"Following up on a lead."
"Lena." Something in Julia's tone made her stop. "Want backup?"
Every instinct screamed yes. Fifteen years of training demanded she wait for support. Not only was it protocol, but it was the safe thing to do. Instead she said, "Just a re-interview. I'll check in."
She walked toward her undercover car, the hair on her arms prickling at the thought of confronting Martin Cross alone. She shoved aside the nagging voice in her mind and slipped into her car, then drove out of the parking lot, making a conscious effort to avert her eyes from the fire department across the courtyard. She made a left turn and drove toward the east side of the city toward Driftwood Apartments.
It took Lena seven minutes to get to the apartment complex, and she circled the entire complex, including all the side streets and dead ends, twice before feeling confident that Martin’s truck wasn’t there.
She let out a heavy exhale and resisted the urge to slam on the horn. She was just leaving the apartment complex and turning right to go back to the station when her radio crackled to life. "Any unit, suspicious activity at the industrial property on the corner of Pier Road and Saltwater Avenue. Male subject loading containers into a black pickup truck. License D77EUP."
Cross's license plate.
Lena's stomach dropped. That was the warehouse district, only five miles away. If Cross was moving containers, he was planning another fire or destroying evidence. Waiting for backup meant losing him.
She pressed the radio button as she started her engine. “I’m en route. 5 minutes out.” She tossed the radio in the seat next to her, barely registered the “affirmative” from the dispatcher as she hooked a U-turn and peeled down the street.
The industrial road stretched ahead, lined with empty buildings. It’d be maybe ten minutes before anyone else arrived for backup. Against her better judgment that warned her to pull over in an inconspicuous spot and wait for backup units, she pressed the accelerator and coaxed her car toward whatever Cross was doing in an abandoned building.
The ocean appeared between buildings, gray water under turbulent storm clouds. The warehouse sat at the end of Pier Road like a rusted monument to Phoenix Ridge’s industrial past. Lena pulled into the gravel lot and cut the engine, scanning the area through her windshield. Cross's black pickup truck was parked beside a loading dock, its tailgate down and bed empty now. Whatever containers he'd been moving were already inside.
She radioed to dispatch her arrival and stepped out of the car, her right hand instinctively checking the presence of her service weapon. The wind off the ocean carried the scent of salt and something chemical—maybe fuel, maybe something worse. The warehouse's metal siding had been painted white once, but years of coastal weather had stripped it down to patches of rust and primer.
Lena couldn’t hear any sounds coming from inside, and no movement was visible through the grimy windows set high in the walls.
Lena approached the building's main entrance, a steel door hanging slightly ajar. She could hear something now: the scrape of metal on concrete, the hollow thud of containers being moved by someone trying to work fast.
Going too fast meant they would probably make mistakes. She drew her weapon, disengaged the safety, and pushed the door open wider.
"Phoenix Ridge Police! Make your presence known!"
The sounds stopped.
Lena stepped inside, letting her eyes adjust to the dim interior. Shafts of gray light filtered through the high windows, illuminating a vast space filled with shadows and abandoned machinery. Industrial shelving lined the walls, and in the far corner, she could make out the silhouette of a man standing beside a pile of metal containers.
"I know you're in here, Martin. I just want to talk."
"Stay back!" Cross's voice echoed off the concrete walls, higher pitched than she remembered from his previous questioning. Panic edged every word. "You don't understand what you're walking into."
Lena moved deeper into the warehouse, keeping her weapon trained in his direction. "I understand you were at the Rainbow Alliance Center three hours before it burned down and arenow moving around some containers. Why don't you help me understand the rest?"
"I…I can't." Cross stepped backward, and she could see him more clearly now: he was wearing a black cap and what looked like heavy-duty khaki construction clothes that were stained with something dark. Behind him, a dozen metal containers sat in neat rows, their lids removed. The chemical smell was stronger here, sharp enough to make her eyes water. "You need to leave. Now."
"Not going to happen." Lena kept moving forward, maintaining the distance between them but closing the angle so he couldn't retreat further into the building's depths. "We can do this the easy or hard way, Martin. But we're going to do it."
"You don't know what he'll do if I talk." Martin's hands were shaking now, and she noticed for the first time that he was holding something—a crowbar, probably what he'd been using to open the containers. "He said if anyone got close?—"
"Who said that?" Lena stopped moving, sensing the fear in his voice wasn't entirely about being arrested. "Who are you working for?"
"I can't—" Cross's voice broke. "I never wanted anyone to get hurt. It was just information. I needed the money."
"What information? Who's paying you?"
Cross shook his head violently. "I have to destroy this. All of it. Before he finds out you're here or you’ll be involved too."
Lena took her eyes off Martin for no more than three seconds and looked at the containers more carefully. Even from this distance, she could see labels with chemical names and biohazard symbols, everything someone would need to start sophisticated fires.
"Martin, put down the crowbar. We can talk about this."
