Clowns and Cowboys (A Miranda and Parker Mystery Book 3) (25 page)

Sighing she settled back in her seat and closed her eyes. Might be a good idea to get a little shuteye before they got to their destination. Something told her she’d need all the strength she could muster.

As she drifted off, images of trapeze artists and jugglers came to life in her head. The colors, the music, the applause. She saw clowns scamper out and chase each other around the ring with their silly buckets of confetti. The images blurred and she saw Harvey Hackett sitting dead in his recliner, the lethal bottle of Barefoot Merlot beside him. Even though he’d just taken all his bottles to the dumpster.

She saw Tupper Magnuson, the once happy clown, lying stretched out on the couch in his living room, a glass of Barefoot Merlot on the coffee table before him. He had loved entertaining kids. He’d fallen for a beautiful woman and was about to be married. He’d had his whole life in front of him.

But he’d made the mistake of telling someone what he knew about Layla and that he was going public with it. And that person said, “No, you’re not.”

With a jolt she sat up, eyes wide open, heart pounding wildly.

That was it. She knew who the killer was.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah.” She took a quick look at Parker.

He gave her a telling glance in return, reading her thoughts, as she read his.

He knew who the killer was, too.

Parker made record time.

It was a little before four a.m. when they reached Plano. The motor purred steadily, as it had for the last two hundred miles, while they pressed on, heading northeast through the darkness. Beyond the tech offices and well-heeled suburbs of the city they drove, until at last the car rolled into a rural section.

Here there were farms and brick homes with acres between them, their outdoor lights scarcely exposing their presence.

Parker slowed, made a turn and drove down about fifty feet. At the end of the paved road in a wide, flat field of prairie grass surrounded by trees stood a sprawling three story building.

He turned into the lot and cruised around the few rows of vehicles, finally pulling into a spot.

“A lot of cars here for this hour,” Miranda commented as he turned off the ignition.

Yuri roused in the backseat. “Most of the staff lives here.”

Cozy.

She gazed at the dark structure, its outline illuminated by the security lights. Flat, plain, rectangular. Several rows of raw molded concrete formed jagged, uninviting walls. As Layla had describe it, there were few windows. Just a row or two down the middle. Probably for staff only.

It looked like a prison camp.

“How do you suggest we get in?” Parker said to the cannonball.

Yuri was silent a long moment, staring through the windshield at the frightening building that used to be his home. “There’s a back way,” he said at last. “It leads to the office where the records are kept. It would be better if we went on foot from here.”

She and Parker did a weapons check and the three of them climbed out of the car as noiselessly as they could and made their way along the edge of the lot, hunching down beside the tall grass so as not to be seen.

Miranda squinted at the building. She didn’t see any security cameras mounted on the walls or the flat roof, but it was dark enough and they were far enough away to miss them.

“Are there guards?” she whispered.

“Inside. Mostly to keep us in,” Yuri said, as if he’d forgotten he was on the outside now.

“If we run into any, we’ll take care of them,” Parker said as casually as if he were accepting an invitation to a social event.

Still, she wished they’d had a pistol or a knife for Yuri. Sam didn’t have another spare and everyone had agreed his shotgun might come in handy and he should keep it. Still, the cannonball’s large hands might be weapons in themselves.

They reached the far side of the building, made a turn and scooted along in the shadows until they were facing the back.

Yuri stopped and peered into the darkness. “Is it still here?”

Miranda didn’t know what to make of that question. Before she could ask what he meant, he let out a breath of relief.

“Yes. Over there. See it?” He pointed toward the lower part of the building’s side

In the dim light she could make out a ramp and a concrete platform with a garage-like door above it. Loading dock.

“Is that where they receive supplies?”

“Yes, I think that’s what they use it for. There’s a door there. It leads to the lower floor of the building. The part I told you about.”

Where the records were kept.

She squinted into the shadows. To the left of the bay was a metal barrier that looked like double doors. No one was around. They could make it there.

“The coast looks clear,” she whispered.

“We should be able to get in.”

“Let’s go then.”

Beside her Parker nodded.

Crouching down, they scurried across the pavement, up the incline of the walkway to the platform. In a few seconds they reached the double doors.

Miranda spun around, half expecting to see a guard. But there was no one.

She turned back to the barrier in time to see Parker slowly place his fingers around the handle.

He gave it a jerk. And it opened.

She could feel her pulse in her ears. None of them had any idea what might be beyond that door.

Trap?

“Ready?” Parker said, his voice steady and low.

She had no idea what they’d face inside but from what Layla and the Vargas had told them, it wouldn’t be pretty. She thought of the six kids who’d been “taken away” never to be seen again. She thought of what Yuri had told them about the “batches” and the failures and the organ harvesting process.

Only way to go, she thought. Only way to stop these killers before they murdered more innocent children.

She straightened her shoulders and nodded. “Ready.”

Parker nodded back, stepped through the door and she followed him into darkness.

Okay, he was up and taking care of it. Just like he promised.

His head pounded from a fatigue headache and he craved a large dose of Jim Beam, but he’d get that later. After he’d taken care of business.

Except his assignment was turning out to be harder than he’d thought.

He’d forced himself awake after only a few hours sleep, cleaned his shotgun and gone in search of Sam Keegan to find out where those two prying detectives were.

But Keegan was gone.

And so were the Vargas. The whole damn family.

He wanted to wake everyone up and find out what the hell was going on. But he didn’t dare let anyone know he was looking for Keegan or his detectives. That would be a detail the police would pick up on later. Too risky.

Did that mean the Vargas knew? And if so, how much? Were they going to hook up with Layla? She had to know everything. She must have seen Tupper’s body the night he died. That had to be why she took off. She must have thought she’d be next.

And she was supposed to be. Except he couldn’t find her.

Why had he let himself get sucked into this? But he knew all too well. He’d wanted the money. Needed it for his project. He had dreams. Big dreams. And dreams like that cost a bundle.

His dreams deserved to come to fruition. That could still happen. He’d make it happen. And she would help. She owed him that much.

So now he was executing Plan B. Cruising up US-75 in his silver Camaro convertible on his way to Plano. He patted the Mossberg at his side.

She was going to help him find everyone. Together, they’d take care of all of them one by one. And then it would all be done. Except for the fallout. But he’d take care of that, too.

It was only a matter of time before that cop Underwood or those two PIs figured everything out.

And when they did, she was taking the fall for it, not him.

As Miranda’s eyes adjusted to the lack of light in the spacious warehouse-like room adjacent to the loading dock, she could make out stacks of bulky cardboard boxes piled against one wall. More on the other side.

Storage area.

It was quiet and smelled clean. And it was empty of people.

That was a relief, but how did they get to that records office from here?

She felt Yuri’s nudge.

“There’s another door at the far end,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

She could hear fear in his voice. Already the place was getting to him.

Parker took out a pocket light and swept it along the floor. Following the light they inched their way across the platform hoping not to bump into any boxes or trip over any equipment or unexpected rises in the concrete. As they reached the wall on the opposite side, he shined it over the cinder blocks until he found the opening.

Miranda heard him grunt under his breath at the same time his light illuminated their next obstacle.

A keypad.

Parker could beat any mechanical lock but a digital one was a different story.

Scowling he studied it. “If I had the right equipment, I could rewire it.”

“That would take too long.” Her heart was pounding so hard she was sure somebody inside the building could hear it. “We could try to guess the code.”

“And what would happen if it’s incorrect?”

He was right. If the thing had a warning system, an army of nurses or orderlies or guards could come barreling through that door and put them all in strait jackets.

“Wait,” Yuri extended a finger toward the pad.

Parker grabbed his hand before he could touch it. “Don’t guess, Yuri. If you’re wrong, it could set off alarms.”

“I am not wrong.” He sounded so sure, Parker released him.

Yuri gave Miranda a questioning look.

She thought a moment. What choice did they have? The only other thing she could think of was using their weapons to shoot the device. She was sure that would only backfire.

“Okay,” she said at last. “Give it a try.”

She held her breath as the big man poked at the numbers. As his forefinger hit the last digit, she braced herself for the ear shattering clang of alarms.

Instead—there was only a quiet click.

Miranda didn’t wait for an invitation. She pushed the door open, stepped across the threshold and found herself in a dimly lit stairwell.

They were at the top. A raw concrete ceiling loomed overhead. Below was a flight of concrete stairs.

“C’mon,” she hissed over her shoulder and led the way down.

“How did you know the code?” Parker whispered to Yuri behind her.

“Layla’s birthday. I saw the nurses use it on the doors inside.”

And they hadn’t changed it since he’d left? Must feel pretty sure of themselves.

It was two flights down. Another door met them at the bottom. With another keypad.

She turned to the cannonball. “Are you saying they use the same code with every lock?”

“Only in this area.”

This area. The lower level he’d described to them back at the hotel. No telling what they’d find on the other side of this door. But they had to find out.

She stepped aside. “Work your magic.”

Once more he punched in the code and again the door clicked open.

Now was the time for the army of nurses and orderlies, right? And they’d all be armed with syringes filled with something deadly. Did they have even a fraction of a chance of pulling this off?

Maybe, maybe not. But it didn’t matter. They had to try.

Gritting her teeth, she pushed the door open.

They were in.

Miranda stood blinking under the harsh fluorescent light of a long, L-shaped hallway.

The sound of a generator somewhere hummed in her ears. The walls were painted in a pale blue, like a hospital floor, with no decorations on them at all. The air was cool. Too cool, as if it were almost refrigerated. And it smelled sterile, like disinfectant.

Beneath their feet stretched yards and yards of shiny beige linoleum. They were in the corner of the L so there were two ways to go.

She gave Yuri a where-to? look.

He peered down one path then the other. His face strained with the effort of accessing old memory banks. Finally, he nodded toward the right and started down the hall.

Noiselessly she followed, Parker at her side.

As if by instinct, she pulled the Taurus from the small of her back and held it up and at the ready. She glanced at Parker and saw he had his weapon drawn as well.

But just now they didn’t need them. The place seemed pretty deserted.

The halls were lined with small doors, all unlocked. One by one they opened them as they went, discovering utility closets filled with cleaning supplies, uniforms, medical stuff.

“Reagents of various sorts, solvents, ethanol,” Parker murmured scrutinizing the shelves of one space.

But no records of the residents or anything else they could base an arrest and prosecution on. They closed the door and moved on.

The lower floor was a crisscrossing maze of intersecting passageways. Yuri led them down one corridor, turned down another, turned the other way and took them down a third. They continued to open every door they encountered.

Some of rooms were empty. Others held a desk and chair, but none had filing cabinets or even a computer.

They continued this way and that, turned another corner, headed down a long, wide hall. Miranda studied the door at the end of it. Its shape looked awfully familiar. Good grief. It was the one leading to the loading dock where they’d come in.

They were going in circles. Damn.

“Are you sure those records are down here?” she hissed to Yuri.

“Yes. I am sure.”

“They didn’t rearrange things, did they?”

“No. This is the most secret place in the building.” He covered his head with both hands, his big fingers pressing into his scars as if he were trying to squeeze out what was stored in his brain. After a moment, he stifled a cry of distress. “I am sorry. I simply do not remember where the office is.”

Parker seemed perturbed.