Free Pirate by Clive Cussler Page B

warehouse in.”
    The deputy glanced at the bullet holes along the right rear fender of the SUV and the missing rear window, then keyed his radio, reporting shots fired at one of the abandoned warehouses outside Beaufort. “Three suspects. Description: white male adults, dark clothing.”
    The dispatcher copied.
    The deputy started for his car, but Bree called out, “What about my cousin?”
    â€œWhat about her?” he asked.
    â€œDid you talk to her?”
    â€œAt the house?”
    She nodded.
    â€œI’m sorry, ma’am. No one answered the door. It was locked.”
    Bree turned toward Remi, her face pale. “We have to go there and check! What if something’s happened to her?”

Nine

    B ree grasped Remi’s arm. “Please. Larayne might be in trouble.”
    â€œShe’s right,” Sam said. “We have to check on her.”
    â€œSir,” Deputy Wagner said to Sam. “I’m going to have to trust you know what you’re doing. I have no idea what sort of backup Beaufort’s sending, and I’ve just sent the only other deputy within driving distance to deal with three armed men. I’m not about to leave him without backup.”
    â€œWe understand.”
    The deputy turned a stern gaze to Bree. “I want the three of you—four, if your cousin is there—at the sheriff’s office for statements when this is done.”
    He hurried to his patrol car, then sped off, the engine roaring.
    â€œLet’s go,” Sam said, opening the driver’s door.
    â€œWhat about our car?” Remi asked, climbing in the front passenger seat.
    â€œWe can pick it up on the way back,” Sam said.
    Bree slid into the seat behind Remi, telling Sam, “Please hurry.”
    â€œBuckle up,” Sam said as he took off toward Harlowe, turning on the windshield wipers. Wind roared through the shattered back window, and rain sluiced in through the driver’s window, striking him in the face and shoulder. Even Remi felt it in the passenger seat. She turned to check on Bree. The young woman looking shell-shocked. “I’m so sorry about your uncle,” Remi called out over the rush of wind.
    â€œI know. I—I can’t believe this all happened.” After a moment, Bree leaned forward, placing her hand on Remi’s shoulder. “Thank you for coming.”
    Sam leaned in toward the center of the car as he drove, the rain coming down harder. He looked back at Bree. “We’re just glad you’re okay,” he said, before turning his attention back to the road.
    Remi said, “Last we heard, you were on your way to the airport. We assumed to San Francisco.”
    â€œI was. They ran my car off the road and I never made it.”
    â€œSelma called us,” Remi said. “The police found your car. I was beside myself until your call.”
    â€œThey were holding a gun to me. I never would have put you in danger.”
    The wind and rain rushing through the broken windows made it difficult to carry on a conversation. “Let’s check on your cousin and we’ll talk after.”
    It took about ten minutes to reach the farmhouse. The moment Sam pulled to a stop, Bree dashed out of the SUV, then upthe front steps. She tried to open the door, then started pounding on it, crying, “Larayne! Larayne!”
    Remi and Sam followed. At the steps, Sam said, “I’ll see if there’s any other way in.”
    Remi and Bree dashed through the rain to follow him around to the back.
    Sam tried that door, also locked, and Bree asked, “Can’t you kick it in?”
    â€œMight not need to,” he said, eyeing the lock. Slipping his wallet from his pocket, he removed a credit card, then shoved it between the doorframe and the lock, jiggling until it popped open. “Your cousin should get a dead bolt for this thing,” he said, opening the door.
    Bree rushed past him, through the