Nathan spoke quietly. “Harv, this is our fingerless friend from the attack in Clairemont.”
Harv looked at the bandaged stump. “Maybe we’ll give him a matched set.”
Julio became defiant, squirming like a worm on hot asphalt. “I need a fuckin’ doctor, man!”
Nathan locked eyes, toggled his laser, and painted it on the man’s nose.
Julio’s eyes crossed on the red dot. “Okay. Okay, be cool, man.”
He grabbed Julio’s shirt and hauled him over to the sofa. He did the same for door man, but also checked for a carotid pulse. Faint, but present.
The center of the warehouse had been converted into a living room of sorts. On three sides, black leather couches surrounded a coffee table hosting sofa man’s gun, several electronic remotes, and two cell phones. A small LCD TV sat atop an end table with a muted pornographic movie playing. He grabbed the TV remote and turned it off. Overhead, every fourth fluorescent fixture offered dull illumination. Most of the interior remained in deep shadow.
Julio couldn’t, or wouldn’t, stay quiet. “I’m bleeding bad here!”
Without warning, Nathan swung his pistol. The suppressor caught Julio’s left brow.
A red bead crept down the side of Julio’s head and found his ear. He laid all three captives out like cordwood and taped all their mouths except door man’s. With a destroyed nasal cavity, he’d suffocate with his mouth covered. Next, he taped all their feet together into one bundle.
“Grangeland, you’ve got them. We’re going to clear the warehouse. Your threat area is from here to the front door.”
“Copy.”
“Harv, on my six.”
They moved back to the front door and began traversing the perimeter wall. Several dozen pallets of boxes were stacked three high along the wall, too tightly placed for anyone to hide among. A battery powered forklift occupied the southwest corner, currently plugged in for a recharge. The offices were straight ahead in the southeast corner and occupied an area roughly ten feet wide by forty feet long. All the windows were dark, except upstairs. A narrow staircase served the second floor.
Nathan kept his laser painted on balcony man’s prone form as they approached, but he detected no movement. Unconscious or dead.
They both heard it again, a horrible mewling sound.
“That could be Montez. Cover me.”
Harv hugged the wall and kept his gun pointed at the office windows.
He kept his Sig trained at the dark figure as he approached and knelt down. No pulse. Not surprising, his white tank top wasn’t white any more. He looked at Harv and shook his head. Not Montez. They traversed to the corner of the offices.
In a whisper, he said, “I’ll duck under these windows and come up on the other side of the door.”
“Should we try a verbal command first?” Harv asked.
“Couldn’t hurt at this point.”
He spoke forcefully. “If anyone’s in there, come out now!” Nothing. He repeated the command in Spanish. No response.
“I’ll take the left.” Nathan ducked below the window and positioned himself in front of the door. He reared back and kicked. The door flew open and banged against the interior wall.
Harv followed him in and swept the right side, his red laser visible in the dust. “Clear.”
“Light switch?” Nathan asked.
The room snapped to life with fluorescent light, revealing an old metal desk, some filing cabinets, and several rows of stacked boxes. An interior door led to an adjoining office on their left. They both held perfectly still and listened for any movement on the other side of the door. Nothing. But the muffled cries they’d heard earlier were louder.
He kicked the door and rushed into the adjoining office.
Chapter 29
What Nathan saw tore at his heart.
Nichole Dalton. Naked and strapped to a metal table. Feet bound in stirrups. Torso crisscrossed by lacerations similar to his own, but not as numerous or deep. A cloth gag secured her mouth. Her lips were cracked and bleeding. The surface of the table was smeared with her blood, but not enough to run down its legs. Thankfully, she didn’t appear to have been raped. Her genital area looked unharmed and he felt a pang of guilt for looking. A smaller table on wheels held the instruments of her torment. Mounted on a tripod, a compact video camera eyed the table. Sitting atop a low file cabinet, a laptop computer connected to the camera.
Damn it.
He checked the camera. Not active. “Grangeland, I need you.” He sensed Harv’s presence behind him as he removed the woman’s gag.
“My daughters. He took them!”
“We’ll find them, I promise. You’re safe now,” Nathan said.
“Who are you?”
“Let’s get you off that table.” Tears began as he freed her from the stirrups. Her legs quit when she tried to stand. He caught her before she fell and she buried her face into his shoulder. Nathan knew her knife wounds stung, but the adrenaline rush of being rescued overpowered her pain.
Grangeland stepped into the office and froze. He made eye contact. “Grab a chair from the other office.” She didn’t move. “Grangeland, a chair.”
She returned a few seconds later and placed it next to the metal table, then put an arm around the woman and helped her into it.
Nathan shucked his ballistic vest and removed his sweatshirt.
Grangeland helped Dalton put the sweatshirt on. It fit like a tent, but offered her some dignity. She whispered a hoarse thank you. Her eyes dropped to the diamond pattern on his chest and widened in recognition.
“That’s right,” he said. “You’re Nichole Dalton. You were kidnapped from the Fashion Valley Mall a few days ago. Harv, stay with Ms. Dalton. Grangeland, a word please.” Outside the office, he lowered his voice. “Get her something to drink. I saw a small fridge near the stereo cabinet. Try to keep her as calm as possible. Reassure her we’re going to find her daughters, but be vague if asks you anything about us, or how we found her.”
They reentered the office. “Sit tight, Ms. Dalton. This will all be over in a few minutes. Harv, follow my lead. Let’s go talk to our beloved guests.”
They returned to the gagged and bound men while Grangeland raided the refrigerator. She eyed the mercenaries with contempt as she hurried back to Nichole Dalton.
Julio and sofa man were conscious and looked quite concerned. When they focused on Nathan’s bare chest, their eyes widened even more.
Without saying a word, Nathan unbuckled Julio’s belt and yanked his blue jeans and boxer shorts down to his taped ankles. He pulled his Predator knife, examined its shiny surface, and smiled. Julio began flopping around in a terrified frenzy. His hip wound began oozing blood faster.
“Easy, partner,” Harv said to him, playing good cop.
“You saw what they did to my sister,” Nathan growled. “I’m gonna cut this asshole’s cojones off, cook them in the microwave, and stuff ’em down his throat. Better yet, he can eat ’em raw.”
Julio tried to scream, but the tape covering his mouth muted it. He frantically shook his head.
“What’s that?” Nathan asked. “I can’t understand you.” Of course he couldn’t, the man’s mouth was taped. “Hold him down. We’ll need something to cauterize his nut sack. Is your cigar torch filled with butane?”
“Indeed it is.”
Harv stepped behind Julio and grabbed his shoulders.
Nathan smiled at Julio. “You ready, amigo?” He lowered the knife out of Julio’s line of sight.
Nathan backed away just in time as Julio’s bladder quit. Yellow liquid arced through the air and found his bound partners.
“That’s disgusting,” Harv said.
Nathan sheathed his knife, walked over to the north wall, and removed the five gallon water bottle from the cooler. He poured the water on them, making sure to douse their faces. He winked at Harv and maneuvered behind Julio. Nathan tipped the bottle above Julio’s head, creating a crude but effective bit of waterboarding. Julio coughed and sputtered and whipped his head back and forth. After thirty seconds or so, Nathan stopped and tossed the bottle aside. He pulled his knife.