Page 132 of Luck of the Devil
Carter tried calling me back, but I sent him to voicemail. He wasn’t going to change my mind, and I wasn’t going to waste time for either of us by listening to him try.
I slowed as I neared the warehouse, pulling onto the shoulder. I parked a good fifty feet away and then approached the building through the woods. How ironic that James had wanted to meet my father at the very place Nicole Knox had ordered her henchmen to bring him.
He was right. Having prior knowledge of the layout gave me an advantage.
I exited the trees at the edge of the parking lot, wary in case she had called for reinforcements. A dark, bullet-ridden SUV sat out front, along with a black sedan that looked suspiciously like the one that had dropped Nicole off at my mother’s house.
This was a rescue mission, but I was also here for answers.
I slipped through a back door, rifle slung over my shoulder, the handgun tucked into the waistband at my back.
Voices echoed through the open space—muffled words in a woman’s voice, then Malcolm’s unmistakable, “Fuck you.”
Pride—fierce and undeserved—swelled in my chest. I wouldn’t have expected anything less from him, but hearing it still made me beam. James wouldn’t go down without a fight.
And now, he had me to fight for him too.
I took cautious steps through the darkness, weaving around machinery that hadn’t run for years, probably decades. I knew the front of the building had multiple rows of empty metal shelving that reached about fifteen feet high, but there was also an open area.
Drew Sylvester had used that space to lure me in with little Ava Peterman taped to a chair. Would Nicole Knox do the same?
But first, I had to pass a block of offices that separated the warehouse into two halves.
I lingered in the shadows, mentally shaking my head at her lax security. No guards at the front or the back—just four men stationed out in the open area—two on each side. Sure enough, James was strapped to the same metal chair Ava had once been bound to. A woman stood in front of him, her back to me, but I recognized the salt-and-pepper bob.
Nicole Knox.
Malcolm’s right eye was swollen shut, and dried blood streaked the side of his face. Rage burned in my chest at the thought that they’d beaten him, until I remembered it was from the accident. Still, he likely had other injuries I couldn’t see.
Rope bound his arms and legs to the chair. Another looped around his chest, keeping him upright. I doubted it was out of concern that he might fall over.
“I’ll ask you again, Mr. Malcolm,” Nicole said, her cultured voice laced with a genteel Southern accent. “Where is the documentation that Sarah Jane Adams collected from her husband?”
“I don’t know,” James slurred. “Have you tried lookin’ up your ass?”
She jabbed something metal into his side. His body convulsed and the room filled with the crackling sound of electricity.
She was jabbing him with a cattle prod.
Rage surged through me. The men who’d chased us were sloppy. Could I be lucky enough that these men were too? Or at least be slow to react? I was almost certain they were the only guards.
From the shadows behind the shelves close to the offices, I had a clear shot at all four men. I wasn’t sure I could take them all down at once, but I was damn well going to try. I just had to make sure James and Nicole weren’t caught in the crossfire.
Hiding behind a row of racks, I rested the rifle on a shelf, lining up the nearest target. I drew a breath, finger hovering over the trigger, then Nicole’s voice rang out.
“Where’s Paul’s daughter? Why haven’t they brought her yet?”
Two of the men flinched, one casting a sidelong glance at the other, but neither answered.
She stepped toward them, her free hand curling into a fist. “You said the others would bring her here any minute. I’m done waiting. Call them again.”
“They’re not gonna answer,” James slurred, his chin still on his chest. “She’s keepin’ ‘em busy.”
Nicole spun to face him, her eyes icy as they swept over him. “Then you’ll pay for her tardiness.” She started toward him, the cattle prod extended.
I knew I was about to so something stupid, but there was no way I was going to let her shock him again.
I needed her alive, so shooting the prod wasn’t an option. A ricochet could hit Malcolm.
