Colton 911--Soldier's Return, page 18
Micha went down, dropping hard and struggling to stay conscious. At least they were still two houses down from Carly’s place. He could not let this madman anywhere near her, no matter what he had to do.
Somehow, he managed to push back to his feet. Lurching forward, his vision still blurry, he swung. And connected, though just barely.
Andy laughed. “Want to try that again? Come on, tough guy. You can take me. I only have one leg.”
Blinking, Micha tried to focus on the other man. Not only did his head hurt like hell, but he saw double—two Andy Schacklefords when he knew there was only one. Licking his lip, he tasted blood. “Why are you doing this, man?”
“Seriously?” Disbelief rang in the other man’s voice. “You know I’m entitled. After what you did to me, you owe me. Enough of this BS. You’re coming with me.”
Micha never saw the second blow coming. He slid into unconsciousness as the pavement rose up to greet him.
When he opened his eyes next, head pounding like mortar shells had detonated inside of it, he realized his hands and feet had been bound. A rag had also been stuffed inside his mouth. He was inside the back of a van or SUV, and the motion made his injured head hurt even more. Flashes of light from passing under the occasional streetlights felt like swords into his brain.
Since he couldn’t speak, he closed his eyes. Battling nausea, he felt himself slip once more into darkness.
He came to again as Andy was dragging him out of the vehicle. “Get up. Walk,” Andy ordered, prodding him with some sort of stick. A cane or a baseball bat, Micha thought, struggling to clear the fog from his brain. Next, Micha fully expected to be beaten with whatever the stick was. It felt eerily familiar, as if Andy had taken a page from the playbook when the Afghanistan terrorists had taken Micha prisoner.
He suppressed a shudder. He’d barely survived then. He needed to get the upper hand now. Carly. He had to make it back to Carly. At least this bastard hadn’t touched her.
Andy herded him inside a metal structure. Not a residence, Micha noted. But some sort of warehouse or storage facility. Though the darkness made getting his bearings even more difficult, Micha tried to look for landmarks. Anything to help tell him where he might be.
Prodding him again, Andy gave Micha one final shove before sliding the door closed. Despite the complete and total darkness, Micha immediately tried to work his hands free. He dropped to the floor—also metal—and realized what the absence of windows likely meant. Andy had stuck him inside of a shipping container or storage unit. No one would hear Micha if he called for help at least until morning.
Whether he was at the Port of Chicago or a trucking yard—either way there would be workers at some point, there to load the containers onto a truck or ship. Though he figured Andy would be back long before sunrise to finish enacting his revenge.
There were two things Micha had to his advantage. One, most shipping yards or storage facilities had cameras, and two, as far as Micha could tell, Andy had forgotten to strip him of his cell phone. He was pretty sure he could still feel it in his pocket. If he could manage to get his hands free, he should be able to call for help. He needed to do something before he either ran out of air or Andy came back to finish him off.
Luckily for him, he’d been in this exact same situation numerous times, both in training and in real life. It took a bit of time, some pain and maybe even blood, but he managed to get his hands free.
Finally. Flexing his fingers to try to regain some circulation, Micha untied his feet. It took a few attempts, but he finally got back enough feeling to be able to stand and move. Next, he went to where he knew the door should be. “Damn it.” He remembered reading something about this. Shipping containers weren’t equipped to be opened from the inside. Of course they weren’t. They’d never been intended to hold people, only goods.
Since he had no idea how long the air would last in here, he tried to conserve his movements. Luckily, he’d overcome any bouts of panic-inducing claustrophobia he’d had back in Afghanistan, out of sheer necessity. They’d kept him in a hole in the ground, maybe eight by six at the most.
The space here also felt small, though not as tiny; which meant most likely he’d been locked in the smaller size of the standard shipping containers, which he believed was twenty by eight.
Okay, so no way out on his own. However, if Andy Shackleford opened that door, Micha would be ready. He shoved his hand in his pocket, but instead of locating his phone, he came up with nothing.
Damn it. Micha figured Andy would be back sooner or later.
Either way, Micha knew he had to be prepared for when the other man returned. That likely would be his one chance to get out of this alive and back to Carly. He couldn’t leave her again.
Carly. What if the reason Andy had left Micha here was because he’d gone back to do something to Carly? If he’d had even the slightest idea how much she meant to Micha, Andy would immediately figure out the best way to make Micha suffer was to hurt her.
No. Micha refused to allow his thoughts to go there. First he’d need to figure out a way out of here. Then he could get to Carly and make sure she was safe. He thanked his lucky stars that he’d asked Jones to stay with her. If Andy went there, he wouldn’t be expecting her to have company.
Just in case he’d missed something, Micha once again felt his way along all sides of his prison. Nothing. No opening, nothing he could use as a tool to try to force his way out. He was well and truly stuck.
He knew he could rant and rave, pound on the metal walls until his knuckles were raw, use up every ounce of his energy and a great deal of oxygen, all for nothing. A younger Micha might have done this once, but since then he’d learned a thing or two.
Sinking to the floor with his back against the wall, he settled in to wait. He’d conserve his strength and his air, and when the right opportunity came, he’d take it.
Time passed slowly, the way it always did when monitored. At first, he checked his watch too often, and at some point he fell into an uncomfortable doze.
A sound startled him awake. He got to his feet, not entirely certain he hadn’t been dreaming, and listened.
Outside he heard voices and laughter. Teens, from the sound of them. They must be sneaking around the container yard looking for mischief.
Micha waited until they got closer. “Help,” he called out. “Please help me. I accidentally locked myself in this shipping container.”
The teens went silent. Micha could only hope they didn’t take off running. “Please,” he called out again, banging on the metal side for emphasis. “I’m afraid I’m going to run out of air in here.”
“Let’s go,” one of the boys urged. “This could be some sort of trick.”
“It’s not,” Micha hollered. “Who the hell would lock themselves in a small metal box and then sit around waiting for someone to show up as a trick?”
“He has a point,” another young male voice said. Then, a bit louder: “Where are you, man?”
“In here.” Micha banged again, a steady cadence of tapping to let them know his location. “It’s dark and hot and I have no idea where the door is.”
They began talking among themselves, their voices too low for him to hear. Heart pounding, he tried to remain still, to wait out their decision.
“Bang again,” the same male voice ordered. “There are, like, hundreds of these metal containers here. It’s hard to tell where your voice is coming from.”
He began tapping again, more softly this time, but loud enough that they should be able to find him.
A second later, he heard the sound of the door bolt sliding back and the door opened. Though it was still nightfall, there were numerous lampposts that gave off enough light to momentarily blind him.
Still, he managed to propel himself forward, stumbling out and nearly falling. Luckily, one of the kids caught him.
“Whoa.” The teen stared. “You look awful. What happened to you to mess you up like that?”
Micha glanced down at his shirt and for the first time realized he was covered in blood. He reached his hand for his still-throbbing head and his fingers came back bloody from where Andy had clobbered him with the gun.
“Do any of you have a car?” he asked. “Because whoever did this to me is likely on his way to hurt my girlfriend. I need a lift to Hyde Park.”
Most of the kids—teen boys, all of them—began backing away and shaking their heads. “We don’t want no trouble,” one said. “We’re not even supposed to be here.”
But one kid stood his ground, eyeing Micha thoughtfully. “You’re in real trouble, aren’t you?”
Slowly, Micha nodded. “I don’t want him to hurt my lady. You don’t even have to take me to her house, just drop me off down the street. I promise, you won’t see me again.”
While the teen considered him, Micha held his breath.
“Come on,” the kid finally said, motioning with his hand. “Since it’s my dad’s SUV, I get to decide. The only thing is, you can’t get blood on the seats, ’kay?”
“I won’t,” Micha agreed. “My head is the only thing bleeding and I’ll keep it away from the seat.”
Apparently satisfied, the teen led the way through the maze of containers. They finally emerged in a fenced-off parking lot, skirted the gate and went around to a back street. A large, dark-colored Suburban was the only vehicle in sight.
“You sit up front with me,” the kid told Micha. “The rest of you can all fit in the back two seats.”
Micha did as he was told. So did the others, who apparently looked up to their leader. “When you got here, did you happen to notice any other vehicles parked around? Specifically, some sort of van?”
“No.” The boy started the car. “But I’m thinking maybe you should go ahead and call the police.”
“I’ve got to check on my girlfriend first.” The urgency in Micha’s tone made all the teenagers go silent. “Please. We need to hurry.” He thought again, and then decided. “I do have a friend in the Chicago PD. I’m going to call him and let him know what’s happening.”
Nodding, the boy passed Micha his phone. Micha dialed Charlie Crenshaw’s number from memory, unsurprised when the call went straight to voice mail. He went ahead and left a message, detailing what had happened to him and that he was on the way to Carly’s house and the time. “If you get this before morning, meet me there,” he said, and ended the call. All he could do now was hope he got there in time.
* * *
Bridget barked, startling Carly awake. She must have dozed off at the kitchen table with her head pillowed on her arms. Blinking, she pushed groggily to her feet and eyed her dog. Now Bridget faced the front door, her tail wagging furiously.
A moment later, her phone chimed, signaling a text from Jones. I’m here, it read. And then almost immediately he knocked.
Padding toward the door on bare feet, she went ahead and checked the peephole before unlocking the dead bolt. Behind her, Bridget stood furiously wagging her tail.
As soon as Jones stepped inside, Carly closed and locked the door, her racing heart settling down into its usual steady beat.
“Hey, girl,” Jones said, crouching down to pet her dog. Bridget leaned into him with a groan of pleasure, her eyes half-closed while he scratched behind her ears. Straightening, he held out a cell phone to Carly. “I found this on the sidewalk in front of your house. Did you drop your phone?”
“No.” Heart in her throat, she took it from him. “I think that’s Micha’s,” she said, turning it over in her hands. “In fact, I’m positive it is.”
Jones cursed. Carly raised her gaze to his. “This means Micha is in danger.”
“We don’t know that,” Jones argued. “Do you know his passcode to unlock his phone? We might find some more info there.”
“I don’t,” she said thoughtfully. “But I bet I can guess.” She typed in 0922, which had been the date she and Micha were originally supposed to get married. The screen vibrated but the phone didn’t open. “That wasn’t it.” Considering, she tried Micha’s birthday. “Nope.”
Jones watched her with a mixture of concern and amusement. “Not as easy as you thought, I take it?”
“I’ll figure it out,” she replied. “Clearly, guys think differently than women. How did you decide on your passcode?”
Jones shrugged. “Do you remember the date you and Micha first met?”
“Of course.” Without waiting, she typed that in. And just like that, the phone unlocked. “I’m in. Good job, Jones. But how did you know?”
“Just a lucky guess.” Jones grinned. “What’s open on the screen?”
“It looks like Micha was in the middle of texting me,” she said. “He’d typed, About to be... About to be where? Or what?” She frowned. “What did he mean?”
“Maybe, about to be home?” Jones suggested. “Since it looks like he was texting you on the way toward your front door.”
“Which means he was grabbed?” Heart beginning to pound, she stared at her brother in horror. “Should I call the police?”
“Not yet.” Jones held out his hand for Micha’s phone. “Let me take a look and see if I can find any other clues.”
She stood close, watching as he scrolled through the list of recent calls. “He’s been busy,” Jones commented. “He made several calls this evening. Several of them out of state. Let’s check his web browser.”
Though doing all this felt like a huge invasion of Micha’s privacy, Carly nodded. She didn’t see where they had any other choice.
“There are a couple of websites still open. Look.” Jones showed her. “A few army ones, and he did a search for someone named Andy Shackleford. Does that name ring a bell with you?”
Carly shook her head. “No. Micha never mentioned him.”
“What I think we should do next is call some of the numbers that Micha did. Maybe a few of those people might have some insight as to where he’s gone or what he was doing.”
Again, Carly had to quash back her uneasiness. “Do you want to call them or should I?” Glancing at the clock, she winced. “You realize we’ll be waking all of these people up.”
Jones patted her shoulder. “It’s for a good cause. I’ll do it. I don’t mind.”
She thanked him. “Do you want something to drink? Water, tea?”
“Do you have any coffee?” he asked. “I know it’s after two in the morning, but I just got off work. I’ll be up for a long time yet.”
“Sure. I can make you a cup.”
He followed her into the kitchen, still scrolling on Micha’s phone. “He made all of these phone calls much earlier today. There hasn’t been any activity since around ten-thirty.”
Eyeing him while the coffee brewed, she shook her head. “Maybe we should let the police handle this. I doubt any of those people had anything to do with Micha disappearing.”
Watching her, Jones slowly nodded. “You’re probably right. Let’s call January’s fiancé, Sean, since he works in Homicide, alongside Detective Joe Parker, who is also on the case. I’d rather deal with someone we know rather than Dispatch and then whichever officers happen to be on duty.”
“I agree.” She took a deep breath, calling on her nurse’s training to remain calm. “I’ve been dealing with a police officer named Charlie Crenshaw. He’s one of Micha’s friends. I’m going to speak to him while you’re talking with Sean.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Jones gave her a brotherly hug. “It’s all going to be okay. If there’s anyone who knows how to take care of himself, it’s Micha.”
Though she nodded, she couldn’t help but think of the car explosion and the person who’d shot out her front window. Whoever had Micha meant him serious harm. She could only hope Micha would survive this. She couldn’t lose him again.
“I love him,” she said out loud, shaking her head. “I really, really love him.”
Jones stared at her. “Well, duh. Why do you sound so surprised? The entire family knows how much you and Micha love each other. Just like January loves Sean and Heath loves Kylie.” He shook his head. “Now let me make my call and you make yours. The sooner we get law enforcement working on this, the sooner we can find Micha and get him back home safe.”
“I agree.” Turning her back to Jones, she located the number Charlie Crenshaw had given her and called it. As she’d suspected it would, due to the lateness of the hour, the call went straight to voice mail. Carly left her name and number and a quick description of what they thought might have happened to Micha. Right before she was about to end the call, she remembered to add the name Andy Shackleford.
When she’d finished, she turned around to find her brother clearly doing the same thing and leaving his own message.
“No one wants to take a call at this time of the night,” he said, shrugging. “But at least the messages will be there whenever they check.”
Bridget growled, the hair on her back rising. She rose from her dog bed, eyeing the front door.
“What’s wrong, girl?” Carly asked.
Jones grabbed her arm. “Come on,” he said. “Out the back door right now.”
“I’m not leaving my dog.” Quickly, Carly clipped a leash on Bridget’s collar. Then, with Jones urging her along, they all rushed out the back door, down the steps and into the yard.
“I want you to hide in the storage building,” Jones told her, giving her a gentle push.
But Carly refused to budge. “Not without you. Come with us.”
“I’m going to double around and see who’s out front,” he told her. “Please, Carly. Micha would never forgive me if I let something happen to you.”
Reluctantly, she ducked into the storage shed, bringing Bridget with her. “Be careful,” she told her brother. “Because I won’t be able to live with myself if anything happens to you, understand?”
