The apartment that Fyona Washington had occupied ten years ago was nothing but wasteland now. Wrought-iron fence kept the unkempt yards and broken pavement from spreading to neighboring areas and the empty-eyed windows of the deserted apartment buildings stared out onto the rest of the prospering landscape with sadness.
I ignored the surroundings, instead searching for any signs of life around the decaying buildings and finally located Fyona's SUV, parked alongside a concrete slab that had previously been a loading dock. The driver and passenger doors were open and one of Fyona's slippers was on the ground outside. I tried not to give into the fear that was chewing my heart for dinner and thumbed my cell into operation, contacting Brad, who was on the way. I relayed the information to him and he gave me some in return.
Ronnie had a gun. The drugged girl from the Adams crack house had come out of her fog long enough to say that Jonas had given him a .38 Special. I swallowed past the lump in my throat and barked for Brad to hurry. My worry meter, already at an all-time high of 10, had now reached 100.
I felt so helpless, walking back and forth outside, waiting for Brad's arrival. Ten anxious minutes later, Brad and three other of our colleagues pulled into the gravel space. Brad tossed me my bag and we suited up. "Hey, Pete?"
"Yeah."
"Cap doesn't know about this."
I nodded. "That's okay. I'll deal with any fall-out. Let's go."
The first three buildings were empty. Not completely empty. I wasn't counting the squatters and homeless druggies that usually littered these types of places. I was looking for a mother and her child and the crazed man that held them captive. We apologized to anyone we burst in on and continued our search.
In the fourth building, a little kid playing with a broken toy boat gave us a wide smile when we approached. "Hi. You looking for Mikey?"
The name caught my attention immediately. I grabbed Brad, stopping him and crouched down by the child. "Yeah. You know him?"
