by Lily Diamond
“It’s how I make my living,” I explain. “I run the channel, I gather evidence, I write books and I have a website.”
“Wow. That’s creative.” He chuckles. “I totally admit, the urban exploration thing has always been more of a glorified hobby for me. Otherwise I would have a bit more of the kind of connections you’ve got.”
“Oh, well, it’s a matter of finding the right person and then asking nicely.” I wink at him. Shit. I just winked at him. I’m flirting now without even meaning to, but I guess there’s something about him that makes me feel bold. I don’t even know if I can really trust him yet. Shit.
Then again, if I can get through this filming without him taking off with my gear, getting creepy, or just being an ass, that will tell me a lot about his character. I hope it works out. I may not have much experience—or luck—with sex, but the heat of his gaze makes me tingle all over.
Could this be the guy who drives away the bland, bored, frustrated, used feeling that Chad left on my skin with his own heat? Talk about a palate cleanser.
“So where are you taking us?” He walks slowly enough to take things in as I lead him into the depths of the building.
“My secret sex dungeon,” comes out of my mouth before I can stop it. I wince, almost hearing the laughter from my imaginary audience. Oh no, I’m not clumsy at this flirting thing at all. Nope!
He lets out a loud laugh that startles a couple of small bats off the rafters. They flutter and squeak at the edges of our lights for a few seconds before settling. “Oh really. Well, I’m all for it. Prefer if you turn the cameras off for stuff like that, though.”
His wink makes me giggle in spite of myself. “Uh, well, actually, I thought I’d go straight to showing you one of the weirdest things about this property. Besides me, that is.”
“Sounds good. Where is it?”
I give him a wicked smile. “Deep down in the lowest sub-basement. That’s an addition dating back to the turn of the century—but it really saw use around 1918.”
I am telling this story for my viewers as much as for him. I still don’t know how I’m going to work this tour seamlessly into my special, but I’ll figure it out. Once again, the show must go on.
Chad’s attempt to derail things has left me even more determined to not only move on with my romantic life, but to kick ass at my channel’s comeback. How Tall, Pale and Handsome here might figure into the second part, I’m not sure yet. I just hope he’s as interested in me as he seems—and that he doesn’t have any really serious skeletons in his closet.
Chapter Six
Drake
Her name is Amanda, and she’s even more fascinating than I had first thought. She’s tireless and focused as she leads me downstairs and down a twisting set of hallways. Now and again, her green eyes give me that smoky look that makes me wonder if her sleeping bag will fit two.
She’s telling me a story about the 1919 influenza epidemic, and how this hospital has an entire wing that’s been closed down since then. “The outbreak is rumored to have been much worse than was documented. We’ll never know. But one of the reasons this place was closed was that they found a mass grave from that era in the deepest sub-basement.”
I swallow, feeling a genuine chill. Damn, she’s good. “How did you find this out?”
“Time talking to people at the Historical Society of Atlanta. They’re the ones who connect me to the old buildings’ property owners and government custodians. They’re the ones who can get you in…if you can bribe me into introducing you.”
That flirty, but still slightly shy look crosses her face again. She’s smiling a lot more easily now.
“Are the bones still down there?” Morbid curiosity has its claws in me.
She laughs a little. “Oh no. Nothing like that; they were cremated and interred. There’s a memorial on the southwest corner of the property. But while Chad and I were wandering around lost, we stumbled on the place where they pulled the bones out.” Her voice goes low and conspiratorial, and I start to understand her giddiness over these spooky old places.
“Okay, that’s freaky as hell. I have to see it.” This beats any haunted house tour I’ve ever been on. And it’s not like the diamonds are going anywhere.
As interesting as this history lesson is, seeing her bountiful body move through the dark ahead of me is a huge distraction. I find myself wanting to focus all my attention on her curves, and not on our dreary surroundings. But I’ve got a job to do, and I’m fucking well going to see it through. Still…if I can mix my business with pleasure, I’ll go for it without hesitation.
But I’ll let her set the pace. I’ve learned enough about the fairer sex to know not to push a woman I don’t know well sexually.
“It’s down this way,” she’s saying excitedly—when her voice cuts off and she stops walking. “Wait.”
“What is it?” I instinctively lower my voice and move closer to her, too aware of the weight of the pistol under my jacket. I unzip while I’m thinking about it, and switch the camera to my weak hand.
“I’m not sure. I’m new with this infrared camera. Give me a second.” She hesitates.
My fingers slip under my jacket and unsnap the peace-strap on my holster. Jail changes a man’s instincts. I’m not taking one single goddamn chance.
“Here, let me see.” I have experience with infrared from my Army night combat training, and once we trade cameras, I take a quick look. There are faintly glowing spots on the floor, and I know what they are at once—the heat residue of human footprints.
Alarm bells go off and I lay a hand on Amanda’s shoulder. The prints run across our path, from an intersecting hallway leading roughly back toward the direction we had come from. They lead into a room with an open door that is dark inside. No footprints lead out.
Someone got ahead of us deliberately and they’re hiding out in that room—
I have barely finished the thought when I see a glowing arm snake out of the doorway and point something dark toward us. On pure instinct, I shove Amanda into the nearest open room and throw myself after her. Bullets bite into the wood of the door frame right after my head passes it.
Her cry of distress rings in my ears as I drag the heavy door shut behind us. The regular camera goes spinning across the room, the light attached to it going black as its bulb shatters. I grab hold of her and pull her against me, then steer us into the corner, well away from the door.
We come to a stop with me still playing meat shield, the infrared camera in one hand and my gun in the other. She shivers against my chest as she gets her bearings, and then looks up at me in horror. “What the fuck is going on?”
I hear feet running toward the door. I let go of her and shove a nearby steel desk in front of it, keeping whoever is on the other side from kicking it open. “Someone’s shooting at us,” I growl. “Is that boy you threw over the sort to get violent?”
“Chad? He’s never had the nerve,” she mumbles, and though I hear the doubt in her voice a sudden worry strikes me. What if she’s not the target between us? What if whoever shot that bullet is after me?
Then she freezes and pulls away from me. “You have a gun? Why the hell do you have a gun?”
Shit. Think fast, idiot. “What do you mean why the hell do I have a gun? This is an abandoned building in one of the worst sections of Atlanta! Why don’t you have a gun?”
She blinks at me, a lost expression on her face. “I’ve lived here my whole life and never needed one before.” Someone kicks the other side of the door hard and she jumps, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes.
“Okay. Look. Stay calm.” I look around, assessing the smallish room with large square drawers set into the walls. I’m no doctor, but it’s pretty clear from the drawers, the steel table, and the many cabinets, that this is some kind of surgery theater.
Someone kicks the door again. Then two bullets punch through it, pinging off the steel cabinets and biting into the wall—fortunately well above our heads.
Amanda screams and I step back and fire at the door, using the same angle as the shooter—and stare in horror as the gun goes bang but no holes appear anywhere in door or wall.
“What the fuck?” I mumble, looking down at the gun—then duck aside as whoever is on the other side shoots back at me. I manage to get out of the way, but it’s pretty clear that something’s wrong.
Then I hear the raspy laughter on the other side of the door, and suddenly I know who it is. “Hey Drake, what’s the matter?” Max calls out mockingly. “Something wrong with the gun I gave you?”
I look down at the gun he convinced me to take, and then over to Amanda, who is staring at me in a mix of suspicion and horror. “Max, what, precisely, the fuck are you doing?”
But I already know, and I don’t even bother to hide the creeping horror and rage on my face. Max took over as head of the Wanderers while I was gone, and he’s an unstable, overambitious jerk. I suppose he got a taste for it.
But now I’m back, and in the way. I suspect that he wants to fix that. “Answer me, you psychotic little prick!”
Max is short. He’s got a Napoleon complex and is three times as belligerent as he needs to be—unless I’m around to rein him in. Which I haven’t been, but…that also means his buttons are easy to push.
“Hey, fuck you, Drake! You and your ethics? Your fucking rules? Trying to be the good guy? We’re fucking thieves, Drake!” Max’s tone is full of disgust. “You held us back. It’s time for you to go.”
Amanda is staring at me in fear and suspicion. “Thieves?” she mouths, outrage and disappointment on her face.
“I’ll explain everything. Just not now.” I’m seething with rage but I keep my voice gentle with her. Not so when I turn back to the door. “I kept you safe, Max. I even risked my freedom to keep the heat off of you.”
“You think your martyr complex entitles you to keep bossing us around?” He shoots through the door again but we’re safely to the side of the spray.
“I think that being the most experienced and being more stable than you does.” I can’t help it. I would walk out there right now and beat his face in were it not for the gun.
“You’re right, Max, we are thieves. Not murderers, not kidnappers, not anything else. Just…jewel thieves. And we’re making a ton of money at it, so what the fuck is your problem?”
“You’re my fucking problem! We could make a lot more without your bullshit rules holding us back!” I can hear he’s spitting mad, his voice going almost squeaky with anger.
It would be worth laughing at to mess up his judgment more, but I don’t know how many bullets he’s got left.
“Oh. Greed, then. And you’re tired of being told what to do. Fine. Fuck off, take our whole year’s earnings. I’ll walk away.” This is ridiculous, and I have no intention of letting Max lead the Wanderers straight into Hell.
But I have to get Amanda and myself out of here in one piece.
I hear a brief argument outside. A deeper voice—Oscar, Max’s sweet, dumb bruiser younger brother. “He’s saying he’ll walk away, big brother, come on! Let’s just let him go. You know he’s gotta follow his own rules. He’s that kinda guy! That will be the end of it.”
“Look, shut up!” They’re trying to whisper but aren’t doing a good job of it. “It’s a lot more complicated than that. And besides, I hate the prick! Why couldn’t he have just taken the plea on the gun charge and gotten out of our damn hair?”
My eyes widen, and then narrow. “So you’re the one who set me up,” I growl. I should have guessed. Max stole six months of my life, and now he’s after the rest.
Max’s voice turns grave. “There’s more to it than that. See, if I let you two go, nothing’s stopping you or that slut with you from rolling over on me. She’s a witness, Drake.”
Amanda and I exchange horrified looks. “She’s only a witness because your dumb ass started shooting at us! There were a million ways to get me to walk—”
Max laughs. “Oh, no, you’re still not getting it. See, I don’t want you to walk. After five years of doing it your way, it’s time to do it my way. And that means nobody lives to talk. Not you or her.”
“What the fuck went wrong with you while I was gone?” I mumble in astonishment. But I know. Just like jail changed me, a taste of power changed Max.
“I came to my senses.” There’s a shuffle of feet. “Oscar, break down the door.”
“But Max…!”
“Oscar. Now.”
There’s a heavy thud, and I toss the pistol and sling the camera, turning to look around. “We have to find a way out of here.”
“Who are you?” Amanda gasps in a shaky voice. I turn around, and in the dim light from her flashlight I see her cheeks glazed with tears.
She’s in shock. I hurry over to her, reaching her just as Oscar slams into the door again. “Amanda. Please. Listen to me. I will explain everything, and I will find a way to get us out safe. But I can’t do any of that if you freeze on me. Please.”
The genuine note of pleading in my voice seems to pull her out of it part way. “Okay. Okay.” She looks at me—then pushes away from the wall and starts looking around. It’s a weird room with no windows or obvious way out. But there is one drawer that’s larger than the others, rimmed in some dark color with a small sign on it that I can’t make out.
“This is an autopsy room,” Amanda breathes. She shines her light around, jumping as the thud comes again. The door rattles hard on its hinges and the wood cracks a little.
Then her light falls on the drawer, and she gasps. “Oh shit!”
“What is it?” We both head toward the drawer. I reach over and open it, revealing the large, clean chamber inside, and I notice the big lever next to it. “Another body drawer?”
“No! It’s the dumbwaiter. See the lever next to it? This is how they got the bodies downstairs to that mass grave without anyone noticing!”
“So we can go down in it?” I go over and test the box for stability. It creaks a little on whatever rope it’s connected to, but both it and the counterweight seem in good condition. “Good. Get in, sweetheart.”
“Wait,” she says with alarm. “I thought we were going together.”
Holy shit. She’s still willing to deal with me even though I’ve brought trouble into her life that’s threatening her very existence. But I can’t let her stay with me. No casualties allowed—and I don’t want to see her hurt or scared. “I have to try and draw them off. You need to get out and get somewhere safe.”
She grabs my arm. “He will shoot you!” The door shudders on its hinges and splinters of wood fly into the room. “Get in the damn dumbwaiter with me.”
“What?” There’s no way I’m this lucky.
“Look. I don’t know who that prick is, but he wants to kill us both now, and I am not fucking risking him cornering me alone once I flee this room. Even if I call the cops right now, you know they won’t even show up for half an hour or more, and I’m sure you don’t want them around anyway. We are getting out together, and then you are explaining this entire fucking thing, and telling me how you’re planning to make it up to me for putting my life in danger!”
Her finger is in my face. She’s even sexier when she’s angry.
“Fine!” I cave, knowing any plan I’m forming will actually be easier if I have someone with me who actually knows the building.
We bundle into that tight, narrow space together, with her whole lush, trembling body crammed against me. In the middle of everything her breasts rub against my chest and my mind goes toward sex again. But then another hard blow on the door reminds me that we’re going to have unwanted company very, very soon.
With one arm thrown around her, I pull the lever and yank down the outer door, plunging us into darkness. I wrap both arms around Amanda, and she clings to me as we slowly descend.
Chapter Seven
Amanda
There is baggage, and there is baggage. The “urban explorer” who can make me tin
gle with a smile is actually a jewel thief with an ex-partner trying to kill him. I still want him, which is ridiculous. But most of what I want right this second is to survive this—and get real answers.
Right now, we’re descending into the dark together. The dumbwaiter is slow and the smell of turned earth is wafting up to us from the basement draft below. His arms wrap around me protectively, and his sleekly muscled body moves slightly against me as he breathes.
I’m freezing from the terror and from the chill coming at my body from every direction. But he’s like a furnace against me, even through the leather. I cling to him, when in any other situation I would be pushing him away—and maybe punching him. His desire to get me out of this seems sincere, but I’m so sick of men lying to me.
Priorities. I can’t let myself get too upset, can’t let myself panic. Unsinkable, I remind myself—and feel like I’m going to start sobbing.
That’s when he starts stroking my hair. Our slow ride into the bowels of the hospital is very quiet, punctuated only by the slow creak of the dumbwaiter ropes and the heavy thud and splintering sounds of the autopsy room door slowly giving way. “Take it easy,” he murmurs in my ear. “You know this place like the back of your hand, remember? They’ll get lost looking for us.”
That eases some of my panic, but not all. “Tell me what is going on,” I demand in a low voice.
He sighs. “I guess I can’t expect you to trust me if I don’t start trusting you.”
“Just…go on, all right?” I’m shaking again, and his grip on me tightens. He hesitates for a few moments, and then starts talking.
“I was a street kid coming up. Well, I had parents technically, but they pretty much only cared about drinking and not much about looking after me. I stole to survive, ended up in juvie for it, and then I turned eighteen and aged out. I had already decided to go join the Army, so I did that for four years.”
