Serial Escape Page 11

  Raven’s eyes sought the computer again. There had to be something there. She reached out and started to pull it in so she could take another look, but stopped as another name on the list of Hanes’s employers drew her attention.

  Dan’s Pork and Poultry.

  She frowned, unsure why that particular listing seemed to stand out. She couldn’t think of a way that the clue related to farming. Or to Jim. He wasn’t exactly the agricultural type. In fact, the closest he came to raising pigs or chickens was his prize-winning barbecue sauce. Three years in a row, he’d come in first in some kind of contest. And Raven only knew about that because of the plaques he had hanging over his desk. Right that second, she could actually picture the gold-embossed wood really easily for some reason. But it had nothing to do with the riddle.

  She shook her head, trying to clear it of irrelevant details, and reached for the computer again. But she stopped a second time and almost gasped as a new idea hit her.

  “Lucien!” She looked up as she said it, and saw that he was just about to stick his phone into his pocket. “You’re going to want to keep that out so you can call Sergeant Gray back.”

  His hand stilled. “Why? What’d you find?”

  “Dan’s Pork and Poultry.”

  “Er. What?”

  “Jim won a couple of prizes for the sauce he makes for pork ribs. Dan’s Pork and Poultry in on Hanes’s list of employers. And the message was written in pig’s blood. So...it wasn’t the words that he wanted us to see?”

  Lucien’s eyes widened with understanding. “You’re suggesting that the medium itself is the message.”

  Raven tried not to let herself show too much excitement. “It makes more sense than what he actually wrote, doesn’t it? What if the words are just a misdirect?”

  “It’d definitely fit better with Hanes’s need to assert his cleverness.” He pulled the phone out, hit a button, then waited only a moment before speaking quickly into it. “Hey, Sergeant. Yeah, it’s me again. I’ve got another possible lead.”

  As he gave a quick rundown of her theory—God, how she hoped she was right this time—Raven turned back to the computer. She pulled up the search engine, thought for a second, then typed in a few keywords.

  Pork, shutdown, abandoned, pig.

  The laptop took its sweet time processing—long enough for Lucien to finish his conversation and seat himself beside her again—but when it finished, Raven was startled to see that an immediate possibility came up. Right at the top of the page was a newspaper article detailing the recent closure of a pork-processing facility. The thumbnail photo showed a tall barbed-wire-topped, chain-link fence surrounding some kind of building.

  “Can that really be it?” Raven asked. “Can finding it really be that easy?”

  “Might as well have a quick look.” Lucien leaned past her to click on the news story, then read the first bit aloud. “‘In the wake of a quality-control scandal, Orion Meats temporarily closed its doors today. The company will be on hiatus while the allegations are investigated by health authorities. Until then, the warehouse is closed to public and staff alike.’” He paused there, lifting his eyes to meet hers. “Sounds like a place Hanes would choose. I’ll call it in.”

  Raven waited again as he stood up and placed yet another call. Hope was already springing up again. The more she stared at the picture of the shut-down warehouse, the more she felt it. It would fit Hanes’s MO just right. Somewhere slightly foreboding. Off the beaten path. Unlikely to be carefully patrolled. And quite possibly the easiest place to obtain a container of blood that was going to be used as paint. Which meant he’d probably been planning for a while.

  Raven swallowed, and focused on scanning the rest of the article as she tried to fend off the wave a nausea that threatened.

  There weren’t many more details. A bit about the internal complaint, a bit about the number of employees who would be out of work. A statement from the owner. And an address. The last thing gave Raven pause. It was close to their current location. Really close.

  Her gaze flicked to the clock. Her best estimate was that they were somewhere close to hour thirteen. That meant that if they were right about Hanes’s sped-up timeline, there were only two hours left until Jim wouldn’t have a second more in the world. And they were literally twenty minutes away.

  She bit her lip and glanced up toward Lucien. He was back to pacing, his voice low—not quite audible—but slightly intense nonetheless. She knew without asking what he’d say if she even hinted at what was going on in her mind. Then—like he knew she was vaguely plotting something—he glanced her way. Before she could drop her gaze to hide her thoughts, he averted his own eyes. It made her frown. What was he thinking, that he had to look away? It only took a second more to find out.

  He tapped the phone off and turned a grim look her way. “Two pieces of bad news.”

  “The first is that the task force hasn’t been able to track down the Rickson’s son. Literally no sign of his existence so far. Sergeant’s digging deeper. Thinks maybe he was estranged from the family.”

  “That might make sense. Jim and Juanita talked about Sally all the time. But they never mentioned a son even once.”

  “They’ll keep looking. Maybe we’ll even get lucky and wherever he is, he’s too far for Hanes to get, too.” Lucien sighed, ran a frustrated hand over his hair, then gave his head a small shake. “That’s not the more pressing thing right now, anyway. In that five minutes between calls, the sergeant got the news that a semitruck flipped its load on Highway One. Which wouldn’t matter too much to us, except it’s right by the exit that’s nearest to the processing plant. Boss says it’s already backing up like crazy. Side routes will be nuts going that way, too.”

  Sweat dampened Raven’s upper lip as she stated the obvious, “So it’s going to delay getting someone to Jim.”

  “Yeah. I’m afraid so.” His eyes dropped to his phone, and she knew he was checking the time.

  “Two hours left,” she said quickly, the sweat spreading to include the back of her neck.

  “Two and a quarter,” he corrected.

  She didn’t argue that fifteen minutes made no difference. She knew from experience that it did. But it wasn’t her point at the moment, either.

  “How long?” she asked.

  No explanation for what she meant was necessary.

  “Under normal circumstances, it’d be forty minutes.”

  We could be there in half that, she thought.

  Aloud, she said, “And how long now?”

  “Sergeant is guessing an hour at best.”

  At best.

  It didn’t sound hopeful at all.

  “Can’t they just... I don’t know...force their way through?” she asked. “Isn’t that the point of emergency services?”

  “It is,” Lucien agreed. “Apparently, it’s going to be so rough getting in that they’re sending a medevac chopper instead of trying to come in on the ground. But the crew will get there are fast as they can. I promise.”

  She closed her eyes, trying to ward of the sudden sting of tears. “What if it’s not quick enough?”

  She felt the air shift just a bit, and she knew he was coming her way. In a second, he was going to sit down and try to comfort her. And she was sure that if he did, she’d abandon the plan that was coming together in her head. She needed to head him off.

  She opened her eyes, pushed to her feet, and—pretending not to notice Lucien’s surprised expression—she stepped around the coffee table and moved toward the kitchen. There, she grabbed a glass and busied herself with filling it with water from the sink on the free-standing island. But as she took a sip, she let her eyes roam the room in what she hoped was an unobvious way. She almost immediately found what she sought. A set of keys on a black ring, decorated with a gunmetal-gray letter L. It hung where it always had when they’d
lived there before—on a hook beside the light switch.

  Raven lowered her glass, thinking maybe she would send out a feeler or two before jumping too quickly.

  “Does the sergeant have backup plan?” she asked, hoping she sounded more casual than she felt.

  “He’s putting out a call to see if anyone’s already on that side of the accident,” he told her.

  “You mean this side,” she said. “With us.”

  “Yeah. Technically, I guess. Wish I hadn’t sent Constable Davies and the others away. But there’s not much we can do about it.”

  The slight emphasis Lucien put on the word “we” made her certain that if he couldn’t see through her, then he’d at least already considered and rejected the idea of going on their own. She set the glass down. But she didn’t even get in a small step toward the keys before she saw that Lucien was watching her a little more intently. She grabbed the glass again. Took another sip. More slowly, this time. Then she set the glass down. Only the moment before she let it go, she gave it a little shove. And down it went. Not just spilling the water, but also rolling across the island and making its way toward the ground.

  Raven heard Lucien react. She saw him hurry from his spot a few feet away. But both his startled exclamation and his rush to save the glass from shattering were just background for her getaway.

  * * *

  Lucien realized what was happening about a tenth of a second too late. And his mistake only compounded. When he clued in to what Raven was doing, he jerked away from his intended target. His fingers brushed the glass, which then hit the tile. Dozens of shards sprayed out, and he had little choice but to lift his arm to cover his eyes.

  The amount of time it took for all of that to happen was also—not so coincidentally—exactly how long it took Raven to dart across the kitchen and grab his keys from the hook. Lucien dropped his arm just as she was slipping out of the room.

  Cursing the fact that he hadn’t considered that she might make a run for it, he tried to give chase. Once again, her very effective distraction impeded his progress. His foot hit a patch of the spilled water, sending his body into an unintentional lunge position.

  Dammit.

  He fought to right himself, and slipped again, sending his knee almost to the floor.

  He cursed aloud this time. “Dammit!”

  Gritting his teeth, he grabbed a hold of the counter and pulled himself up. A little slower and a little more cautious. When he was up and stable, he stepped wide around the mess, then loped through the house toward the front door, his mind tossing self-directed criticism at him as he moved.

  He’d known Raven had realized they were closer than anyone else. He’d seen it in her face. Heard it in her voice. What he hadn’t known or seen, though, was that she’d make an impulsive move like this one. He’d assumed she would ask. Suggest. Argue and cajole. Not just bolt and steal his keys and presumably his vehicle.

  His hand landed on the doorknob. His twist yielded nothing. He tried again before realizing that Raven had bought herself another few seconds by locking the dead bolt. With a growl, he reached up and snapped it back to the open position, then dropped his hand back to the handle. For a second, worry crept in under the frustration.

  What if I get out there, and she’s already gone? He shoved the question aside with a silent, snarly answer. She won’t be. And if I have to throw myself in front of the car to stop her, I will, so help me—

  The thought cut off abruptly as he flung open the front door and found his SUV parked right at the stoop. The vehicle was running. Raven sat at the wheel, her face equally guilt ridden and determined.

  Lucien reached for the door, but as he did, the lock clicked shut. Then the window rolled down just an inch.

  “I want you to get in,” Raven said, her voice matching her expression.

  “Funny way of showing it,” Lucien replied.

  “I want you to get in,” she repeated. “But only if you’re not going to turn into a rabid bear and try to wrestle the keys away from me.”

  “A rabid bear?”

  “You know what I mean. We’ve already wasted time that we could’ve spent driving to the pork place. I don’t want to waste any more fighting about whether or not we should go. I’m going. I’d prefer it if you’d come.”

  In spite of the situation, Lucien’s mouth tried to turn up. He ordered it—firmly—not to.

  “I don’t recall you being quite so stubborn the last time we met,” he said.

  She tipped up her chin. “And I don’t recall you tossing around insults. Are you getting in, or not?”

  “Unlock the door, and I will.”

  “Solemnly swear that you won’t try to sabotage me.”

  “I solemnly swear that I won’t sabotage you.”

  Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “That was too easy. What’s the caveat?”

  He sighed. “I don’t solemnly swear that I won’t spend the entire drive trying to talk you out of doing this. Or trying to convince you to stay in the car when we get there.”

  For a second, she didn’t move or speak, and he thought she might actually just drive away. Then her shoulders relaxed, and the locks clicked open again.

  Relieved, Lucien yanked on the handle, climbed in and closed the door again before she could change her mind.

  “By the way...” he said as Raven put the SUV into Drive. “That wasn’t an insult.”

  “What?”

  “Stubbornness is actually a trait I admire.”

  She didn’t answer, but the blush in her cheeks was enough of a response all on its own. Once again, Lucien’s mouth betrayed him with a small smile. The circumstances were terrible on every front. Yet he couldn’t stop himself from liking the fiery side of her. He’d seen glimpses of it during their months together. He would never in a million years refer to her as meek. This, though, was something other than just a gritty will to live. It was more. Or a drive to do more. A heroism that made Lucien’s chest expand. It made him happy to know that she had it in her. He liked it.

  Not gonna dare tell her that, though.

  He didn’t need to encourage the recklessness, and he sure as hell didn’t want her to put herself in danger. So he remained silent as Raven guided the car up the driveway, then out onto the road. But he did steal a glance of her profile, and the moment he did, regret crept in. For a second, he couldn’t place it. He studied her face for a few more moments, trying to figure it out.

  Would she really have left without him? He honestly couldn’t say. She didn’t have a death wish, and she had a healthy fear of Georges Hanes.

  And yet...

  Her delicate jawline was set—not quite stiff enough to be called rigid—but definitely determined. Even from the side, he could see that her eyes were utterly focused. The only hint of nerves was the way she briefly sucked her lower lip between her teeth. As quickly as she did it, though, she released it. Then she blew out a small breath as if to steady herself, and her jaw went still again. The regret pricked at Lucien again, and this time he was able to place it.

  You should have been there, said a voice in his head. You should’ve witnessed her growth. Supported it. Not left her alone to keep dealing with everything on her own.

  He turned his gaze to the side window and watched the scenery go by, growing more agricultural by the second. He couldn’t deny that he agreed with the voice’s statements. Every part of him was screaming that he’d wasted three years. She’d grown without him. Become stronger. He didn’t resent that. Not really. He wasn’t self-centered enough to think that her healing process would’ve been better if he’d been around. He just regretted every moment of not seeing it happen.

  If there was anything to resent, it was his own idiocy at leaving.

  So tell her that, urged the voice.

  He swiveled his head back in her direction, his throat r
aw. His eyes raked over her, drinking in her features. The soft, dark hair. The creamy, makeup-free skin. The lips he now knew were softer than silk.

  The gravity of their current situation took a backseat to need to tell her how he felt.

  “Raven.”

  Her name came out so rough and low that it didn’t carry above the light rumble of the engine. He swallowed and tried again, but she spoke first.

  “I think we’re almost there,” she said, lifting a hand from the wheel to gesture out the front windshield.

  Lucien automatically turned his attention in the direction she’d indicated, and he immediately spotted a large, concrete sign.

  Orion Meats, it read.

  Underneath the plain black lettering was the silhouette of a cartoon pig and a large arrow. It was a sharp reminder that there were more pressing things at play than the ache in his heart.

  “You know I really am going to ask you to wait in the car, right?” he asked as Raven turned off the paved road onto a packed gravel one.

  “And you know I’m going to refuse,” she replied without looking his way.

  “We have no idea what we’re walking into.”

  “If Jim is in there, then we know that Hanes isn’t. You said yourself he’s obsessive and won’t deviate from his pattern.”

  “He’s already deviated,” Lucien pointed out.

  “In a way that would make you think he’s there, waiting to attack?” she countered. “Why would he put out the puzzle pieces and bait us with this game of his if he was just going to kill us the second we figure out the first clue?”

  He gritted his teeth. As much as he didn’t like it, she was right. His instincts agreed with her assessment of the situation. Hanes would be pleased if they solved his riddle and found Jim.