Chapter 5 - Crossing the Line
A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the bus terminal. Rachel dropped the radio onto the concrete floor and crushed it beneath the heel of her boot.
She was entirely off the grid now. No backup. No trust. The man directing the police force was on the payroll of the monster who had kidnapped Sarah.
Rachel grabbed the Pelican case and sprinted out of the terminal just as two black, unmarked SUVs screeched to a halt at the front entrance. Men in tactical gear—not police, but private mercenaries—poured out. Marcus had sent the cleanup crew.
Rachel darted down a narrow alleyway, vaulting over a chain-link fence and disappearing into the labyrinth of Detroit’s industrial district. Her mind raced. The audio file gave her the location: The shipyard warehouse on River Rouge.
It was a massive, abandoned industrial complex stretching for miles along the polluted river. Finding one woman inside it would be like finding a needle in a haystack, and she had to do it before Richard’s men finished the job.
Rachel stole a rusted pickup truck from an open construction site, hotwiring it with skills she hadn’t used since her days undercover in auto-theft. She sped toward the riverfront, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs.
She parked three blocks away from the shipyard and approached on foot. The rain had stopped, leaving a heavy, impenetrable fog rolling off the water. The rusted husks of massive cargo ships loomed in the mist like the skeletons of dead leviathans.
Using her tactical training, Rachel slipped past the broken perimeter fence. She navigated through the rusted shipping containers, her service weapon drawn.
Up ahead, she saw it. A single, massive warehouse with blacked-out windows. Parked outside was the same black SUV that had undoubtedly dragged Sarah from the apartment stairwell. Two men armed with suppressed submachine guns stood by the heavy steel doors, smoking cigarettes in the fog.
Rachel couldn't call for backup. She couldn't wait. Every second she hesitated, Sarah was closer to a forced overdose.
Rachel picked up a heavy chunk of concrete and hurled it into a stack of empty oil drums fifty yards to her left. The deafening crash echoed through the shipyard.
Both guards instantly raised their weapons and moved toward the sound, abandoning the door.
Rachel moved like a ghost. She slipped behind the guards, holstered her weapon, and drew her heavy police baton. In two swift, brutal, and silent motions, she struck the first man behind the knee, dropping him, and delivered a crushing blow to the side of the second man’s head. They crumpled into the mud, unconscious.
Rachel grabbed a keycard from one of their vests and swiped it at the door.
The heavy steel door slid open.
Inside, the warehouse was a cavernous nightmare. A single industrial spotlight illuminated the center of the room.
Bound to a wooden chair, battered and bleeding, was Sarah Evans. She looked terrified, but she was alive.
Standing over her, preparing a syringe filled with a cloudy, lethal liquid, was a massive man with a scarred face. And standing in the shadows behind him, watching with cruel satisfaction, was Richard Vance.
"You always were a stubborn woman, Sarah," Richard sneered, adjusting his cuffs. "But you can't run from me. The kids are already waiting for me at the hospital. Once you're out of the picture, we’ll be a perfect, happy family again."
"They hate you," Sarah spat, blood dripping from her split lip. "You’ll never break them."
"No," a voice echoed through the massive warehouse, cold and loud enough to rattle the corrugated steel roof. "But I am going to break you, Richard."
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Richard whipped around.
Officer Rachel Brooks stepped into the light, her Glock 19 leveled directly at Richard Vance’s chest.
