Winston cursed foully. “He won’t get away with this. Not even close.”
“Whatever you do to Montoya, don’t do it until we have Shana Davis and your daughter out of danger. Your word on that.” Not that Chase gave it much credence.
“I won’t make a move until the women are safe.”
“Good. I need one more thing. Any chance you’ve got a floor plan of that warehouse you can send me?”
“I’ll make a call, have my people text an image to your phone.”
“That’ll work.” Chase ended the call. He turned to Harper. “All right, angel. You’ve managed to get yourself smack in the middle of this. Now, unless you want me to tie you up and leave you locked in the back room, you’re going to do exactly what I say.”
Shana hunkered in the corner on the cold concrete floor. She moved, trying to get more comfortable, and pain shot into her legs. With her wrists bound behind her with nylon ties, her ankles also bound, she was almost completely immobile.
She still couldn’t remember all the details of how she’d gotten here. She’d worked late, then met Tony and Debbie for a margarita at La Paloma, not far from the office. She’d wound up staying for something to eat.
It was after eleven when she’d left the restaurant and headed home, drove into the covered parking space in the lot behind her apartment and climbed out of her red Mazda CX. One of the overhead lights had been out, she recalled. She didn’t see the three men who stepped out of the shadows until it was too late.
She squeezed her eyes shut at the memory. Hard-looking men, midtwenties, Hispanic, black hair shaved close, shirtless, inked-up sinewy torsos, bandannas tied over the lower halves of their faces.
The fourth man, their leader, was different, his eyes sharp above his bandanna, black hair neatly combed, dressed in chinos and a long-sleeved knit pullover. Nice clothes, she remembered thinking in some terrified corner of her brain.
She remembered struggling as the men held her immobile while their leader pressed a damp cloth over her nose and mouth, muffling her screams, shutting her mind down and plunging her into unconsciousness.
When she awoke hours later, she sat where she was now, leaning against the wall of a big empty building on a cold concrete floor. Steel girders held up the metal roof, and there were a number of roll-up doors. More men with the same group who had taken her last night were there. Gang members covered in tattoos and armed with knives and pistols prowled restlessly around the interior of the warehouse.
The cloth had been replaced with duct tape. Instead of chemicals, she inhaled the tang of motor oil and the subtle smell of hemp. She still wore the brown leggings and dark red cowl-necked sweater she had been wearing last night, but her high-heeled boots were gone, her feet freezing in the icy space.
Aside from the slaps she had received when she had been forced to talk to Harper, so far the men hadn’t hurt her. But their intentions were clear. She had heard them mention Colombia, where they were taking Harper, but Shana belonged to the men who had abducted her, a reward for their efforts.
She shuddered as fresh fear rolled down her spine. Tears threatened. Since she had already cried enough, she blinked them away. She needed to stay strong. Harper was coming. She knew that without doubt.
She thought of her friend, of the kidnapping Harper had managed to escape—thanks to Chase Garrett. She thought of how Chase had been shot trying to save her. The man was insane for her. No way was he letting Harper give herself up to a gang of cutthroats.
Injured or not, Garrett would be coming with her, perhaps with the big, powerful man, Jason Maddox, who she’d met at Chase’s condo, the man who had helped him the night of the fire.
No police. Chase wouldn’t take the chance.
Garrett and Maddox. Both smart, strong, determined men.
Shana said a silent prayer as she glanced toward the door. There were men everywhere, too many to count. It seemed hopeless but she refused to give up. If they all worked together, maybe they would stand a chance.
Chapter Forty-Two
From The Max, Harper drove Chase’s shiny silver Mercedes onto 75 South toward her father’s warehouse on Singleton Boulevard. Chase had shown her the property location on Google Maps. She remembered her dad owned several large steel warehouse buildings in the heavily industrialized zone. This property sat on five acres, well off the road in a fenced compound.
She wondered if her father had used the buildings to house illegal drugs, or as a distribution center of some kind. She wondered what other criminal activities had gone on inside and a shiver ran through her.
It was a twenty-minute drive to the location. Maddox and Jax Ryker had gone ahead of her to recon the property and then meet up with her father’s men. Once they saw the layout, they would make adjustments and finalize the plan Chase had laid out.
Chase rode next to her. Like Maddox and Ryker, he and Harper both wore tactical vests and earbuds, Harper’s hidden beneath her hair, so they could remain in constant communication. Winston’s men had also been outfitted. Chase carried his backup Nighthawk .45, his .380 strapped to his ankle. The revolver Harper had taken from The Max rested on the center console.
Nerves jangled through her, and her stomach knotted.
“All right, let’s hear it again,” Chase said. Though she knew the plan by heart, Chase had made her repeat it over and over.
“Once I reach the location, I turn onto the property and drive toward the gate in front of the warehouse, which is the big metal building in back. Even if the gate is open, I don’t pull in.”
“That’s right.”
