Page 59 of Traces of Kara

Ted moved backward, trying to hold onto the thread of courage he’d felt just moments before. “Where’s—” His voice caught in his throat. He’d backed himself against the wall.

The man took another step forward. Heat and the rancid smell of death wafted around him. Dried blood soaked his clothes. He raised a mangled hand in Ted’s direction. His disfigured face became clear as he crossed beneath the light.

Ted felt the cool metal of the trigger pressed firmly against the pad of his trembling index finger. “Where’s Mimi?” The pitch of his voice failed him.

The left side of the man’s lips rose in a sinister smile. He let out a sarcastic chuckle, and raised a hand to grab the gun.

Ted’s heart pounded in his ears. A rush of blood flooded his senses. He cried out and squinted, training his eyes on the man’s chest as he pulled back on the trigger.

A tiny click filled the space between them. A shock of fear ran through Ted’s gut. His heartbeat pulsated in his throat. The gun trembled in his hand. Just as Ted realized the safety was still in place, the man dove for the gun.

Ted fumbled for the safety, holding onto the gun with both hands as the man’s enormous palms wrapped around his, pressing so tightly that Ted felt the small bones in his hand crunch beneath the man’s grip. He cried out in pain, no match for his opponent’s bulk.

The man gripped Ted’s wrist, squeezing until the pressure on the bone was excruciating.

Ted cried, “Where’s Mimi?”

The man twisted one of Ted’s arms as if it were made of rubber, and slammed his back into the wall.

The gun remained in Ted’s injured hand, his finger on the trigger, the barrel pressed between the two men’s torsos. Ted stared into his opponent’s hate-filled eyes, trying to get his broken hand to cooperate. He didn’t care if he died in the process, he was going to take this bastard down. He stomped on the man’s toe with his heel.

The man let out a loud grunt, his hand clenching Ted’s arm. His eyes narrowed. In the blink of an eye he dropped his shoulder and rammed it into Ted’s sternum. Ted doubled over in pain with a loud groan. A shot rang out. The gun dropped to the floor and skittered across the floor.

Chapter Forty-Six

Detective Grant had paid close attention to Mimi when she’d come to his office. He’d been happy to see her, and had wanted her to stay, to visit. Now he recognized Mimi’s purse, sitting atop a chair in Jackson’s office. He opened the top of the fabric bag and withdrew a yellow, leather wallet. He looked at the photo of Mimi on her driver’s license, noted the muted pink of her lipstick, the glint in her eye. A gentle tug pulled at his heart. He flipped the plastic photo holder and came upon a photo of her and Kara sitting on the grass. The edges were worn, cracks in the paper barely visible, lining their legs like spider webs. He smiled, flipping to the next photo. An image of Ted stared back at him. His jaw tensed, and the ends of his lips drew into a clenched line. If Mimi was in trouble, he’d find her. He’d do what Ted could not.

“Got something?” Mark asked.

He clasped the wallet shut. “Nah. It’s Mimi’s.”

“So, she’s here.” He looked around the office, ran his hand through his hair. “Whaddaya’ think?”

Detective Grant breathed a loud sigh. He looked around the small office. There was no evidence of a scuffle. Grant picked up the blueprints of the plant, his trained eye quickly noting the entrances, the basement, and the sub-basement. He reached for the phone on the desk, pressing the receiver to his ear. No dial tone. Jackson’s coat hung on a hook on the back of the door. No sign of an incident. Kara was missing. Mimi had come to the plant and was somewhere, he assumed, in the building. Where was Jackson? What the hell had happened to them? He thought of the body on the roof, and a pang of worry shot through his gut.

A distant, familiar noise echoed below them.

Grant’s head spun toward Mark. Their eyes locked.

“Gunshot,” they said in unison.

Grant pushed past Mark just as thunder crashed above, illuminating the interior of the plant, and vanishing as quickly as it had come. Grant descended the stairs two at a time. He wasn’t sure where the sound had come from, but he was dead set on finding out.

Grant was halfway across the walkway to the second set of stairs, listening to Mark ramble on about their inability to reach the station for backup. “Shut up already. Don’t you think I know the risks?”

Grant headed down the next set of stairs, then inched along the wall, gun at the ready. Mark followed close behind, gun up, rubbing his ear every few seconds.

Rain pelted the windows behind them. Grant edged his way to the end of the wall and peered around the corner. A few feet before him was a grating, open to the floor below. He had to get there without being seen or heard. If Greer was in the basement, he couldn’t risk being seen as he passed above. He pointed his free hand in the direction of the tanks against the opposite wall.

Mark nodded, bent over, and came next to him, his back to the wall.

Grant took one more look around the edge, then lifted his chin toward Mark, indicating he was clear.

Mark dashed across the floor. Grant followed, his legs spread wide, his gun held out before him, moving from side to side in even, paced motions.

Mark slipped behind the tank. Grant disappeared behind another, his chest lifting and falling with each breath. Where the hell was Greer? He listened. Nothing called for his attention. There were no more gunshots. Had they heard a gunshot? He wanted this too badly. He wanted to find Mimi, to be her hero, and to save Kara. What was wrong with him? She was a happily married woman.

The faint sound of water filtered up through the grate. Grant’s eyes shot from side to side in the massive, empty plant. He crouched a few feet from the grate, leaning back and looking as far as the dim light would allow. Nothing. He moved back to the wall. Three hallways shot off from the open floor. Grant had always followed the top-down procedure in buildings, but his gut was telling him to head down to the basement.