Kerrick (The Mavericks Book 1) Read online

  And Tom must have driven Stanley’s blue car onto the ferry with Amanda unconscious in the back seat. So that third vehicle could very well have been driven by my man Jimmy here.

  Jimmy opened the cab door and said, “Come on, Tom. We got to go.”

  “Now we’re not in that big a hurry,” Tom said. “What’s the rush?”

  Jimmy shot a dark look toward Kerrick. “Nothing. We’re late, and I want to go home.” He hopped in, slammed the door, and turned on the engine.

  Tom lifted a hand and said, “Hey, my ride’s leaving. Anytime you want to talk to me, give me a shout.”

  “At what number?” Kerrick asked drily. But, to his surprise, the kid peeled off a number. Kerrick quickly added it to his cell phone and nodded. “Maybe I’ll do that. How long have you worked for them?”

  “About six months,” he said with a big grin. “It’s a really good paycheck. I like the hours, and I like the work. They’re really very good to deal with.”

  “So, you wouldn’t be involved in anything shady then, would you?” Kerrick’s voice was low and curious.

  Tom opened up the passenger side, just as Jimmy attempted to move forward. Tom hopped up before it took off on him, and he said, “Nah, no way. The owners, they’re really good to deal with.”

  “Yeah, you must be related to them.”

  Tom chuckled. “I am. They’re my grandparents.”

  No wonder Jimmy didn’t want to speak up. He was nearing retirement age, didn’t want to screw that up. But he was already in enough hot water letting Stanley, who was fired, still use the company’s lorry, while Jimmy covered for Stanley by tweaking the mileage records. Now Jimmy surely didn’t want to name the bosses’ own grandkid as their accomplice to a kidnapping, not to mention bringing up the smuggling issue as well.

  And, with that, the two lying employees tore off down the road.

  Chapter 5

  Amanda woke up again, trusting her internal clock to remain accurate, shivering once again. The windowless cold gray walls stared back at her. Her stomach churned violently. Nothing was more unsettling than knowing you were getting sick unless it was knowing that you were locked up as a prisoner in a dark cold room with only a full pee pot to throw up in. Just the thought of getting up to hang her head over the top of that thing made her balk. The smell alone would make her erupt violently.

  Trying to focus on anything else, she laid in bed, gasping, willing her gut to calm down. Finally she was forced to sit up, hanging her legs over the edge, dropping her head between her knees, hoping to still the stream. Was it the little bit of drugged food they’d given her, or was it just the lack of food? She had tried so hard not to eat, but it was impossible when the hunger got to her. And, of course, these assholes knew that. Hinkleman also hadn’t returned. He had just laughed at her circumstances and had walked out even when she had cried after him, “What do you want?”

  He had lifted a hand goodbye and left.

  The fact that he was getting paid several times over to keep her captive was mind-blowing. She hadn’t made a name for herself. Not yet. Her father had, as a politician. As had her mother. And sure, Amanda wanted to feel the rewards for her research work on cancer. Several of her patients had gone into remission after taking her drug, but, of course, her patients were of the four-legged variety, not the humans who she needed to try her cure on.

  But getting human trials approved was something else. And she didn’t understand why Hinkleman would be upset that she was to the point of applying for those. Couldn’t he appreciate what she had done? His name went on all the papers anyway. Although hers would go on the papers too. She was his underling.

  Was that it? Was he not willing to share the glory? Pretty upsetting if that’s the case because he already had several awards in his name, but they were from decades ago. Yet he clung to them and reminded everybody of them almost weekly. But this level of curing-cancer research, of course, was where everybody wanted to be. A cure for cancer was the Holy Grail. Why wouldn’t Dr. Hinkleman appreciate that, no matter who found the cure?

  Even before all her formal upper-level schooling, she’d been very young when joining the Mensa group. There she’d met many people who were doing awesome things in life, inspiring her to do even more. After Alice’s death, Amanda had chosen to work on improving the human condition by finding a cure for breast cancer.

  As she sat in the darkness, she could feel the tears well up, and she called out to her dead friend. “Alice, I sure hope you’re doing well in a better place. There’s a good chance I could be joining you soon.”

  Of course Amanda heard no answer. There was never any answer. She’d been talking to Alice since her death. She knew, every once in a while, her coworkers caught her mumbling to herself. And that was fine. The problem was, she was mumbling to a specific person, knowing full well that she wouldn’t get an answer back but needing to converse with her anyway. After all, Alice was why Amanda did this. To save others like Alice. She’d been so young when she had been diagnosed with breast cancer, of all things.

  In Amanda’s mind, she’d always thought that breast cancer belonged to middle-aged or older women who’d already had their two-point-five kids and the breasts themselves had been worn out and used up. But instead, her friend was only twenty-six and yet to be pregnant, and she had died so soon afterward. How was that fair? And, of course, it wasn’t, but Amanda’s situation wasn’t fair either. Life was a bitch sometimes.

  Just then she heard a gentle tap, but she didn’t understand from where. She hopped out of bed, instantly woozy and unsure on her feet, stopping to steady herself, and still not knowing what time it was exactly in the darkness. She was losing track of most of her senses now.

  She walked over to one wall and tapped gently. Nothing. She walked to the next, tapped again and again, and at the door she tapped as well. And just as she went to do that on the next wall, another tap sounded, but it came from the ceiling above her. She slowly stepped onto her cot, steadying herself again, not surprised by her weakness, and tapped back. There was almost a startled sensation, and then two more taps came. She tapped twice back.

  At least this way, they knew that she had heard and that they were communicating. Didn’t mean that they knew what they were communicating, but she’d take any sign of human existence that she could.

  When the taps came back three times, she got a little pissed, but she tapped three times back as well. Her worst nightmare was of a child playing up there, letting people know that the floor was talking to them. And then she noted the ensuing series of taps and breaks. And it repeated over and over again. She caught her breath, dragged her mind back to the Morse code that she had learned when interested in navy life. She realized that somebody was signaling to her. She listened to it tapped out over and over again: H-E-L.

  Her heart sank and her eyes closed when the P came.

  She didn’t know what to say. She tapped her reply slowly. Yes, please help me.

  Another startled moment could be heard from above and then another set of taps. Can’t came back. And then Help me?

  Tears dripped down Amanda’s cheeks as she realized that, indeed, somebody else was being held here too, another prisoner, not just the crying woman heard earlier on Amanda’s same floor but also above her. She tapped back slowly. Can’t. Locked in.

  The answer came as Me too.

  Needing to know that somebody was out there, somebody who maybe could tell her father, she tapped out her name and added Chemist kidnapped.

  What came back was a name. Brandon Coleman. Kidnapped.

  And then the next part broke her heart. Ten years old.

  She screamed a cry of rage, a cry of pain and anger. A little boy was up there, a child held captive. Like her. She sent another message back. Why?

  Father bad.

  Not.

  They say so.

  Doesn’t matter. Stay strong.

  You?

  Ex-husband mad at me. Also some enemy of my fa
ther involved. Not sure what to say next, she sank onto her cot. When she heard footsteps outside, she quickly stood and tapped Quiet. Someone’s coming. The last thing she wanted was for anybody to know that they were communicating.

  Someone pounded on her door.

  When the order came for her to stand back from the doorway, she climbed off her cot, automatically took several steps backward, and stood at attention.

  The door opened, and Hinkleman walked in. He glared at her. “We need you.”

  She opened her eyes wide. “Of course,” she said. “What do you need me for?”

  “Your notes,” he snapped. “They don’t make any sense.”

  She frowned. “If they don’t make any sense, it’s because you’re not following them. Or … someone has altered them.”

  “You?”

  She shook her head rapidly. “You know I would never corrupt the data. That’s everything to me.”

  He stared at her for a long moment and then, without warning, smacked her hard across the face. The blow sent her reeling, and she collapsed on the cot. He turned and walked out again.

  She lay here, her anger returning. Memories of her ex hitting her added to her ire. Yet through it all she knew she hadn’t heard the hard snick on the lock as the door was slammed behind her.

  Slowly, with her ear against the door, she pushed down the handle and tugged the door toward her. She only opened it a little bit to see if anybody would slam the door in her face. But nobody appeared to be outside her door, at least not in the three feet before her door. The hallway was disjointed, if it were a hallway at all. By the time she took three steps and reached the next corner, she peeked around, and she could now see that her short hallway joined a long and dank hallway, but faint running lights ran above her on the ceiling. Multiple doors were on both sides. This hallway was also completely empty.

  She had waited for one opportunity, and she took it.

  The trucking company had closed for the day at 6:00 p.m., and it was almost 7:00 now. Kerrick sat in his vehicle in an empty lot several blocks away and quickly researched the employee names he had been given from the very helpful front-desk lady. All it took was the mention of Stanley Warwick, and she wanted to do everything possible to make sure nobody was doing that again. Kerrick had already sent those names to his contact. When he received a text message to Call, he picked up his phone and waited for the tumblers to connect him to a secure line.

  Then he asked, “What’s up?”

  “One of the trucking company employees used to work for a biochemical research company,” said the quiet voice on the other end of the call.

  The voice this time wasn’t Beta’s, his old buddy. Yet another new voice without a name in this new government division.

  “He was a delivery driver for them until he got fired six months ago.”

  Tom Paine. “The owner’s grandkid. And?”

  “It’s the same company she worked for.”

  Instantly he went “Yes!” This is exactly what they needed. It was a break, and it was something to blow open this case. “Perfect,” he said. “I need to know everything about the biochemical research company. I want to know all the details, no matter how small.”

  “It won’t help much. It’s in Paris.”

  “Everything helps. She was kidnapped after work in front of that building. Every little tidbit helps,” Kerrick said firmly. And then he swore. “I don’t want to take the time to hop over there, but I might have to.”

  “Tell us what you want.”

  He ran off a list of all the questions he wanted answered about the company. Then, when he finally ran out of steam, he said, “And get it to me later tonight.”

  The voice laughed. “You don’t ask for much, do you?”

  “You want the girl saved, don’t you?”

  There was silence for an instant. “You’ll get your answers,” the voice said, and then it rang off.

  Kerrick wished he could send a message to Amanda herself, letting her know that somebody was coming for her. Letting her know that somebody cared. Because, in spite of himself, he was starting to care about this victim. He’d been on several teams that had rescued kidnapped victims before, but there was just something about that clear and direct gaze of Amanda’s … That purpose in her eyes, that sense of self, as if to say I know exactly what I’ll do. I know how I’ll do it, and, Cancer, you better damn watch out because I’m coming for you.

  He recognized that look because his gaze held the same kind of look. Only, in his case, it was all about him coming for her. The emotions he felt hit him sideways. Odd to think about caring for this woman when he hadn’t cared for anyone after all these years.

  As he looked out the window of his vehicle, he could see the day waning away, but he’d gotten a lot done so far. He’d get back to his motel and stay at it. He didn’t have a clue when his people would contact him again. At least he had a good start on solving this case. Now, if only he could force the cops to drag in Stanley, who owned the car on the ferry, for questioning. Would Stanley say anything though? Not likely. He probably has been well paid for his part in this.

  And Tom Paine? The cops needed to talk to him too, but Tom wasn’t any mastermind. That much was for sure. Yet he had the connection to Scion Labs, Amanda’s employer. So was Tom getting paid too, directly from his previous employer to screw over his current employer, meaning, his own grandmother and grandfather? Family, ain’t they just grand at times?

  Well, at least Kerrick knew where to find Tom tomorrow. At work.

  Kerrick drove back to the motel, stopping to pick up food. He ordered another burger and fries, hating that he was eating a lot of fast food but needing the sustenance, and parked outside the motel.

  Back in his room, he quickly set up his laptop again and researched Stanley. What if, on his own, Kerrick could contact Stanley directly? Maybe scare the crap out of him to get him to talk? Kerrick searched online for a physical address or anything that would give him a location, but he found nothing. And, if Stanley no longer worked at the trucking company, what’s the chance he would talk anyway? It’s not like he could lose a job he didn’t have anymore.

  By now Jimmy, the nervous weasel, would have forewarned both Tom and Stanley. Sighing, Kerrick bet that Tom Paine would not be returning to work tomorrow.

  It was well past business hours now and getting darker out and now thirty-one hours of captivity for Amanda. And that’s why Kerrick needed to track down a few more of these people. He hated to lose all of the night to sleep, although he did have to catch some shut-eye to be able to do this job right, to divert any jet lag. So much information still had to be found, and Kerrick had absolutely no inkling where Amanda was being held.

  What if Jimmy or Stanley or Tom didn’t disengage the GPS on that lorry? Surely one of the three of them would have covered their asses. Still, after meeting two of them, Kerrick decided to see what information that GPS could give him.

  He contemplated breaking into the trucking parking lot overnight and then wondered if he could hack into the computer system instead. He quickly opened his special chat window and ordered the GPS tracking info on the lorry. The answer was a single question mark.

  He typed Do it.

  He sat here and ate his burger and fries, wishing he’d picked up at least one coffee. When he was done, he tossed his garbage, grabbed himself a large glass of water, and drank that down. By the time he returned to his laptop, the chat window had a message waiting for him and a link. He quickly went into the link, and, sure enough, it provided the LoJack mileage data on lorry 714 to date. He went back to the day in question, and there it was—the path that the lorry had taken on Sunday.

  Even with three guys involved in using a stolen lorry, not one had considered disengaging the LoJack on it. Wow, talk about cocky. Or just plain stupid. But while the LoJack gave Kerrick the total mileage traveled on that Sunday by the stolen lorry, it didn’t tell him anything about the locations reached along that journe
y. And the mileage racked up that day indicated one hell of a trip. Like to Paris and back?

  He went back to the chat window. Get the map for Sunday’s route from the LoJack company.

  Almost immediately, as if having already anticipated what he needed, another link popped up. And there he was, into the security system and checking the exact route the lorry had traveled. With that, he brought out his paper map, courtesy of the local airport—and always good to have on hand as a backup. He spread out the map on the bed with his laptop beside him. He quickly used a highlighter to mark off the lorry’s route on his physical map.

  As expected, it was a circuitous route. The lorry had traveled to France to kidnap Amanda from Scion Labs in Paris and had returned to England, obviously meeting up with the blue car on the French side of the ferry. And the two vehicles had crossed together, as confirmed on the ferry images. Why two vehicles? The only thing Kerrick could think of was the kidnappers feared the lorry would be searched before being allowed on the ferry.

  For sure, a “sleeping” woman in the back of a lorry would raise eyebrows. Whereas a “sleeping” woman in the back seat of a car, obvious for all to see, didn’t seem so suspicious.

  Regardless, Tom and his hairy arm drove Stanley’s car onto the ferry and then onto land in England, while the lorry driven by Stanley soon took the lead and headed into the Liverpool area. There, it had stopped at a couple spots—one Kerrick suspected was where the car had been loaded into the lorry. The lorry had driven another seventeen miles before it stopped again, dropping off Amanda, then had returned to the trucking company yard.

  This last stop had likely been where the car had been removed, simply because of the way the lorry was parked away from the fence, like to secretly unload a car. But all that conjecture did not tell him where the car had gone afterward. He again typed into the chat box and asked if there was any sign of the blue car yet.