There was no sign of Casey. There was no sign of Hero. But he could hear the frenetic barking of the bloodhound coming from downstairs. Simultaneously, he could hear a few of the guards shouting back and forth.
Something had happened.
Hutch yanked on his jeans and a sweater, snatched up his Glock and his cell phone and took off down the stairs.
He nearly collided with a guard in the entranceway. The guy was gripping Hero’s leash and staring after his partner, who was racing down the street.
“What the hell is going on?” Hutch demanded.
“She took off,” the guard reported. “The minute we opened the door, she bolted.”
“Casey left? Of her own accord? No one forced her?”
The guard shook his head. “She said her dog needed a walk. She wanted to take him herself. We refused. I was all set to go, when she pushed me aside and ran that way.” He pointed.
Hutch shook his head. “That makes no sense. Why would she...” He didn’t know what made him do it, but he stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out his cell phone.
The red message light was flashing.
Thirty seconds later, he knew exactly where Casey had gone and why.
“Shit.” He was out the door, waving his arm at the unmarked car that had already pulled over.
“Get in.” It was Hutch’s partner, Brian, at the wheel, with one of the NYPD task force detectives riding shotgun. Brian glanced from Hutch to the scene that was unfolding in front of him. “We just picked up a couple of burgers. This is what we came back to.”
Hutch jumped into the backseat and slammed the door shut. “Start driving. I’ll explain on the way. Fifty-five Ludow Street, south of Grand. Hurry. As it is, I’m sure we’ll miss her. Goddammit, Casey.” He punched his leg in frustration.
Brian didn’t ask questions. He just screeched off in the direction Hutch had indicated.
Hutch glanced at his cell phone. He had to let the rest of the FI team know. Especially Ryan. This wasn’t going to be pretty.
He texted all the team members, alerting them to a crisis situation and telling them he was about to forward them a text with an attachment.
I’m on my way, he told them. Go to the office. I’ll contact you as soon as I have something.
* * *
Casey instructed the cabdriver to stop a half block from her destination.
He pulled over, frowning as he did. “Are you sure you want me to leave you here, lady? This isn’t exactly a great place to be late at night.”
“I’m sure.” Casey stuffed a wad of bills in his hand. “Thanks.”
She got out and sprinted to the sidewalk, then strode off at a rapid pace. She anchored her purse against her side, her fingers gripping the barrel of her pistol. She slowed down as she neared the gray steel door, her gaze darting around.
The street was deserted.
She was just reaching for the handle when a dark hooded figure lunged up the cellar stairs adjacent to where Casey stood. He grabbed her, holding her in a vise-grip, while wrenching the pistol from her hand and yanking away her purse.
“Forget it, Red,” he muttered. “You lost.”
He clapped a chloroform-soaked cloth over her nose and mouth, locking her in place as she fought.
It was a fight not destined to be won.
Casey collapsed, unconscious, and Jack let her sink to the ground. He shoved her pistol in his jacket pocket. Then he rifled her purse to make sure her iPhone was inside. Yup. There it was.
Leaving the phone in her purse, he tossed the whole thing in a nearby Dumpster and returned to Casey’s crumpled body.