Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
“Sure.” I accept the box, fighting my shivers as best I can. I don’t want to give the babies shaken kitten syndrome, but I’m so cold. If there’s heat in this building, they don’t have it cranked up very high, and I’m soaked to the skin.
Bear punches at the keypad for a while before he mutters, “My code doesn’t work. And this door is about as thick as the one keeping those idiots locked out in the rain.”
I peer back down the hall, where the lights have now flickered off again. But there’s still enough illumination to see that Wimpy and Rex aren’t there anymore. “They’re gone,” I whisper.
Bear looks up before turning back to the door. “It’s okay. They can’t get in anywhere else, either. Unless someone lets them in, but I didn’t see any other cars outside. And we’re warned when we sign the rental contract not to let anyone in other than ourselves and our guests. Each code is tracked. If a thief gets in on our code, and they find out about it by looking at the security feed later, we’ll be held liable for it.”
“That’s it!” I look up at the high ceiling, where little round glass balls are fixed to the metal at regular intervals. “We should do something bad! Something they’ll notice on the cameras. And when they come to yell at us, or, even better, send the police, we can explain what happened and they’ll go after Wimpy and Rex.”
Bear follows my gaze. “That might work. But I don’t know if anyone is monitoring the cameras in real time.”
“Surely, they are,” I say, adjusting the weight of the box, grateful Clyde and her kittens seem to be sleeping through the worst of this. “I mean, your products are worth a lot of money, and that’s only one of the bays. I bet there are valuable things in the rest of the building, too, that the management wouldn’t want to leave unprotected. Even on a holiday.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Bear says, seeming encouraged as he glances around the hall. He pauses, pointing at a bright red fire extinguisher in the corner. He glances down at me, mischief in his dark green eyes as he asks, “Run down the hall, spraying foam? Or use that to break the glass and get into the office?”
I bite my lip, torn between my rule-following side and the part that’s willing to go to extremes to make sure this nightmare is over as soon as possible. “Break the glass,” I blurt out. “I’ll help pay for the damages. And that way, even if no one’s watching, we can use the phone in the office to call for help.”
He nods and heads for the extinguisher. “I agree. Move back a little. I don’t want to risk hitting you or the cats with shattered glass.”
“What about you?” I ask, as I pad down the hall, to what feels like a safe distance. “Do you want my sweater to wrap around your face or something? I have a t-shirt on underneath.”
“No, I’ve got it,” he says, gripping the red tube tightly in both hands. “I’m pretty sure the glass will break in thick chunks, like glass from a windshield, but I just want to be extra careful with you guys.” He pulls in a breath. “Here we go.”
He draws the cannister back and slams it forward. But just as the extinguisher makes contact with the glass—bouncing harmlessly off the apparently indestructible surface—the lights go out in the hallway.
A beat later, I hear squealing tires from not far away.
There isn’t time to figure out what that means—or ask Bear if he hears it, too—before a semitruck crashes into the end of the hall, just past the office, bending the metal walls and sending the solid door shooting through the air.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
MATTY
I reach the warehouse minutes after the FBI agents. They happened to be closer to the complex when Al managed to get a lock on the signal from Clyde’s collar and launched into action right away.
Now, they’re gathered around the same van from the surveillance video, but it’s nose-down in a ditch, with no sign of Nora, Bear, or the Sweetwater cousins.
I pull up beside them, rolling down my window to shout my credentials into the rain, but I don’t stop to check out the van. I jab a thumb toward the warehouses behind me, and say, “I’m going to check Bear’s unit. Pretty sure that’s where they were headed.”
One of the agents says something about waiting for backup and understanding this is an FBI operation now that it’s crossed state lines, but I pretend I can’t hear him over the rain. I turn into the parking lot, zooming toward the entrance to Bay 12.
But at the last minute, I cut to the left, my wheels skidding in several inches of water as I shift direction. Something deep in my gut says to drive around to the back of the building. After all, there’s nothing to see here—no sign of the Sweetwaters or of a forced entry. If they’re still here, they’re probably around back, trying to get in without being noticed by people on the road.