Page 86 of Mike

“And how’s that working out for you?” Mason shook his head, but again, gave in. Partially. Especially because he had to know Mike was nearing the end of his rope. “Fine. Tell us what we need to know, and I’ll talk to the DA. I can’t make any guarantees there, but I will promise to have the Police Wives Association in town make your mother a wellness-check priority. They’ll look in on her; make sure she has food, and gets her to doctor’s visits while you’re…away.”

Which could be a very long time, so it was quite the reassurance.

Chuck thought it one over for a second, then spilled. “There’s uncooked xylazine inside, with the laboratory to synthesize it. You’ll find the fentanyl base in Benji’s truck.”

He’d know they all were aware of who Benji was, from the pair’s long association.

“And who’s inside?”

He sighed. “Your lady is knocked out cold, up front in the building, on the left about ten feet from the big front door. Galici is up top in a loft, sleeping.”

“And what was the full plan?” Mike glowered, unable to keep himself out of the conversation.

Chuck was reluctant, but Mike balled up his fists and gave him the impression he’d make it his business to get the information out of him.

“Okay. Okay. We were… We were going to wait until first light, then take your lady to the stream out back where…”

He didn’t continue.

“Where what?” Mike’s voice couldn’t have been rougher if he’d gargled with glass.

Chuck was shaking, now, but finally answered. “Where Galici was going to bash her in the head with a rock and put her face down in the water so it looked like she hit her head and drowned. Then we were going to plant a tracker on her so that the big boss could eventually find her.”

“You were going to make it appear like an accident,” Mason clarified, as Mike tried to hold himself back from tearing Chuck limb from limb.

“Right. But I didn’t think it was a good idea.”

“You’re not going to think it’s a good idea being charged with accessory to kidnapping and attempted murder, either,” Mike rasped.

All Chuck did was close his eyes, shiver, and sniff.

Fucking asshole.

“Alright. Take him away,” Mason quietly told Welker and Alvero.

“Listen up. Change of plan,” Mase said into his shoulder-clip mic. “We’re no longer going in blind. Hops. How fast can you blow the front door alarm panel?”

Hops came back. “Give me ten minutes. I need to hoof it back to the command bus and get some supplies. That will take the majority of the time. Once I get back, it’ll only take me thirty seconds to rig it.”

“Copy. Doug. Go with him and bring back the bosher,” Mase also ordered.

Right. They’d need the battering ram for the small door, unless…

Mike had a thought and clicked his mic. “Welk. Ask Chuck if he locked the door behind him.”

“Hang tight, LT,” Welker responded, and a second later he came back. “Nope. He says he left it open.”

“Thanks, Welk,” Mike grunted.

“So, no ram?” Doug confirmed over the air.

“Right,” Mason agreed, then got down to new business. “Before we breach, squad leaders, pick your best snipers and position them around the perimeter in case things go sideways. We’ve just learned that Joelle is laying on the floor through the main door, ten feet in, to the left, currently unconscious. A thru F you’re on the front overhead door, and listen closely. Once you have the go-ahead and the entry pad is blown—your priority is to secure our victim. Make sure she’s clear of the building, and Alvero, check her out to make sure she’s okay.”

“Copy that, Chief.”

Mike knew their team medic would take good care of Joe, and as much as he wanted to grab and hold her himself, his need to see the prick, Galici, brought down and questioned, was eating at his insides, and at least for the moment took precedence.

“Squads G thru J,” Mase continued. “You’re with me on the side door.”

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