She had the gun.
He waved her forward. Rola kept the weapon at her side, pointed down. She was agile and quick, ever the athlete. When she reached him, they both ducked down. Neither moved for a moment, waiting to see whether they were heard or seen.
Nothing.
Wilde crawled toward the air conditioner. He gestured with his hand for her to stay down. She nodded. He lifted himself up. He could feel the exhaust air blowing out the back of the unit.
The window shade was drawn.
He couldn’t see in.
Now what?
Time was a-ticking. He came back down to her.
“Someone is in that back room,” he whispered, “but someone may also be in the gas station office. I need you to draw the gun and be ready. I’m going to open the window a crack and pull out the air conditioner. Quietly if I can. You be ready?”
Rola nodded. “Got it.”
He stood and inspected the window. The unit didn’t look screwed in or anything like that. All he had to do was slide the window up an inch and pull the air conditioner out, all in one swift move. Wilde rehearsed the action in his mind as he put his hands on the bottom of the window frame.
Rola stood with her back against the wall. The gun was ready.
Then Wilde mouthed the countdown to her.
One, two...
On three, Wilde pushed the window open and grabbed the air conditioner out. At the same time, Rola swung into action. She spun toward the opening, the gun up and ready.
When Rola saw who was inside, she pulled the gun to her side. Wilde dropped the air conditioner and looked too.
Crash Maynard was chained to a bed.
His hand was wrapped in heavy white gauze. Crash looked back toward them, stunned. Wilde moved fast. He put his index finger to his lips while slipping through the window. He hurried over to the teen and whispered, “Stay quiet, Crash. We’re here to help.”
Tears started rolling down Crash’s face. “I want to go home.”
He sounded like a little boy.
“You’re going home,” Wilde whispered. “I promise you. How many of them are there?”
Crash held up the gauze-encased hand. “Look what they did to me.”
“I know. We’re going to get you to a doctor. Focus, Crash. How many of them?”
“I don’t know. They don’t talk. They wear ski masks. Please. Please. I just want to get home. Please.”
He started sobbing. Wilde checked the shackle holding the boy in place. The chain traveled from his ankle to a plate in the wall. He looked back at the window for Rola. He was surprised not to see her.
Two seconds later, Rola popped back into view, this time carrying one of the discarded crowbars. She handed it to him.
Crash cried, “Please...”
“It’s okay, Crash. Hold on.”
Wilde used the crowbar against the plate in the wall. It didn’t take long. Two tugs and the plate popped out.
At sixteen years old, Crash was pretty close to fully grown. Wilde would be able to carry him if need be, but the teen rolled quickly off the bed and stood.
“Do you know where they stay?” Wilde asked.
Crash shook his head. “I want to go home. Please?”
“How about Naomi?”
He was pretty sure he knew the answer — but Crash’s baffled expression confirmed it. “Naomi Pine?”
“Never mind.”
They moved to the window. Crash climbed through first. Rola helped him. Wilde followed. When they were back outside, they ducked down and stayed as low as possible.
“Take him back to the car,” Wilde told her.
“You come with us,” Rola said.
“No. I have more work to do.”
“You think Naomi might—?”
“Just go. Take him.”
Rola’s eyes bore into his. “We can just call the police, Wilde. They can have a hundred cops surrounding this place in ten minutes.”
“No,” Wilde said again.
“I don’t understand—”
“No time to explain. Take him. I’ll be fine.”
Rola studied his face. Wilde didn’t like that, but he gave her nothing. She frowned and handed him the gun. “In case you need it.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m giving you fifteen minutes. If I don’t hear from you by then, I’m calling the police.”
“Don’t wait for me. When you get back to the car, take him immediately to the Valley Hospital. The finger is there. Every second counts.”
“I don’t like this, Wilde.”
“Trust me, my sister.”
Rola’s eyes welled up when he called her that. She looked toward Crash. “Think you can make a run for it?”
Crash had stopped crying now. “I’m ready.”
Rola took off first. Crash followed her, cradling his injured hand with his good one. Wilde watched until they were out of sight. He checked the locator app again.
There wasn’t much time.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Wilde moved to the back of the gas station again, then to the wall with the faded TIRE SERVICE on the side. A few seconds later, he crawled in front of the mechanic bay door that had been opened a crack. He got on his stomach, making himself as flat as possible.
He needed to hurry.
Still on his stomach, he looked through the opening. Wilde could see that the door slid up and down on a track with wheels. Manual. Not electric. That was good. He got up on his knees now, cupped his hands to the bottom of the door, and using a bicep curl movement, he moved it up one inch.
The door squeaked.
Loud enough for someone to hear? That he didn’t know. He assumed that no one was in the actual garage. The more likely place for the kidnapper to be — the only place left really — was in the adjacent gas station office.
Wilde stayed still, listening for anyone coming. No one. All he heard was the now-familiar cacophony of cars speeding by. He hoped that no one from the road would see him. He didn’t want someone calling the police to report a strange intruder.
Not yet anyway.
He pulled up on the door another inch. Then another.
Squeak, squeak.
Enough. He forced it up another six inches. That was all he’d need. He got back on his belly and shimmied into the garage. It was dark. Dust came up and into his nose, but that wouldn’t bother him. The garage reeked of spilled petrol and mildew. Wilde got up, stayed low, moved to the side of the car farthest away from the adjacent office.
He heard the clack of someone typing on a keyboard.
Wilde hadn’t lied to Rola, but he hadn’t told her the entire truth either. He hadn’t told her that he’d figured out about this rest stop in the simplest way possible — from the GPS locators Rola herself had given him. He hadn’t told her that the car he’d spotted in this garage bay — the car he was now hiding behind — was the same Chevrolet Cruze that Gavin Chambers had used to meet him at that 7-Eleven.
That had been a mistake on Gavin’s part.
Wilde’s suspicions, which had already taken root, blossomed the moment Gavin pulled into that 7-Eleven without his usual driver or SUV vehicle. Why suddenly come alone? Why would a guy with his money, a guy who normally got chauffeured around in a Cadillac Escalade, now be driving a Chevrolet Cruze, a car model used extensively by rental-car companies?
On its own, that meant nothing. But it was enough.
Still ducking behind the Chevy — still hearing the clacking of someone typing — Wilde checked the locator app on his phone.
Two minutes until the other car arrived.
He had to get ready.
Wilde crawled from the back tire to the front one, and then to the front bumper. He looked to his left, toward the door to the office.
It was open.