Page 46 of Deadly Threat
They kept walking, but Malachi glanced at her. “What?”
“Embalming fluid—the smell I couldn’t figure out before—they use it at funeral homes, right?” She stopped and her hand fell from his shoulder. “I remember it at my grandmother’s service when I was eight.” It was the only funeral she’d ever been to. “Could that be the chemical?”
Malachi reached back and squeezed her hand. “For sure and that’s helpful. Let’s finish checking this out, then we’ll notify the others.”
He returned her hand to his body, and they started forward again. Her mind whirled. They’d held her hostage at a funeral home? Seemed unlikely, but it felt as though a dam had broken. She remembered the cloying scent of old carnations. Them and gladiolus flowers.
Funeral flowers, her mother had referred to them once, as they’d passed buckets of them at the grocery store not long after Grandma Ann had died. Tears had sprang into her mother’s eyes, “I prefer roses,” she’d claimed. “Yellow ones. Happy flowers.”
More flashbacks pushed into Mia’s mind with each step deeper into the tunnel. Things she had forgotten, purposely hidden from herself, like seeing her beloved grandmother in that casket. She had appeared as though she were sleeping, and at any moment would open her eyes and draw Mia into a hug.
But she hadn’t, and just as unnerving, Mia had seen her mother break down and sob for the first time in Mia’s young life. Her mother had always been so strong, and she’d never cried in front of her children again, until Mili was diagnosed with leukemia.
“Mia?”
She’d let go of Malachi. He was looking at her funny.
“Sorry.” She blew out a breath and refocused on him. “I’m starting to remember a lot of things.”
He patted her arm. “That’s good. I promise as soon as we’re out of here, we’ll talk about all of it.”
They marched on. Thomas thoroughly investigated the tops and sides of the tunnel, but even he drew up his jacket collar, holding it against his nose. “At least, there’s no—” A squeak sounded and something raced passed their feet making Mia jump and cry out. “Rats,” he finished. “God, I hate vermin.”
The ground began to rise again, the hint of fresh air teasing their nostrils. It still stank, but of garbage now and less of chemicals. The exit steps were bare metal bars sunk into the ground. They climbed out, Mia’s boots not slipping.
Thomas lifted a metal grate and they exited to find themselves in a large garage.
Parts in various stages of decay and rust sat abandoned. Three car bays and several work benches filled the center. Oil cans, sockets, and tires were scattered about, and there was a healthy assortment of posters of naked women, license plates, and a steering wheel clock on the wall. “A chop shop?” Malachi asked.
“Looks like it,” Thomas pointed toward the clock. “A functioning one, too.”
Mia glanced at it, realizing the time was accurate. “Sam said the Feds and NSA have seen activity around here.”
“Hmm.” Thomas walked toward a black tarp, covering a large vehicle. “The landfill is a great place to hide stolen cars and extra parts.” He raised a corner, flipping a section back to show them what was under it. “Does this look familiar?”
Malachi hit a wall switch and light flooded the room. “I’ll be damned,” he said, eyeballing the SUV.
Mia’s heart hammered. “This is one of theirs, isn’t it?”
“What do you want to bet we’ll find Amber’s DNA inside?” Malachi asked.
Thomas drew out his phone. “Time to call this in.”
Twenty-One
The next hour flew by in a flurry of information, the ball of thread finally unwinding.
Inside the Taskforce office, Sam, Joe, Cooper, Thomas, Ronni, Caleb, Bobby, Malachi, and Mia gathered, helping themselves to pizza and sandwiches while they walked through every piece of the case.
Sam had a whiteboard set up with pictures of the suspects, notes, and locations. Malachi shared the fact Lopez was actually Horvat, and his theory regarding the Komosu.
Mia had talked all the way there, telling Malachi her memories and discussing the possibilities for Amber’s whereabouts based on them. Joe had already ruled out a dozen or more funeral homes in the area that had no connection to Marcher or any of his shell corporations, but he dove in harder to find one that might, after learning of the chemical she’d smelled.
“Formaldehyde,” Bobby said, typing at his laptop. “Used in building materials, household products, vaccines, cosmetics insulation, glues and adhesives. You name it.”
Malachi thought of the lab. “Vaccines?”
He read from the screen. “It’s an antiseptic and kills most viruses, bacteria, and warts.”
