As Lucy approached her car, her heels clicked against the concrete floor of the quiet parking lot. She rummaged through her purse, searching for her keys, when suddenly a shadow moved behind her.
Before she could react, Henry lunged.
"Ahhh!" Lucy scread, stumbling as Henry slamd her against the side of her car.
She flailed and kicked, but Henry was too strong. His hand gripped the back of her neck, forcing her forward. With a sickening thud, he slamd her head against the van's side.
"Mmmpfh! Mmmph!" Lucy's muffled cries were barely audible as Henry slid open the van's side door. With practiced efficiency, he shoved her inside.
Reaching into his jacket, Henry pulled out a syringe. He jabbed it into Lucy's neck, her struggling weakening as the sedative took hold. Within monts, her body went limp.
Henry exhaled sharply, dragging her deeper into the van when he heard footsteps echoing in the garage.
Peering through the window, he saw two figures approaching. It was Frank and Zoey.
"Zoey! That's her car!" Frank said, pointing at the sedan with urgency.
The two detectives hurried over, their eyes locking onto the scattered books and Lucy's purse on the ground.
"Jesus," Frank muttered, crouching down. "We've got her stuff."
Henry's breath hitched. Moving quickly, he climbed into the driver's seat, his fingers fumbling to start the engine.
Hearing the sound, Frank's instincts kicked in. He drew his gun and shouted, "In the van! Step out with your hands up!"
[ENGINE STARTS]
The van screeched into reverse, slamming into Frank and knocking him to the ground before Henry sped toward the exit.
Zoey didn't hesitate. She drew her firearm and fired off several shots, but the bullets ricocheted harmlessly off the van's rear.
"Damn it!" she cursed, grabbing her radio.
"Man down in the parking garage! Shots fired!" Zoey barked into the walkie-talkie. "Suspect in a blue van, plate number VR-8124. Repeat, VR-8124!"
As the van disappeared around the corner, Zoey rushed to Frank, who was struggling to get up.
"You okay?" she asked, her tone sharp but concerned.
Frank winced, brushing dust off his jacket. "I'm fine," he grunted. "Just bruised. That bastard's got Lucy."
******
A black sedan pulled up next to an old, run-down building on a quiet stretch of road. The headlights cut through the darkness as West stepped out, slamming the door behind him. His expression was grim, his movents sharp.
He walked into the building, his voice cold and annoyed. "Henry! You called at the office. What's going on?"
From the shadows, Henry appeared, tense and agitated. "You didn't answer your phone. I tried calling you a dozen tis."
West glared at him. "The phone's off. We're supposed to be dark. No contact unless it's absolutely necessary."
Henry raised his voice, frustration bubbling over. "They're onto ! At the last pickup, DPD detectives showed up. How did they know about the target?"
West's eyes narrowed. "Why are you still making pickups when I specifically said to hold off?" he snapped.
Henry scowled. "It wasn't new business. We lost one last week, and the lawyer told to get a replacent."
West sighed heavily, running a hand over his face. His frustration was evident as he shook his head. "You should've cleared it with first. Where is she?"
Henry jerked his thumb toward the van parked outside. "She's in the back. Sedated."
West nodded curtly. "Alright. Let's see."
Henry led West out to the van, grumbling as he unlocked the back doors. "I was following orders. This isn't on —"
The click of a gun cut him off.
Henry froze and turned slowly, his hands raised. West was aiming a pistol at him, his face cold and calm.
"Hey, wait—what are you doing?" Henry stamred. "The lawyer told to replace her! This wasn't my decision!"
West's tone was flat. "The lawyer's dead."
Henry's eyes widened. "What? No, no, this isn't—"
The gunshot was loud in the still night. Henry dropped to the ground, motionless.
West stepped over the body and opened the van doors. He checked on Lucy, who was unconscious but breathing. After a mont, he pulled out his phone and made a call.
"Clean this up," he said.
He hung up, closed the van doors, and got back into his car. Without another glance at Henry's body, he drove off into the night.
DPD Conference Room
Zoey stood at the head of the table, addressing the group. "Lucy Pattison never made it ho from class. She was definitely in that van."
Frank leaned forward, his jaw tight. "Her phone's offline. We've set up checkpoints, and every law enforcent agency in a 200-mile radius has her photo, along with the make, model, and plate number of the van."
Layla crossed her arms, her gaze fixed on Frank. "What about West? Where are we on him?"
Ajay tapped his keyboard, the glow of the screen reflecting on his face. "We're waiting on docunts from overseas. The files we seized at the agency tie Caldwell to everything, but there's no paper trail linking West or anyone else to the operation."
Layla raised an eyebrow. "Are you telling West could walk away from this?"
Frank shook his head. "I'm not saying he's clean. But so far, no one—employees, accountants, marketing, researchers—can tie him to anything illegal."
Layla exhaled sharply. "We need proof. And it'd better co before another woman disappears."
Forever Ho Agency Building
West strode into a dimly lit office, a thick file clutched in his hand. Sitting inside was a man in a white coat, Dr. Harold McMillan, scrolling through notes on a tablet.
West placed the file on the desk. "Where are we, Harold?"
Harold looked up, his expression skeptical. "That's my question for you. What's with the new girl? I thought we were done."
West ran a hand over his face. "We are. She was a mistake."
Harold raised an eyebrow. "Mistake?"
West leaned on the desk, his voice low. "The DPD is looking into everyone. There's no link to your clinic, right?"
Harold shook his head. "We've been careful. There's nothing tying it back to ."
West straightened up. "Good. Shut it down. I want everything buried."
"Whatever you want," Harold said, his tone resigned.
West frowned. "Henry ntioned we lost one the other day. What happened?"
Harold hesitated before replying. "It couldn't be helped. Henry handled it."
anwhile At a Forest Clearing
A man tossed a stick into the woods, watching as his Labrador darted after it. "Good boy, Scotch!"
The dog returned, tail wagging, only to dart into the thick underbrush.
"Scotch?" The man called out, chasing after him. "Where'd you go, buddy?"
He followed the sound of rustling leaves until he found Scotch sniffing furiously at a mound of dirt.
"What've you got there, boy?" he asked, kneeling down.
But as he brushed aside so loose soil, his blood ran cold. A pale, lifeless face stared back at him, partially exposed by the rain that had washed away the earth.
Stumbling back, the man fumbled for his phone, his hands shaking as he dialed.
"This is 911. What's your ergency?"
He stamred into the phone, his voice trembling. "I found a body. There's a body buried in the woods!"
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