Chapter Thirty-two - Tracking Melissa.

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Nick turned the corner in the parking garage. The Ford was still there. He said a silent prayer of thanks to a god he didn't believe in. As he pulled the keys out from behind the wheel, he thought of Natalie. She was the one he owed a thank you—a genuine one.

He started the engine and looked down at the tracker, which showed Melissa was on her way to the Walkers'. He had to head her off. Revving the engine, he drove out of the garage faster than he should have.

Nick didn't refer back to the tracker. He knew the way, having a photographic memory for directions. One trip was enough to make an indelible imprint.

Before he was mentally ready for it, the small, white Cape entered his field of view. He parked in front. He got déjà vu—except it wasn't, not really. He had been here before. How could he ever forget? His memory pierced him like a sharpened knife. The image of Maxwell spun into his mind. The "uncle."

Before he left the car, he instinctively glanced at the tracker on the passenger seat. The dot had moved. Melissa wasn't here. Where had she gone now? As Nick looked through the windshield, he felt scared and angry in equal measure. Melissa, why didn't you just listen and stay put?

~~~

Nick had one eye on the road and the other on the moving blue circle. The dot's trajectory altered sharply. Nick careened into the right lane to keep pace with it and unintentionally cut off a green Subaru. The driver laid on his horn. The noise rattled in Nick' skull, intensifying his urgency. He had to reach her quickly. She was in too much danger out in D.C. alone. He couldn't protect her if she wasn't with him.

The dot sprinted ahead in a quick spurt. Nick lunged the Ford in front of another car, a Porsche. The Porsche driver wasn't inclined to blare his horn in complaint. Instead, he zipped to his left and wove his car around and directly in front of Nick's. The driver slowed down immediately, and Nick had to slam on the brakes to keep from smashing into him. Asshole!

Jiggering into the left lane, he pressed the accelerator as far down as it would go. He zigzagged through the lanes of traffic, his movement controlled by a cocktail of instinct and adrenaline. The Porsche driver didn't bother him again after his one road rage move had been exhausted. Nick couldn't even find the jerk in his rear-view mirror. He stopped maneuvering through traffic and slowed down. He checked the tracker. Melissa was farther ahead now and headed toward the Third Street Tunnel.

Speeding up, he entered the tunnel. Traffic was tight, and he couldn't tell which vehicle was Melissa's. He examined the possibilities as he drove closer to her. Soon the blue dot transformed into the car directly in front of him, a black Cadillac with heavily tinted windows. Nick's forehead tightened. Melissa didn't know anyone who owned a car like that. She couldn't have borrowed it, and she wouldn't have had time to rent it.

Nick swallowed. Someone had kidnapped her. It was the middle of the day, for Christ's sake. Whoever had taken Melissa was pretty damn ballsy or they just knew they would get away with it. He wasn't happy with either choice because both were signs of a professional.

He let up on the gas and allowed a few cars to fill up the space between him and the Cadillac. He followed the car at a distance until it pulled off at the next exit. Nick did, too. It took a sharp turn at the corner and into the back parking lot of a warehouse with a For Lease sign on the front. Nick drove past the building and parked a couple of blocks away. He took out the Glock, holding it low alongside his thigh.

He walked casually but quickly past the buildings on his right until he reached the one with the For Lease sign. He edged around to the side of the warehouse, his back inches away from the wall. When he reached the corner of the building, he glanced around to the back. The Cadillac was there, and one other car, a silver Mercedes.

A large man in dark clothing pushed Melissa ahead of him. She lurched forward, her hands bound and her mouth gagged. She didn't seem to be resisting, which was the right thing to do for now.

Someone opened a door for them from the inside, and the big man thrust Melissa before him into the warehouse. The door thudded shut behind. Nick clenched the Glock, waited a few minutes, and tried the door. The deadbolt was locked tight, and he didn't have his tools with him to open it. He slipped around to the front to try the door there.

This one had a simple lock. Nick scanned the vicinity to make sure no one was watching, and when he saw that it was clear, he rapped the butt of his gun on the lock to knock it open. After a couple of tries, it gave way. He glided inside, gun cocked.

The interior appeared to be a large storage room filled with stacked boxes. So far, he didn't see anyone. He drew in a lungful of air. They must all be in the back. Glock held next to his chest, Nick clung close to the wall as he turned the corner into the adjacent room. He could hear two male voices, but he wasn't close enough to figure out what they were saying. He followed the sound, being careful to stay hidden.

Nick darted toward the voices, ducking behind piles of boxes as he moved. Finally, he was close enough to hear clearly. He quieted his breathing and listened.

He knew that voice. 

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