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He looked in the back at their bargaining chip. The girl was resting, still knocked out from the rag soaked in chloroform he’d put over her face. All it took was one swift thrust and he had her in the van. She’d barely let out a yelp before the side door closed and his friend was pulling them away from the curb. No one on the street seemed to pay them any attention. Even if some do-gooder had, they’d be long gone before anything could have been done to stop them anyway. And the plates were blacked out. He punched Dennis playfully in the shoulder. “I’ve got such a good feeling about this.”
“Not me.” Dennis glanced at him from the driver’s seat as he drove them to their holding spot. It was a location far away from the posh Washington suburb of Georgetown where they had snatched the girl.
“Nah, no need, man. It’s all going according to plan.” Lonnie leaned back against the headrest and shut his eyes but was jolted awake not long later by some ruts in the road. Only it wasn’t the road but the mouth of the parking lot. They’d arrived at their destination. He must have drifted off to sleep, but he was certainly wide awake now.
Dennis stopped at the locked gate, and Lonnie hopped from the van with a pair of bolt cutters. He used them to snap the chain securing the gate and opened it. His friend drove through, and Lonnie swung the gate shut again behind them. He put a new padlock on to secure the gate. At quick glance, should anyone even care, they’d think the place was still locked up tight.
He hopped back into the passenger seat. “See? What did I tell you? Nothing to worry about at all.”
Dennis bobbed his head. He was such a mindless idiot. He was never diagnosed with a mental illness, but Lonnie wageredhe’d been struck by his mother hard and often enough to cause permanent damage. That, and the drugs took care of the rest.
They drove around the back of the building, and Dennis cut the engine. No one would see the van from the road if they happened to drive by, but this area had little to no traffic. That was just one reason he had selected it for lying low. Another was any connection to him was barely a thread.
Dennis got the door unlocked and signaled they were in. He popped back a thumbs-up and opened the rear door of the van.
The girl flew out, all hair and limbs, and jumped him.
Lonnie was pushed backward and slammed to the ground. “You little bitch.” All he saw was red, and he grabbed her upper arms and flipped her over.
She screamed. He laughed.
“No one’s going to hear you, sweetheart. It’s just me and my friend to keep you company.”
She was squirming beneath him and spit in his eyes.
He cried out and released his grip, just long enough that the girl squirmed free and was now running through the lot yelling.
“What the—” Dennis came out of the building and was looking after her retreating form.
“Don’t just stand there!” Lonnie scrambled to his feet and took pursuit. But it seemed his friend finally shook his coma and kicked into action. He was dumb but physically fast. It was an advantage to his long, lean frame. He caught up to the girl and got a hold of her.
“Let go of me!” The girl jerked her upper torso trying to shake free but to no avail.
Lonnie caught up to them and put his nose to within an inch of hers. “Try anything like that again, princess, and I’ll kill you with my bare hands.” He laid the chloroform rag over her face, and she dropped like a lifeless puppet in his friend’s arms.
TWENTY-NINE
Sandra ended up filling Elwood in on their recent discovery, and he was going to handle everything associated with Novak. Elwood had tried to talk her into letting other agents take it from here, but she resisted and he eventually complied. Not that she was holding her breath that anyone in the Brentwood neighborhood would talk to them. From a statistical standpoint most of the residents here would have a criminal record or be friends or family with someone who was put away. Suffice it to say there would be few, if any, fans of law enforcement.
Be-on-the-lookouts were issued for the men and Lonnie Jennings’s van, and Lakisha was doing a deeper dive into both Jennings’s and Eaton’s backgrounds. She’d be looking for relatives, known associates, workplaces, other registered vehicles or properties. But given the neighborhood they both called home, it was unlikely they owned anything. It was that thought that scared Sandra the most. There was little likelihood either of them had a property on record, leaving Olivia out there, only God knows where. It was likely someplace isolated and out of state given that they went over the bridge. Her only relief was knowing her daughter was both smart and a fighter. Shejust hoped the former superseded the latter and didn’t have her taking any chances with her life.
It was one thirty-eight AM when Brice stopped the car in front of the house shared by Jennings and Eaton. There wasn’t a single light on inside or out. In fact, most of the neighborhood was swathed in darkness aside from some dull streetlights and random porch lights. Even the moon was too weak to penetrate the cloud cover, but the shadows had eyes. Amber lights from cigarettes burned and waved through the air from the street corners.
Sandra had called Nigel Morse on the way over, and he was rushing through a search warrant for the home. Chances were something inside might lend a clue as to where they took Olivia. But they couldn’t have been planning this for long. A day, day and a half.
Sandra checked her email and found two new messages. One was from Lakisha, and another from Judge Morse.
“We have what we need?” Brice asked her.
“And more…” She opened Lakisha’s first. “So we have more info on Jennings and Eaton. Jennings is currently unemployed, but Eaton works at Boats N More, a boat factory, where he’s been for the last ten years. Neither of them have any living relatives or other properties linked to them. The address in Brentwood is a rental.”
“Can’t say any of that’s a surprise,” Brice said quickly then held up a hand. “Not what you want to hear, I know.”
“Facts are better than assumptions. The search warrant came through, and Lakisha also included the number for the property owner. She said she tried to reach him unsuccessfully. Guy’s name is Jerald Booth.”
“I say we try knocking first.”
Brice banged the tarnished brass knocker against the door. Chills ran down Sandra’s spine as she had this sensation of beingwatched and encroached upon. She looked left and right, over her shoulders, her head on a swivel, while Brice repeated the knocking.