“Fat lot of good it did. I’ll waive my fee since I didn’t provide a usable product.” He reached out, gripping Mick’s forearm. “Good luck, my friend. You’re gonna need it.”
Chapter 7
The radio station was down when Mick tried to check the forecast one last time. Not that it mattered. Hurricane Roy wasn’t the
ir primary concern. Liza and her kidnapper were waiting.
Wind buffeted the car with rain and debris. The storm was upon them. It was now or never, whether New Orleans got flattened or not.
The faded signage said Hennessey Yacht Building Company: Hand-built vessels since 1884.
Clearly nobody has much use for hand-tooled yachts since the economy tanked, thought Mick.
The warehouse was like any other in the area—rundown and unassuming, crouched behind a dilapidated chain link fence that had a few holes big enough for a man to slip through. The only boats in evidence were moored further down the waterway, riding uneasily on the churning waters of the Mississippi River. The building itself was brick, its face dotted with dozens of small, filthy windows, pockmarked in places by broken panes. The place appeared to be abandoned to the vagrants and drug dealers who frequented the neighborhood.
Mick fidgeted. The Eye was a warm weight in his pocket, the demon an uneasy presence in his mind. Sophie fidgeted beside him in the passenger seat.
“Mick, if this doesn’t—”
He laid a finger over her lips to stop her words. “Save it, chère. We’ll talk about it on the other side.”
He handed her the Eye. Gingerly, she placed it back into the case and snapped it closed. Then she looked at him long and hard, her eyes full of things neither of them dared to speak.
I believe it is time.
Mick frowned at the intrusive voice. But the demon was right.
“Let’s go.”
They had to wrestle the car doors open against the wind. Sophie stuck close as they made use of one of the gaps in the fencing and ran for the relative shelter of an overhang above a metal door. Their staggering progress to the door of the warehouse took twice as long as it should have, but they made it. A chain hung limp from the handle, but there was no padlock. Clearly they were expected.
“You ready?” he asked.
Sophie’s face was white and pinched with anxiety, but she nodded, her Sig Sauer clutched tight in one hand.
Mick thought those lightning balls of hers would be more effective against whatever they were about to encounter, but she seemed steadier with the gun, so he left it alone. Instead, he said, “We’re gonna get Liza back. I promise.”
He didn’t let himself think about whether it was a promise he could keep. Faith and straight-up stubborn were keeping him going here. That and the knowledge that both of them needed him to be strong. He disentangled the chain holding the old metal door shut and carefully eased it open. The rusty hinges screamed in protest, and even though the noise was lost in the general wail of the storm, he winced, body tensed for something to fly out of the dark at them. There was no response to the noise, so he slipped inside with Sophie close behind.
He waited, ears straining as his eyes adjusted to the darkness.
Except for the sounds of their breathing and the roar of the wind, the warehouse was silent. Too silent. The wolf prowled beneath his skin, hackles raised. And yet, when he lifted his nose, he caught traces of Liza’s scent. Faint, but there. It was overlaid with wood and metal…and blood. Suppressing a growl, Mick crept forward, Sophie on his heels.
The narrow hallway led past a row of what had probably been offices, their windows now dark. At the end of the hall, a series of huge metal racks, still loaded with wood, rose high above them. The ceiling sloped up toward a central point with a skylight. Mick could make out the lines of some kind of crane apparatus with a system of chains and pulleys. Probably for moving the ships from one point to another.
Sporadic thuds of debris hitting the walls sounded like gunfire and the roof above groaned under the onslaught of the storm.
“Better hurry, Sophie. I’m getting impatient.” The voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere at once.
Something metallic groaned and snapped beyond the wood racks. Mick froze, listening to the sound of saws starting up. Then they heard the muffled scream. Sophie was already running toward the middle of the building. He loped after her, trying to snag her before she left cover, but he didn’t make it. Stopping before the end of the racks, he didn’t follow her out. Keeping hidden might give them an advantage if things didn’t go as planned.
There was a series of scaffolding and catwalks at varying levels around this central work area. He leapt up to the nearest one, using the noise of the equipment and the storm to mask the sound of climbing.
Sophie skidded to a halt, the hand with the box held aloft. “Stop! I’m here! Stop it!” she shouted.
Mick followed her gaze to see Liza suspended by handcuffs from a hook on one of the chains hanging from the ceiling. Her face and head were crusted with blood, her shoulders bunched oddly. Dislocated, Mick realized, probably from struggling to get free.
Mere feet away, an enormous circular saw hummed. Her body writhed, her eyes wide and terrified. She was whimpering behind the gag. Oh gods. He gauged the distance, but even in wolf form, there was no way he could reach her. His eyes travelled up to the pulley system, searching for access.