"No," she stammered. "There are others in the freezer."
"Show me."
The girl led her to a massive walk-in cold storage unit. The heavy door was secured with a padlock. Trina shot it off and pulled the door open. The blast of frigid air carried the sounds of whimpering and quiet sobs. 12 girls huddled together on the frozen floor, dressed in thin clothes. The youngest couldn't have been more than 10. Their eyes were wide with terror as Trina entered.
"I'm FBI," she said softly, showing her badge. "I'm getting you all out of here. Can you walk?"
They nodded, helping each other stand on trembling legs. Trina guided them through the smoke-filled corridors toward the loading dock where her truck waited. The trailer was equipped with emergency supplies, blankets, water, food, and first aid kits.
"Stay quiet and stay together," she instructed as she helped them climb inside. "Lock this from the inside. Don't open it for anyone but me. I'll knock three times, pause, then twice more. Understand?"
They nodded, wrapping themselves in blankets. Trina secured the trailer and headed back inside.
On a security monitor near the loading dock, she spotted Falner in what looked like a central office, barking orders into a radio. Suddenly, gunfire erupted from multiple directions. Four men in tactical gear appeared at both ends of the corridor, rifles raised.
Trina dove behind a concrete pillar as bullets chipped away at the edges.
"You're dead, fed!" one shouted. "No way out!"
Trina touched her wounded side, feeling fresh blood. She'd lost too much already. But giving up wasn't an option. She pulled her last smoke grenade and threw it, using the cover to sprint toward a side passage.
A rifle stock swung at her head. She ducked, grabbing the weapon and driving her knee into the attacker's groin. As he doubled over, she wrenched the rifle away and slammed the butt into his face. He went down hard.
The second man charged, trying to tackle her. Trina sidestepped, using his momentum to throw him into a wall. His head crashed through a rusted pipe, releasing a spray of pressurized steam. He screamed, clutching his scalded face.
More bullets forced her into a roll. Pain exploded in her leg as a round grazed her thigh. She came up firing, catching the third attacker in the shoulder. He dropped his weapon, stumbling backward.
The fourth man had a clear shot. Trina threw herself sideways as his rifle barked. The bullet missed her head by inches. She crashed through a rotting drywall partition, buying precious seconds.
Her hands found a length of broken pipe. When he stepped through the hole after her, she swung it like a baseball bat, connecting with his temple. He crumpled without a sound.
Steam continued spraying from the ruptured pipe, filling the corridor with scalding mist. Somewhere in the distance, flames began to lick at exposed insulation. The fire would spread quickly through the old building.
Gritting her teeth against the pain in her leg, Trina checked her weapon and started limping toward the central office. Each step sent fresh agony through her thigh, but she pressed on. Falner was waiting up ahead. It was time to finish this.
The command office loomed ahead, its grimy windows flickering with fluorescent light. Trina pressed her back against the wall beside the door, steadying her breathing. Her leg throbbed where the bullet had grazed her, and fresh blood trickled down her side. She tightened her grip on her Glock and kicked the door open.
"Don't move," she commanded, sweeping her weapon across the room.
Falner stood behind a metal desk, his arm locked around a young girl's throat. A hunting knife pressed against her skin. The girl couldn't have been more than 14, tears streaming down her face.
"Well, well. The fed bitch found her way upstairs." Falner's drawl dripped with contempt. His uniform was splattered with blood—not his own. "Drop the gun, or I open her throat."
"You're surrounded, Falner. FBI tactical teams are already in position." Trina kept her voice steady despite the burning in her wounds. "It's over."
He laughed, a hollow sound that echoed off the metal walls. "You government garbage think you're so smart, always playing by the rules, filling out your little forms." The knife pressed deeper, drawing a whimper from the girl. "But I own this county. Have for years."
"Let her go. This is between us now."
"Between us?" His face twisted with rage. "You have no idea what you've walked into. Your precious agent Monroe found out the hard way. Wrapped his car around a tree about 6 hours ago."
Trina's stomach clenched, but she kept her expression neutral. "You're lying."
"Am I? Check your phone if you can find it, but I'm guessing you won't be getting any calls from Arthur anymore." Falner's grin widened. "See, I've got friends in places you can't touch. People who make sure problems like you disappear."
"Big talk from a small-town cop hiding behind a child."
"Small town?" He pressed the blade harder, drawing a thin line of blood. "I run more product through this route than you'll see in your whole career. Girls, drugs, weapons—whatever pays. And no fed above my pay grade will touch me."
Trina's eyes darted to a metal cup on the desk near Falner's right hand. In one fluid motion, she fired at it. The cup exploded, spraying hot coffee across his face. He jerked back instinctively, loosening his grip on the girl.
"Run!" Trina shouted.
The girl twisted free and bolted for the door.