turn-by-turn directions to the meeting point in Covington.
Located on the other side of the metro area, nearly an hour’s drive, Covington was a booming eastern suburb in Newton County, off I-20. As he drove on the interstate, Corey was watchful for anyone following him, though he figured that if the Feds had him on their radar, by this point they would have closed in, without preamble, and taken him into custody. But staying on the alert had become habit that day.
After hours of slow drizzling, a thunderstorm was brewing. Thunder clapped across the low sky. Violent gusts whipped the trees, and jagged blue lightning forked the horizon.
His state of mind was as chaotic as the weather. He’d been mulling, sporadically, over Simone’s weird remark during the last calclass="underline" Remember when Jada was stung by a bee? That’s how I am right now. That’s how Jada is, too. He was no closer to understanding what the hell she was talking about-but with Leon’s crazy ransom demand, the tighter deadline, and the upcoming meeting with Todd spinning through his thoughts, there was so much weighing on him that he simply lacked the mental capacity to decode Simone’s words. Perhaps he and Todd would come up with something that would render everything else moot.
The navigation system directed him off the interstate, through the creature comforts of suburbia-chain restaurants, subdivisions, strip malls-and into a desolate, industrial area of warehouses and tall, barbed-wire fences. Loblolly pines flanked the road, the pavement pitted with the occasional jarring pothole gouged open by rigs hauling massive loads back and forth from the highway.
As his watch ticked toward nine, his destination came up on the right, a rectangular sign standing outside a wide entrance, the letters in reflective white paint: GATES FOOD-SERVICE, INC., SERVING SINCE 1969.
Todd’s family owned numerous businesses, and Corey recalled that the food distribution company was one of them. Since Todd hadn’t worked for his father in years, Corey doubted the Feds would think to look for them there.
A chain-link fence fringed with barbed wire enclosed a complex that covered perhaps twenty acres. Slowing, he swung through the open gate. Two wide asphalt lanes curved to a long brick building, the windows dark. A fleet of half a dozen rigs were parked in a fenced area, and a large parking lot abutted the warehouse, empty except for a rusty Honda sitting on a flat tire.
Todd’s text message had instructed him to park in the back. Corey took an access road around the perimeter of the building. Twelve loading docks lined the rear of the structure. One of the bay doors hung open, weak light sifting from inside.
Todd’s black Mercedes-Benz convertible coupe was parked at the open dock, glimmering like a beetle’s carapace in the rain.
As Cory drew near, Todd got out of the Mercedes and motioned for Corey to park beside his car. Todd wore a black leather jacket and carried a briefcase that resembled the one Corey had left behind at the bookstore, which the FBI agents would have confiscated.
Corey made a mental note to buy Todd a new briefcase when all of this was over.
Outside the car, Todd greeted him with an enthusiastic handshake. “Is this not like a movie, or what? Meeting out here in the middle of nowhere ’cause we’re under suspicion by the freakin’ Feds? You”-he tapped the hood of the Silverado-“driving somebody else’s ride probably ’cause the law is looking for your wheels? Wild, huh?”
“I’m glad you find this entertaining,” Corey said. “Meanwhile, that bastard still has my family.”
“I know, I know, the cash drop didn’t pan out, sorry.” Todd’s eyes dimmed. “Sure you weren’t tailed?”
Corey looked behind them. There was only the black sky charged with lightning, and the lashing rain. “Positive.”
“Cool.” Todd squinted at the sky, rain beading on his lip. “Let’s head in to the office, then. I don’t know about you, but it looks to me like it’s gonna storm like a mother out here.”
Nodding grimly, Corey followed Todd inside.
45
The warehouse was enormous, the lightbulb above the bay door revealing tall aisles of metal storage racks loaded with boxes and pallets, the rows dwindling into the darkness beyond. A bank of walk-in freezers and coolers stood off to Corey’s right, green status indicators glowing in the dimness. The cool air smelled of cardboard and lemon-scented disinfectant.
The only sounds were the humming of refrigerators and air conditioners, and the dull roar of the storm.
“Are we alone here?” Corey asked.
“Just you and me,” Todd said with a conspiratorial wink. The raindrops gave his dark hair a slick luster, and his tanned skin looked oiled. “The last shift leaves at eight, same way it has since the beginning of time. I haven’t worked here since my college days, but I still have keys. Convenient, huh? I ought to host a Hold ’Em tournament or something here.”
Todd pressed a button beside the doorway. The sectional loading dock door clattered down from the ceiling and thumped against the floor.
“We’ll chat in the office,” Todd said. “Follow me.”
Walking with long, swift strides, Todd led Corey around a gleaming array of forklifts, stacks of wooden pallets, and a small crane. Their footsteps echoed off the concrete floor and faded in the deep, cavernlike shadows.
“You could garage a few 747s in here,” Corey said.
Todd grunted, swept one hand around without slowing his gait. “The old man’s got a million cubic feet of dry storage, five hundred thou of perishable storage, another five hundred thou for frozen goods. He distributes across Georgia, Alabama, Florida, and the Carolinas. It’s a hugely profitable business-I’d be working here myself if I could stand being in a room with him for five minutes.”
Corey remembered that Todd and his father had suffered a major falling-out soon after Todd had graduated college. Todd had struck out to make it on his own steam, to prove to his dad that he could build his own business empire. Corey seemed to recall, in an ironic twist, that a Gates-Webb alarm system secured the warehouse premises, which probably explained why Todd, in addition to having an old key, was able to get them inside after hours.
Todd led them around a corner. Ahead, there was an enclosed office space with plate glass windows. Todd opened the door and flicked on the lights.
The spacious office was furnished with a large metal desk and matching credenza, executive chair, and two armchairs. Industry award plaques adorned the walls, and Corey saw framed photographs of Todd’s family on the credenza.
Todd set his briefcase on the floor and dropped into the chair behind the desk, propping his loafers on the desktop as if he owned the place. Corey settled into an armchair.