Bleeding Edge: Elliot Security (Elliot Security Series Book 2) by Evie Mitchell (short story to read .txt) 📗

Pax’s hand landed on my shoulder. “Hold it together. We’ll find her.” He turned to Annabelle.

“We didn’t see anyone leave. Where are they?”

“Trap door?” I asked, looking around. “False rooms?”

“No,” Brean answered from the doorway. “The back fence is pulled down. Looks like they use the house behind. They’re gone.”

“Fuck!” I exploded. I refrained from kicking the bed. This was a crime scene, if we were to catch these fuckers, I needed calm. I turned to Annabelle. “Are we good to search the house?”

She sheathed her gun, looking around the room. “The servers are still running. We need cyber here. They’re our best option.”

I turned from the room, tuning them out, leaving Pax and Annabelle to sort their shit. I jerked my head at Brean. He silently led me through the house, out to the backyard, across the frost-bitten grass, to the back entrance of the additional house. Inside we found a similar set up, wires running across the ceilings, servers humming from the lounge room, electronics sprawled across every available surface.

Jack rummaged through drawers, blue gloves covering his hands.

“What’ve you got?” I asked, coming beside him.

“Not a lot,” he admitted, voice tight with frustration. “A few bills, a bunch of receipts and some random scribbles that don’t make sense.”

“Show me.”

He lifted the small stack of papers, laying them out across the surface. A word caught my eye.

Neglinnaya

I pulled out my phone, searching. The first result said it was a river in Moscow.

Neglinnaya AND Money

Top result: The Central Bank of the Russian Federation is headquartered on Neglinnaya Street, Moscow.

“FUCK!” I twisted, hands diving into my hair as I stared at the servers. “Sawyer’s right. They’re making a run for Russia.”

Brean was already on the phone. “AFP have the warrants. They’re not leaving the country.”

“We don’t have time for this. We need to find her. Now.”

“We’re trying. We just need a lead.”

I stalked from the room, leaving Jack and Brean to search. Like Hansel and Gretel, I followed the blood droplets to the attached garage. I stood in the cool dark room thinking.

This was on me. This whole shitshow was on me. I’d underestimated the threat. Every word Emmie had ever said was truth. These motherfuckers were pure evil.

I hit the garage door, watching as it opened to the street. An older woman knelt in the front garden across the road, pruning shears in hand.

I crossed, coming to kneel near her.

“Excuse me, ma’am?”

Her large-brimmed hat flopped to the side. “Yes?” She looked wary.

“I’m with the AFP.” Not entirely a lie. “We’re looking for a missing person. Do you happen to know the people in that house?” I gestured behind me.

She narrowed her eyes. “I knew those boys were trouble. Coming and going at all hours.”

“Ma’am, I’m sorry to rush but time is against us.”

“Of course.” She lifted up, brushing dirt off her knees. “You’ll want the tapes.”

“The what?”

She pointed at the eaves of her house. “Cameras. Had a break in just over a year ago. My son installed the cameras. They capture everything on the street.”

Fucking hell.

“Yes, yes, I would love to see your tapes.” I pulled out my phone, following her into the house. “Sawyer, I got a lead.”

Chapter Fifty

Emmie

A tuft of hair stuck to the carpet above my head. My eyes narrowed on the clump as the car bumped down the road, sending me bouncing. The smell of petrol, grease, and strangely, wet dog, overwhelmed the interior of the trunk. My eyes had slowly adjusted to the dim light coming from the cracks between the seal of the car’s boot lid. I reached for the clump with my two bound hands. Thankfully, they hadn’t tied my hands behind me. Rookie error.

The clump was sticky. Gingerly, I dropped the hair on the floor, reaching with my hands to run my thumbs over the crown of my head. A small amount of sticky wetness met my exploration. Blood. The hair in the boot was likely mine.

Good. The DNA will place me here. Try and beat that in court, you bastards!

Ignoring the protests of my abused body, I twisted, searching the interior. The car had to be old, I’d guess mid-eighties. Unfortunately for me, that meant no emergency boot lever. They’d only been mandatory since the early 2000s. But then, my luck had never been that good.

I gave up the search for a quick exit and moved to pulling at the carpet and wheel wells. Under the carpet was a spare tyre and a tire iron.

Perfect.

With much grunting and grasping, I managed to pull the iron free, sliding it to the side where it wouldn’t hit me if we flew around a corner and was within easy grasp.

Another search of the interior turned up no further treasures.

Damn.

As we flew over another bump that sent me flying into the boot lid, I rotated, landing with an oof. New wetness decorated the back of my head as dots danced in front of my eyes.

Pull it together! You don’t have time for this.

I processed my day so far. Kidnapping, beating, followed by a boot ride to what I could only assume was the end point for me. I reached out, pulling the iron into me and tucking myself into a tight, small ball, protecting the tool.

David.

The ‘officer’ was a relative. Related to me through marriage to one of my sisters. He was older than me by a few years. I had no idea who he’d married and didn’t remember him from the commune. He’d been silent as we’d driven through the streets, his gun resting on his knee, one hand on the trigger as he kept it steady.

I’d been bundled into one of the bedrooms, tied to a chair, and immediately educated on what they did to deserters.

In a strange way I felt free. Like my years of fear and worry were vindicated. Each punch they laid on me, each kick another sign I’d been right to put my life on hold. My worst fear had come true, and yet, I was