Chapter 9 - Industrial Park Number Four
The unmarked police cruiser tore down the empty highway, tires screaming as Davis took the exit toward the abandoned industrial park. The skeletal frames of rusted metal warehouses loomed against the ink-black sky like sleeping giants.
Claire sat in the passenger seat, her knuckles white as she gripped the dashboard. Every second felt like an eternity, the digital clock in her mind ticking down relentlessly.
“He’s setting a trap, Claire. We need to call for tactical backup,” Davis said, his eyes scanning the dark access roads.
“There’s no time for backup,” Claire replied fiercely. “If we wait for them, Marcus will move her again.”
Davis slowed the cruiser to a crawl as they approached building number four. The corrugated metal structure was dark, save for a single flickering yellow light above the rusted side entrance door.
Davis parked behind a stack of shipping containers, cutting the headlights.
“Stay in the car,” Davis instructed, drawing his service weapon.
“No chance,” Claire said, opening her door before he could stop her.
She stepped out into the biting wind, her dark jeans and blue cardigan doing little to keep out the chill. She remembered the black boxing glove lying on the pavement back on Maple Street, remembering the weight of it in her hand when she struck his chest. She wasn't the helpless woman Marcus thought he had broken.
They crept toward the side entrance door. It was unlocked, pushed slightly ajar.
Davis pushed the door open with the barrel of his gun, stepping inside into a cavernous, dusty warehouse filled with rows of old wooden crates.
“Marcus!” Davis shouted into the echoing space.
May you like
From the shadows near the far wall, a slow round of applause echoed through the vast room.
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