Off to Remy’s left, the warehouse was a giant metal structure with lots of rust and even more dents. Outside of it, pallets of steel oil pipes and heavy-duty equipment for drilling platforms out in the Gulf were scattered haphazardly along their path. It was almost as if someone had gone out of their way to convince people this was a legitimate warehousing operation.
Just ahead of him, Remy could make out the wide, slow-moving expanse of the Mississippi lined almost entirely with docks along this part of the river. He reached out with his senses, straining to pick up any sight, sound, or smell that would indicate Lee’s people were about to start shooting at them. To be truthful, he’d expected to run into resistance by this point. That they hadn’t didn’t make him feel any better. In fact, it worried the hell out of him. You could never trust criminals who didn’t play their proper roles.
As he raced around the building, Remy got his first real look at the coastal merchant vessel tied up at the pier. It wasn’t as huge as some of the container ships that plied the waters of the Mississippi, but it was still large enough to hide a football field in, not to mention a buttload of armed thugs.
Still not running into a single person—armed or otherwise—he and the others reached the metal gangway attached to the side of the ship and raced aboard. Remy’s gut told him something was off here, but they had no choice except to keep going.
The four NOPD SWAT officers peeled off and headed toward the rear of the ship and the elevated bridge positioned there, while Remy and his pack mates split up into pairs and headed down into the cargo hold. Even though they moved fast, they covered each other the whole time. While they weren’t worried about getting shot, it was a standing wager in the Pack that the first wolf who got hit would have to buy the beer for the next team cookout. The pain of getting shot might not be a big deal, but the pain of buying beer? Now that was excruciating.
Remy ducked through a rounded door, then moved down a flight of stairs, Max on his heels. Somewhere off to the right, he heard Brooks and Zane moving along an adjacent set of stairs. As they descended, he let his eyes shift to see in the rapidly darkening depth of the ship. One level down, and it was already getting dark as midnight.
Coastal vessels like this one were true multipurpose workhorses, with some parts of the hold set aside for neat pallets of anything from computers to clothing to food, other areas designed for loose storage of grains or coal, and still other spots where tractor-trailer-sized containers could be placed and locked down. Down in the hold, a regular human could quickly get turned around in the dark, bewildering maze of partitioned spaces and the confusing corridors created by the cargo itself.
Remy wasn’t worried about that for himself or his guys, no matter how dark it was. Their werewolf senses made up for their lack of experience in places like this. His biggest concern was that they’d get into a running gunfight in the middle of a ship full of who knew what kind of hazardous cargo. Having the ship burn down to the waterline because some idiot accidently started a fire in a hold full of coal wasn’t what they were looking to do today.
But as they moved farther down the stairs and into the first section of loose cargo, it quickly became apparent there wasn’t going to be a gunfight, running or otherwise.
“Guys, I’m not picking up any active scents down here,” Brooks whispered. “No one has been in this part of the ship for at least a half hour or so. That doesn’t make a damn bit of sense.”
Remy cursed silently. Something was definitely off with this raid. It was like there was no one home, which was crazy since the ship was obviously still fully loaded. There should have been tons of people down there, prepping the stuff for off-loading. Not to mention the fact that there should have been some armed guards protecting the drugs that were supposed to be here.
He and his pack mates weren’t the only ones thinking there was something wrong. The four NOPD officers who had split off and headed for the bridge came on the radio with a status report, saying the bridge was secure and that even though the captain and several of his men had been there, they hadn’t resisted.
“Same in the warehouse.” Drew’s voice was terse in Remy’s earpiece. “There were two guards on duty, but they were just sitting at a table playing cards when we came in. I swear, it was like they knew we were coming.”
A moment later, Lorenzo came on and announced he was bringing the drug dogs in, but Remy already had a sinking feeling it was going to be a waste of time. Either the drugs had never been here, or somehow Aaron Lee’s people had known the police were coming and had gotten the drugs out before they’d even arrived.
“Guys, over here,” Brooks said.
Remy looked up to see Brooks standing near an open door in the darkness on the far side of the cargo hold. No doubt it led to a storage room, but from the look on Brooks’s face, it wasn’t pallets of potato chips that had attracted his attention.
As he got closer, Remy picked up the slight chlorine-like chemical smell coming from the room. This was where the drugs had been hidden.
Remy stepped past Brooks into the room and followed his nose over to the far wall. Eyes narrowing, he looked closer and realized one section of it was a removable panel four feet high and three feet wide. He ran his hands along the edges until he found the cleverly hidden grips. Grabbing hold of them, he moved the section of wall away.
The chlorine-like odor wafted out, stinging his nose and making his eyes water. Meth was a simple chemical formula, so it could be difficult to pick up sometimes. In theory, the smell could belong to any of a hundred different industrial compounds. But a person didn’t go to all the work of creating a hidden storage compartment on a ship to conceal pool cleaner. Combine a chlorine-like odor with a secret contraband space and you get a meth shipment.
While the compartment was big enough to hold three or four large duffle bags, it was empty now.
“They knew we were coming,” Zane said from behind him. “Bloody bastards moved the crap right before we got here.”
“Put the wall back,” Brooks said. “We’ll let the dogs find the hidey-hole.”
Remy replaced the section of wall with a muttered curse. He’d hoped like hell they’d be able to take down Aaron Lee and his operation. In some stupid way, Remy had convinced himself that sending Lee to prison today would set things right with the poor young girl who’d overdosed the night before. Unless they had better luck in the warehouse, they were going to have to wait a little longer to take down the scumbag.
* * *
Remy and his pack mates spent over two hours down in the cargo hold helping Lorenzo, his narcotics team, and the drug dogs with their search. As expected, the K-9 team alerted on the back wall of the equipment room, finding the empty hidey-hole. Lorenzo was just as disappointed as Remy and his pack mates had been, especially when a thorough search of the rest of the ship turned up absolutely nothing. The warehouse had come up clean so far too.
“I don’t know how, but that son of a bitch Aaron Lee knew we were coming,” Lorenzo said as they headed out of the ship to meet up with Drew. Stocky, with close-cropped black hair, the Hispanic police officer looked like he was ready to blow a gasket. “The asshole saw this coming from a mile away.”
Lorenzo was probably right, considering that when they stepped off the ship, they had found a large black Cadillac parked in front of it with Lee and a couple of his goons leaning casually against the fenders.
From what Remy remembered, Aaron Lee had grown up working the docks of the Mississippi. Even though he must be approaching his late fifties and there was some gray in his otherwise dark hair, the man was still built like an ox. He had the bearing of an extremely confident man and the aura of a criminal who’d thumbed his nose at the police in New Orleans longer than most of the cops on this scene had been alive.
Seeing the arrogant glare Lee threw their way as they approached him, not to mention his slow and relaxed heartbeat, Remy could understand how the man had maintained his grip on the city’s criminal enterprises for so long. It was obvious the guy had absolutely no fear of the law. Hell, it wouldn’t have come as a shock if they’d discovered the man was a complete psycho who didn’t even know how to feel fear.
“Ah, Detective Claiborne,” Lee said, giving Lorenzo an insincere smile that was somehow able to convey both amusement and violence. “I should have guessed it was you violating my civil liberties.”
