Page 43 of Omega Tricked

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Sucking in a calming breath, I moved slowly along the building, searching for a phone line. Without a flashlight, it was slow going. Eventually I stumbled upon the line running from underground and up the wall toward the roof. I sliced it with my knife and went to find a window to climb through. I chose a smaller window on the back of the building, shielded from the street. Once I knew where I’d enter from, I returned to the alarm box and opened it up. It looked like a fairly basic setup. Holding my breath, I sliced through the power line and waited to see if the battery backup went off. It took a few seconds, but inside the big building, a horn started blaring.

Fuck.

Well, at least I hoped the signal wasn’t getting out. I was screwed if they had a cell phone signal backup, or if anyone was nearby. I ran to the back and broke the window with my elbow. I scrambled through, taking care not to slice myself on the broken glass. Once inside, I was really wishing I had a flashlight. The screeching horn had my nerves on edge, but I focused on the job at hand. I strode quickly through the vehicles, searching for my dad’s car. There were about ten automobiles in the building, some on lifts, some missing tires. I almost slipped and fell on my ass a few times because of oil on the floor. I didn’t see Dad’s black BMW anywhere, and I wasn’t sure if that was the better or worse scenario.

Sweat beaded on my forehead as I searched the dark building. Every second that passed meant Charles and his crew could be closing in. I was frustrated when none of the vehicles were Dad’s. My gut had told me his car might actually be in here. But it wasn’t. Raking a hand through my hair, I moved toward the back window. I was out of time. I had to go or I risked being caught. As I passed a big dumpster against a wall, I gave a cursory glance inside. It was packed with bumpers and rims, and I started to move past. But then something caught my eye.

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I leaned over the edge, trying to focus on a rectangular piece of metal. My heart began to pound as I stared in shock. A white license plate was wedged toward the bottom of the bin. The word CRUSHER was engraved on the plate. CRUSHER had been Dad’s nickname. He’d had a reputation because he could break a man’s ribs with a single punch. The name had stuck with him as he worked his way up the ranks of the organization, and he’d found it amusing to keep that nickname, even once he was the boss.

I started shaking as I stared at the license. I’d been right; Dad’s car had been inside the compound. That meanthe’dbeen inside. Was he being held somewhere? Was Charles the sort of man who’d kidnap someone? It seemed unlikely Charles would be able to hold two men captive for an entire month, without discovery. Charles was obviously a tight-ass, but Dylan had said he was honorable and scrupulously honest. Yet, there was my dad’s license plate, tossed in the garbage. I could think of no logical reason why it would be there for non-nefarious reasons.

I jumped onto the side of the dumpster, balancing on my stomach. I reached down as far as I could, my shoulder muscles burning as I tried to lengthen them so I could grab the license. I wasn’t leaving it here. Hell no. That was the only piece of evidence I had that Dad had actually made it inside the compound. I wasn’t going to go to the cops. That wasn’t why I was grabbing it. No, I wanted the license to remind me that this wasn’t my imagination or a trick of the light. Dad had been here, and I was on the right track. If Charles had killed Dad, he’d have to pay.

I almost fell in but grabbed the side just in time. My fingers brushed the metal, and with a grunt, I managed to clamp onto the license. I yanked it free from the other debris and jumped off the bin. Breathing hard, I tucked it under my shirt, in the waistband of my jeans. I ran for the window, well aware I should have been gone five minutes ago. I slipped out of the window but managed to slice my elbow in the process.

“Shit,” I hissed, wiping the glass with the hem of my shirt. I didn’t need to leave my DNA all over the place. I jumped down onto the hard ground and bolted for the bushes that ran along the back of the structure. From there I made my way in the direction of Dylan’s house, avoiding the road. At one point, two guys went running past with flashlights, and one of them was yelling into a radio.

I’d cut it close. Too close. One minute longer and they might have grabbed me as I left the building. The metal of the license plate was cold against my skin, and I felt a bit in shock. I didn’t have a good feeling in the pit of my stomach. While Dad and I had had a dysfunctional relationship, the idea of him dead was still stunning. And I felt in my soul that he was indeed dead. The second I’d seen that license plate buried in the trash, I’d known. It was hard to believe that a man as vibrant and alive as Corbin Sabine could be gone, but I knew he was.

Once I was close to Dylan’s house, I started to run. I feared the second Charles discovered a break-in on the grounds, he’d suspect me. After all, Dylan said there was no crime here. No way a guy like Charles wouldn’t immediately conclude I was the common denominator. I hurried up the steps of Dylan’s cabin and slipped into the house. I went to the kitchen and returned the gloves and the knife to where they belonged.

When I got in my room, I went into the bathroom, locking the door. I pulled the license plate from my waistband. It wasn’t bent or damaged in any way. It was mostly pristine, not counting dust and a bit of oil. I stared at it until my eyes watered. Then I set it on the counter and washed up in the sink. I didn’t dare run the shower because that would be a bit suspicious if Dylan woke up and heard that. I also washed the dirt from the bottom of my shoes, and I put a Band-Aid on my cut.

Once I had all the oil and grime off me, I stripped down to my underwear. I needed to hide the license plate. If Charles somehow found I had it, and he was responsible for getting rid of my dad, that would be the end of me. I didn’t know if Dylan had been involved in any of that stuff. I couldn’t picture Dylan being involved in killing anyone, but people could fool you. I’d certainly fooled Dylan.

The hiding spot I chose couldn’t be anything obvious, like under the mattress. My gaze fell on a nondescript seascape that hung on the wall over the bed. That hiding spot wouldn’t withstand a thorough toss of the room, but it would do fine for a cursory search. I climbed on the bed and removed the painting from the wall. I unscrewed the backing and tucked the license plate behind the print. I then reassembled the frame and rehung the painting, taking care not to leave it crooked. I climbed in bed, feeling numb and unable to process what I’d experienced.

I closed my eyes and then jerked them open again when there was a loud banging on the front door of the house. My pulse sped as I sat up. A strip of light appeared under the door as a lamp was flicked on somewhere in the cabin. I heard voices. I recognized Dylan’s soft voice and the deep rumble of another voice. There was a sharp rap on my door, and I heard Dylan protesting.

“Come in,” I called out.

The door swung open quickly, and the light turned on. Charles stood in the doorway, looking grim. Dylan was behind him, anger simmering in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Lex. He just barged in,” Dylan grumbled.

Shielding my eyes, I asked, “What’s going on?” I tried my best to appear groggy and confused. I really hoped I could carry it off because Charles looked ready to strangle someone.

Charles didn’t speak; he just walked into the room, making a beeline for my shoes. He turned them over and grunted. He faced me. “Have you been here all night?”