Mackey and I bolted out from behind our respective bushes at the same time, though his longer legs got him to the warehouse door two steps ahead of me. He grabbed the handle and slid the large door open, the sunshine now forming a bright square on the floor of the dim warehouse. Gun raised in both hands, Derek darted inside. Brigit and I followed immediately behind him.

It took a second or two for my eyes to adjust fully to the relatively dark interior, which was lit only by what meager light could stream through the dusty windows situated high on the walls and the open door. When my eyes finally adjusted, they took in an ancient, dilapidated forklift missing at least two tires, a series of rusty pulleys hanging from the ceiling, and row after row of rolled-up carpet stacked ten to twelve feet high. There was no bus in sight, but with the piles of carpeting impeding our view we couldn’t see more than a few feet in any direction. The bus could easily be hidden among the towering rolls.

At first, the dimly lit warehouse appeared empty, but then we heard the soft sound of footsteps. Mackey gestured to get my attention then cocked his head, indicating he’d approach from the far end of the warehouse and that Brigit and I should proceed along the narrow pathway flanking the front wall.

After nodding in acknowledgment, I gave my four-legged partner the signal to follow me and crept as quietly as I could down the space, stopping at the edge of each stack of carpet to peek around it. I only hoped I wouldn’t peer around a pile to find myself staring down the barrel of a rifle.

Nobody was between the first and second stacks. Nobody between the second and third ones, either. But when I peeked around the third stack, my eyes spotted a large black man in jeans, sweater, and pocketed canvas work apron wrestling with a roll of carpet.

I was about to yell “Hands up!” but Mackey beat me to the punch. He angled his gun around the end of the row and yelled, “Fort Worth Police! Put your hands up!”

The man didn’t put his hands up, though. He didn’t look Derek’s way, either. Instead, he continued to look up at the roll he’d been wrangling and slid a hand into a large pocket on the front of his apron.

Oh, Lord! Was he going for a gun?

My eyes met Derek’s across the space. What should we do now?

As much as I didn’t want to give Brigit the order to take the man down, I knew this situation was precisely what we’d trained for. I issued the order and said a quick prayer for her safety as she bolted down the row, leapt into the air, and latched onto the back of the man’s sweater. She took him to the ground before he could even turn his head. Unfortunately, he’d still had one forearm wrapped around the roll of carpet. The roll fell to the ground with him, instigating an instant avalanche. Thomp-thomp-thomp! Roll after roll cascaded over the man and my partner. Berbers. Friezes. Saxony. My shaggy dog narrowly missed being buried by shag carpeting.

The man writhed on the floor under his weighty load. “What the hell!?!”

Mackey ran up from his end while I ran up from mine. We reached the man simultaneously and pointed our guns at him. I rounded up Brigit while Mackey used his foot to force the rolls aside. When the man was unearthed, he lay on his back and raised his hands over his head, eyes wide and mouth gaping in surprise. It was then I noticed the black wire coming from his ear buds and heard the faint sounds of Maxwell’s Grammy Award–winning R&B song Pretty Wings. No wonder the guy hadn’t heard us tell him to put his hands up. He had his music turned up to full volume.

Mackey reached down and yanked the main wire, the buds springing from the man’s ears. “What are you doing here?”

“I work here!” the man cried looking from Derek to me. “I’m pulling out carpet for the installers. They’re on their way to pick it up.”

“Don’t move,” Mackey ordered. He bent down and patted the man’s pockets, pulling out a retractable blade. He held it up. “What’s this for?”

“Cutting the carpet!” the guy cried. “It’s my job.”

“Where’s the bus?” Mackey demanded.

“Bus?” The man’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know anything about a bus.”

Clearly we’d gotten the wrong man here. I reached a hand down and helped him to his feet. “So sorry, sir. We owe you a big apology.”

I explained the situation and the man was gracious enough to cut us some slack.

“I haven’t seen or heard a bus,” he said, brushing carpet lint off his sleeves. “Of course I didn’t hear y’all, either. My boss always texts me when he needs something. I keep my phone on vibrate.”

I supposed it was possible one of the bank robbers had pocketed the cell phone we’d traced. If so, he could be hiding in the warehouse without this man’s knowledge. I suggested as much to Mackey.

He gestured to Brigit. “Send the dog out. If someone’s here, she’ll find ’em.”

Mackey and I decided to wait with the man. If the bank robbers were in the building, his life could be in danger, too. I sent Brigit on a hunting expedition, ordering her to search the building for anyone who might be hiding among the rows.

Fear wrapped its cold fingers around my throat while my furry partner scuttled around the space, sniffing here and there for criminals playing hide-and-seek. Though building searches were Brigit’s job, it made me sick to send her out on such missions, knowing a person desperate to escape apprehension could be capable of hurting her … or worse. Her padding footsteps could be heard as she made her way around the space, but other than that the warehouse was silent.

Relief buoyed me when she returned to my side without alerting.

But what does this mean? Had the bus been here at the warehouse momentarily and then moved on? Could the bus be in one of the other nearby warehouses?

The triangulation technology was good but not perfect. Signals could bounce off objects nearby and create what was known as multipath error. Still, we had to be close.

Mackey let out a long, loud breath. “This was damn disappointing.”

Both of us stepped to the open doorway. While Mackey continued out onto the street, I pulled my notepad from my breast pocket and flipped to the page on which I’d jotted the bus driver’s cell number. Using my own phone, I dialed the number. Maybe we’d hear it ring and could track it to another building.

“Gah!” I nearly jumped out of my skin when Willie Nelson singing On the Road Again blared from the bushes I’d been hiding in only minutes before.

Mackey darted over and Jackson jogged up as I carefully fished the cell phone out of the foliage. We’d expected to find a forty-foot bus and instead found a 4.7-inch phone with a cracked screen. Looked like the men who’d held up the bank and hijacked the bus had spotted the phone and tossed it out.

Jackson angled her head. “Bag the phone and give it to Mackey.” She turned to Derek. “Run the phone to the crime scene techs at the bank. Have them check it for prints.”

He didn’t bother arguing with her this time.

She turned back to me. “Let’s pay Chris Vogel and Arthur Scheck a visit.”

Chapter Fourteen

Dust Bunnies

Brigit

Searching that old, dusty building had been fun. Anytime she was allowed to roam around free was a good time to Brigit. Leashes were for troublesome toddlers and dogs who didn’t know how to behave. Not well-trained canines like her.

According to Brigit’s nose, the man she’d tackled had been the only human inside the place today. A rat had recently wandered through but moved on, probably because there was no food to be found on site.

And speaking of food, it was lunchtime. Better give her partner a reminder.

Woof-woof!

Chapter Fifteen