In direct contrast to the dilapidated building, glistening in the afternoon sunlight is a shiny-looking Mercedes.
“Block the car in, we don’t know why they’re here, but do it just in case they decide to make a run for it. I do not want to call Sebastian Lockwood and tell him we lost his runaway wife again,” I say, my skin prickling. “Something about this doesn’t feel right.”
“Agreed, boss. Rich girls don’t come to this part of town, and they definitely don’t come to abandoned warehouses alone, unless they’re trying to score. Could she or her friend be a junkie? This place looks like a dealer’s paradise.”
“No one has mentioned any drug use,” I tell him.
“But would they tell you? More likely they’d just pack her off to rehab and say it’s for exhaustion. Isn’t that what those rich folk do?”
“I don’t remember the security guard saying anything about her having a habit. If she did, that’d be easier to blackmail her with than the sex tapes.”
“Not saying I watched any of those, but whew, I didn’t know married sex was that hot,” Hank says.
Flashing him a withering look, I unfasten my seat belt and open the door, climbing out and into the balmy midday sun. Motioning for Hank to follow me, I lift my finger to my lips, telling him to be quiet as I slowly approach the Mercedes.
Leaning down, I look through the windows and find the car empty, except for some fast-food wrappers and empty Starbucks cups. Continuing toward the partially open warehouse door, I unclip my gun from its holster, gripping it in my hands as I slowly step into the dark warehouse.
The glass on the windows has long since become filthy with grime, barely allowing enough light through to illuminate thedark space. At first glance, the place seems empty, but not as run-down as it appears from the outside. The floor is grease-stained concrete, but it wouldn’t take much to make it usable again.
The small entryway forks off in three directions, and I walk cautiously ahead, heading in the direction of the sound of a female voice.
“Where the hell are you? I’m here, and god, this place is a dump,” the woman says, her tone clearly annoyed.
Motioning to Hank, I tell him to check the room to the right, and he pulls out his own gun before cautiously opening the door. Staying behind him, I exhale when he mouths “clear” to me, taking up the position behind me again as I keep my gun aimed at the floor and start to push open the door straight ahead of me.
“Who the fuck are you?” a short woman yells, her hand still on the door she was in the process of pulling open.
“Green Acres Police. Please state your name,” I say loudly.
“I’m not telling you my name,” she huffs.
“Is that your car in the lot?” I question.
“Yes.”
“Are you Courtney Ortega?” I ask.
“How do you know my name? Did that jerk call the cops?”
“Ms. Ortega, I’m Chief Turner with the Green Acres Police Department. Could you come outside with me?” I ask, keeping my tone calm.
“What for?” she questions haughtily.
“Outside, please, Ms. Ortega,” I say, slipping my gun back into the holster.
Huffing, like I’m inconveniencing her, she barges past me and toward the entrance.
“Check out the rest of the building, see if you can locate Mrs. Lockwood, and I’ll find out what they’re doing here,” I tell Hank quietly as I follow the other woman back into the bright daylight.
“You can’t question me without my lawyer,” Ms. Ortega quips, her arms crossed across her chest, her lips pursed in a strange pout.
“Did you know this is private property, Ms. Ortega? Are you here alone? Were you meeting someone?” I ask.
Staring at me defiantly, she blinks in the way that children do when they’re about to start stamping their feet.
Striding quickly out of the building, Hank gestures for me to go to him, and I step forward, keeping half of my attention on Ms. Ortega.
“Chief, I don’t know what the fuck she’s doing here, but in that other room, there’s a fucking cage with a big-ass lock on it, a gurney, rope, tape, and a bunch of other stuff, including scalpels, knives, and hammers.”
