Clearly expensive, as were the white marble floors and black and chrome sleek furnishings. David wasn’t into interior design at all, but he had to admit the contemporary lines and contrasting colors created a stunning visual impact.
Randleman led the way down to floor negative two. “The master suite. As you can see, Mr. Stone spared no expense.”
David wandered through the open double doors. King-sized bed with a massive headboard of wood, chrome, and some sort of rock he couldn’t place. And the view. Oh, yeah. He could definitely wake up to that every morning. He peeked into the master bath. Wow. Every single fixture or finish was top notch, from the huge soaker tub to the shower big enough for a party, all combined into a wet room that even had a television. And the toilet seemed to be an automatic one. Curiosity got the better of him. He held his hand over what appeared to be a bank of automatic light switches. Lights flashed. The shower cut on. Music began playing.
Uh, oh. Better results than intended. He had to get out of there before Randleman noticed his error.
“David!” Monica poked her head into the room. “What are you doing in his bathroom?”
“Sorry.” He passed his hand over the panel. Everything ceased. Whew! He rejoined the small group as Randleman prattled on about the technological features of the house. “The whole house sits on six struts that are made of the strongest steel possible. They span out in semicircular fashion as the house goes up the cliff.” The soles of his dress shoes slapped against marble as he headed toward the next set of stairs. “It’s also anchored into the rock by bolts as big as a man’s leg.”
He stepped a little too close to Abigail.
David’s hackles raised.
“How far in do they go?” Jonathan asked.
“A good twenty feet. The engineers have reassured Mr. Stone several times that they are secure. They’re also checked each year. This way. Down to the living room.” Randleman stepped aside for everyone to descend. Jonathan and Monica led the way with Abigail trailing. As she passed, he ran his hand down her arm and murmured, “If you’d like, later I can give you a personal tour of the master bath.”
“And if you touch me again, I’ll break your face,” she replied in that magnificent Southern drawl.
Randleman’s eyes widened. “You’re a cop—”
“Who’s on personal business, remember?” She smiled sweetly at him. “I suggest you don’t go any further than that.”
David wanted to laugh, then break Randleman’s face for her.
Abigail began heading down the steps.
Randleman brushed against her. “So sorry.”
No, you’re not. David followed. It took all of his willpower not to kick Stone’s personal assistant square in the tush. Doing so would have made him plummet into Abigail, who’d then tumble into Monica. A cat fight would ensue and squash Jonathan in the process. Not a good idea.
Randleman shook himself. “The living room,” he announced as they arrived at floor negative three. “This is where Mr. Stone does the vast amount of his entertaining.”
David did a slow clock-wise circuit of the room. To his left, next to the cargo elevator, ten feet of the room was in the cliff and formed a wet bar. It took up most of the wall and held what seemed to be premium liquors from all over the world, with back-lighting making the bottles almost glow. More shiny white marble coated the floor. He wandered to the far side of the room and gazed out a full bank of windows angled outward so they followed the support beams. “How thick is the glass?”
“One inch.” Randleman made a shooing motion. “If you’ll move, I’ll show you my favorite feature of this room.”
David stepped aside and stopped at a black leather couch.
Randleman hit a button. A panel in the floor opened, and a LED television slowly arced upward until it stood upright. “The television is well hidden, just as Mr. Stone specified. That way, no screen detracts from the real focal point of the room—the view.”
David nodded. Ingenious.
“Now one last floor. This way.”
They arrived at the bottom of the steps. A kitchen and dining room took up floor negative four. This was hewn even further into the red rock. Black cabinets lined the wall with contemporary metal barn doors splitting the bank. David ran his hand along the counter of the island. Concrete. A foot thick by his estimate. Same on the sides. Wow. The biggest wow? A sleek black dining set on a glass floor so that as people ate, they seemed to float over empty air. He stared at the valley, three hundred feet below his hiking boots. Not for the faint of heart. Or those who feared heights.
Abigail took a small step back.
Randleman put his arm around her shoulders. “A bit scary is it not? Don’t worry, my darling. The floor is three inches thick.”
“No touch,” she hissed.
He obeyed.
Jonathan, who’d been surveying the barn door, turned. “Mr. Randleman, this is all well and nice, but we really do need to speak with Mr. Stone.”
As if on cue, Randleman’s phone began chiming. “Ah! It is indeed Mr. Stone. Let me have a chat with him. Make yourselves comfortable. Water is in the refrigerator if you’d like some.”
Abigail walked to the six-burner gas stove. “Boy, I could cook some gourmet meals here.” She surveyed the refrigerator and hit a button. A screen popped on to reveal food. “Cool. A camera inside to take stock.”
“And so not needed,” Monica added.
“But still...”
David ignored them as he drifted toward the stairs. Something didn’t feel right. His boots not making a sound, he began ascending.
“They’re here... Yes, on the lowest...” Randleman continued making his way upward to floor negative two.
David followed.
As if he sensed a pursuer, Randleman’s steps quickened.
David arrived at floor negative one just in time to hear the front door squeak open.
“Leaving now.” It shut. A bolt clicked.
David’s eyes narrowed. Their host had just left.
And locked the door.
Why?
A chill washed over him, and he turned his steps downward to get the others.
A deep whump filled the air.
He faced the windows in the conversation area of the guest suite.
A Huey, bristling with Gatling guns, descended into full view from above.
What the...
His eyes widened.
David bolted toward the steps leading to floor negative two.
Glass shattered behind him.
“Get down!” he shouted.
“What?” Jonathan’s confusion wafted from below. “Was that a—”
“Gun!” David sprinted across floor negative two. He dashed downward and leapt the last four steps and hit floor negative three running.
Bullets chased him.
Bottles shattered and sprayed him with alcohol.
He careened down the steps to the kitchen.
With a flying leap, he hurled himself onto the island.
He clipped the faucet.
Water spouted as he slammed into the refrigerator and crashed to the floor.
He pushed off the fridge and landed across the other three.
Just in time. Inch thick glass spewed through the room.
The cabinet doors above them splintered. Dishes shattered.
The fusillade paused.
Jonathan pressed his back against the island. “What the—”
“It was a trap.” Heart hammering in his ears, David peered around the island. No glass remained in the windows. Shards of ceramic and wood lay strewn around them.
Abigail joined him. “But how?”
David’s mind spun. “He led us down the furthest from safety and then got called by someone. He’s gone.”
Cracking emanated through the room as the glass floor spider-webbed.
Abigail gasped. “Oh, no.”
The dining room set vanished through where the floor had been.
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The helicopter once more rose into view.
David yanked her back as the barrage resumed, this time chewing into the rock wall behind the cabinets. Rock chips and bullet fragments flew everywhere.
Abigail cried out.
Monica covered her eyes and leaned into the island.
Silence fell again as if their attackers reloaded.
Jonathan stared at the barn doors. “We’ve got to get somewhere safe.”
He leaned into one, and it opened despite the damage to the rails.
Monica began crawling toward it.
David pulled her against the island.
Less than a second later, the bullets chewed up more concrete.
Abigail crouched and covered her face to avoid injury.
Red ran down her arm.
David stared. “Abigail, you’re—”
“Rock chip.” She held her right arm. A smile trembled and failed. “No worries, I’ll be...”
The sound of metal groaning penetrated the noise of bullets.
David glanced at the ceiling, which had begun listing at an ominous angle. His breath caught. “They’re using bullets to cut the support columns. Get into the pantry. Now!”
Jonathan shoved Monica in that direction. “Go. You too, Abigail.”
Abigail scrambled after her.
Jonathan wasted no time in diving inside. He called, “David.”
“Wait.” He examined the support beams across from him. They’d begun visibly crumpling inward. “The beams are getting ready to fail.”
Jonathan didn’t budge. “It’s going to crush us. Get in here.”
A plan formed in David’s mind. “And if I don’t stop it, that chopper will finish us off. Abigail.”
She peeked around the corner.
“Your gun.”
David ducked as the helicopter strafed the kitchen again.
Abigail’s Glock slid across the floor.
He snatched it up as the Huey descended and continued its work of destruction by sending a constant stream of bullets into the struts coming out of the cliff. What was left of the floor began tilting downward.
The bullets ceased.
He probably had a max of thirty seconds as they loaded fresh belts into the Gatling guns.
David checked the Glock’s magazine. Full. And hopefully enough.
Abigail crawled to him. “What are you doing?”
“Saving our skins.” Rising, he propped his elbows on the concrete and sighted down the length of the gun.
The helicopter rose up again.
There! He began firing and focused on the pilot first before the copilot. The gun clicked. Empty.
The Huey’s nose lurched downward with the tail rotor blasting toward them like an evil pinwheel.
David grabbed Abigail.
He hurled himself through the doorway of the pantry. He peered over Abigail’s shoulder.
The rest of the chopper slammed into the side of the rock.
He rolled with Abigail.
Everything went black.
Thursday, April 20, 2017, 1025 hours MDT, Goblin Valley State Park, UT
Heat. Lots of it. Abigail flinched as debris from the helicopter pinged against the barn door. A few pieces of shrapnel flew through the narrow opening above their heads and slammed into the shelves of the pantry on the opposite side. Then more heat. Scared of what she’d see, she kept her eyes scrunched closed.
“Abigail!” David’s hands brushed her hair, ran down the sides of her head. “Abigail, talk to me!”
She found his face mere inches from hers.
Skin covered in soot, he skidded his fingers down her cheeks.
“I-I’m fine.”
“Fire! The gas line to the stove must have gotten a spark.” Jonathan grunted, and daylight vanished as he shoved the barn door closed. “Abigail, you okay?”
“Y-yeah.” She forced herself onto her elbows. “You?”
“A little banged up but no worse for wear. Monica?”
“Here.” Her voice shook. “We’ve got to get out of here. Otherwise, we’re going to get cooked.”
Another, louder groan, like a dragon coming out of its lair, penetrated the pantry. Then came a crack. It seemed like the world fell around them. Abigail flinched and cowered against the wall.
David once more covered her with his body as cans fell from the shelves and pelted them.
Lord, I guess I’m seeing you a lot sooner than I planned. She held still as the noise ceased.
“I think the house fell into the valley.” Jonathan clicked on a light. Oh, so carefully, he cracked the doors. “Bingo. Nothing but debris.”
They were stuck. Abigail shuddered. Unless some hiker had seen the assault, this would be their tomb.
“Abigail?” She’d forgotten David was there.
“I’m fine.” That came out sharper than she intended as she pushed herself upright. The injury on her arm barked at her, and she winced.
Jonathan, who had his penlight out, began scanning the interior.
Monica joined him. “Wait. I see something.”
David climbed to his feet, then helped Abigail.
She groaned and leaned against one of the shelves.
“What?” David joined her.
Monica gestured toward the back. “Check this out.”
Abigail shrugged. “It’s food and water.”
A sardonic chuckle escaped David. “Hey, at least if we’re stuck here for two weeks, we have plenty of food. Our boy Mr. Stone definitely is ready for an apocalypse. Or, we could simply call 9-1-1.” He pulled his phone off his belt, then sighed when he noted no bars showing up. “Or not. No dice.”
“We’ve got no coverage out here without the dish that was on the house’s roof.” Tension laced Monica’s words. “Seriously. Something doesn’t look right here.”
She began pulling cans off the shelves.
“Hey!” Abigail yelped as one hit her in the leg, followed by a bottle of water that tagged her on the chest. “Watch where you’re throwing that stuff, will ya?”
Monica got to a middle shelf in the back of the pantry. Nothing budged when she tried to pull off a can of tomato sauce.
David studied them. “I think they’re cover for something.”
Monica began twisting them. “Question is, what?”
“A door.” David twisted another, and it clicked. Part of the shelf shifted inward.
Abigail gawked as she pushed herself away from the wall. “Dang.”
Jonathan stared. “Well, I’ll be. What do you think it is?”
“We’ll find out.” Monica stepped into the room and shone her light around. The beam landed on a wall switch. She hit it.
Light blazed forth from recessed lights in the ceiling.
Abigail’s jaw dropped. Stacks and stacks of gold coins on the left. A counter on the wall across from her. In the middle two vats and a counter with laboratory equipment. To the right shelves holding bricks of white powder. She drew a sharp breath between her teeth. “Jonathan, what did you say the truck was transporting?”
“I didn’t.” He fingered some of the paper. “But it seems as if he was using the same kind of paper I found in the truck between gold coins. Oh, so clever. Looks like someone impregnated the paper with heroin, then shipped the gold with it between them. They probably played on the notion that people would assume the gold was more valuable than the paper. Looks like once it arrived here, they used a chemical process to free the heroin.”
Abigail’s wound flared. She sucked in a breath as she stared at it. Blood oozed down her skin in a thick stream. Her head swam, and she leaned against the door jamb. “Guys, I hate to say this, but our first priority needs to be finding a way out.”
“Where do you think they did the paper processing?” David asked.
Jonathan’s theory blurred for Abigail. The floor tilted, and she crumpled.
David gently shook her. “Abigail!”
“I-I’m fine.” That came ou
t as a croak.
“Bull.” Bright light blinded her as he checked her pupils.
She slapped his hand away. “I’m hurt, not dead.”
“We need to stop the blood.” He helped her sit up so she rested against a shelf laden with coins.
“With what?” That burning deepened, and she wondered if whatever had hit her remained inside.
“This.” He ripped off his T-shirt, turned it inside out, and gently wrapped it around her upper arm close to the shoulder.
She whimpered.
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” he murmured in her ear.
Her smile trembled. “I’m fine. Really.”
Liar.
Jonathan approached the other side of the room. “I saw solar panels on the roof, so I assume that’s how he powered the house. Which means he’s on a separate grid. Maybe the park’s?”
Abigail tried to focus on his comment. “Could be.” Grasping the edge of the shelves, she hauled herself to her feet. “Is that a door I see?”
“Looks like an elevator door.” He studied it. “From what I remember, this doesn’t line up with the elevator for the house.”
Abigail bit down hard on her lip as she teetered toward him. “I doubt Mr. Stone would want his normal guests to know he had a drug room here.”
Jonathan tried opening it.
Nothing.
“They must lock it from the top.”
Monica joined them. “Can you pry it open?”
David took one side and Jonathan the other. It took some grunting and heaving, but they parted the doors to a strip of darkness a foot wide. David peered beyond them. “Here’s the car. Monica, lend me your light for a moment.”
She stared at him.
Really? Abigail rolled her eyes.
Monica handed him the cylinder.
He leaned inside, then climbed all the way in, followed by Jonathan. A moment later, David wormed his way back into the room. “Looks like they have a maintenance ladder leading upward along the side. What do you think? Forty feet?”
“If we’re lucky,” Jonathon nodded. “At least we have our way out. We climb.”
Oh, crap. Forty feet, a distance that normally wouldn’t wind Abigail at all, suddenly seemed like Mount Everest. Her chest tightened. She risked a glance at her arm. Blood had turned the white fabric of David’s T-shirt into a deep scarlet quickly going to mottled brown. The burning now extended down her arm.
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