The Frame-Up (The Golden Arrow #1)(81)
I rattle the door and find that it’s locked, as I expected. “We’re looking for a way inside.” I pull at the window to find it’s fixed shut. “The journal said the White Rabbit was going to be here at eleven, and to follow the arrows.” I pull the journal out of my pocket, and hand it to him so he can read the message.
While Lawrence is overjoyed to have his journal back, he’s also beyond pissed that someone scribbled in it. Not just anyone. The Golden Arrow intentionally left evidence on my person that the police are looking for. Either our hero wants to help me find the White Rabbit, or the Golden Arrow wants me off the case. I’ve chosen to see this as an olive branch, but standing in the dark outside a warehouse makes me realize that it very well could be hemlock.
The sound of breaking glass has me whirling around to face Lawrence. His paisley head scarf is wrapped around his hand, and he’s leaning against the building with a forced expression of innocence.
“What did you just do?”
“I slipped.”
I peer around him. “Did you break that window?”
“It was already broken.” He turns and studies it. “But yes, when I slipped, I did happen to make the hole bigger. Big enough that half of a crime-fighting duo can get in there and go let the bigger half in through the door.”
“I thought you said I was in charge.”
He shrugs. “I’m helping. My guess is since this one was already broken, they’ve turned the alarms off. Thank God it’s not safety glass, or I would have broken my hand.”
“Yeah, we’ll see about that.” I turn and study the window. I’m grateful now for the thicker material of my jumpsuit. “Okay, help me up.” I ignore my pulse pounding in my ears and how my knees are knocking together. I’m about to commit a real crime.
Lawrence grunts as he cradles me in a basket hold, and I work to balance myself to get my feet through the hole without catching on the broken glass. My butt poses a bit of a problem now that my feet are dangling inside the building and my upper body is supported by L. “You’re going to have to essentially throw me through this window.”
“That doesn’t sound like a good idea.”
“It’s either that or my back drags across broken glass. I need to go straight through.” And nothing at all could go wrong with that. Right? “Okay, on three. One, two—”
Before I get to three, Lawrence tosses me as best he can through the broken portion of the window. Jagged glass grabs at my back, the shoulders of the suit, and a section of the wig. A sting on my cheek says something scratched my face. All told, the worst part of the entire trip is the landing. I wish I could say that, like my hero counterparts in the comics, I do a neat tuck-and-roll and shoot to my feet ready for action. Instead, the heel of my left boot skids to the side, I land hard on my right foot, my ankle rolls, and I end up spread-eagle on my stomach, my face inches from a wooden pallet.
“You okay? That sounded bad!” Lawrence’s voice is an exaggerated stage whisper.
I peel myself off the floor and test my weight on my turned ankle. “It’s not life-threatening,” I announce in a similar whisper, limping my way over to the door. This door isn’t locked on the inside, and I simply push open the panic bar. Though I’m cringing, no alarm sounds.
“Let’s make this quick,” Lawrence says, ducking in. The door closes behind us, and we’re left in semidarkness. He clicks on a flashlight, hands it to me, then clicks one on for him.
The warehouse looks exactly like it did when I was here last week with Matteo, Rideout, and Agent Sosa, minus the fifty-odd police officers who were there that day. Everything is neat and orderly. I don’t see anything or anyone who would indicate the White Rabbit is here, or any arrows to follow. I limp through the stacks of boxes and pallets to the general area where I stood with Matteo before. The floor is empty of the big crates, instead filled with towering plastic-wrapped boxes. “Stuff has moved.”
It doesn’t help that I don’t know what I’m looking for, if anything.
“But you said you saw the guys were unloading boxes? Boxes, not crates of drugs? If they were with the drug ring, wouldn’t they be picking up the crates to sell or loading them into a boat like you said?”
“That’s what Matteo said too. I don’t know. I’m still trying to figure this out too.” I trail off as I walk around the plastic-wrapped tower and spot something down the large row of boxes. It’s a large black arrow drawn onto the side. Usually I wouldn’t have paid it any mind, but it’s the first arrow I’ve seen. “I see an arrow.”
There’s a second arrow farther down the row, and a third that points halfway down another plastic-wrapped tower at a smaller stack of boxes.
“Don’t touch anything,” Lawrence warns as I use my flashlight to pick my way across to the boxes. “Especially if the DEA uses this as a sting to catch the person who comes for these.”
“I can’t tell, but I think these are the same kinds of boxes I saw the guys loading out of the truck the night of the explosion.” I turn and sweep my light to the left. No more arrows to be seen. “But if the trucking company wasn’t picking up the drugs from the bust and was just dropping off boxes, why was the Golden Arrow here?” I sigh and run a hand over my head, which skews the wig. The sound of a door shutting comes from another part of the building, and I freeze, a cold sweat forming on my brow. Lawrence and I both click off our flashlights.