I started on the doorknob. I didn’t want to risk using my flashlight, so I’d pocketed it and was feeling my way in the dark, which wasn’t so bad because the art of picking a lock is somewhat by feel anyway. I worked the tools and began to sweat, but finally the lock gave. I turned the knob, opened the door a crack and held my breath. No alarm sounded. I exhaled slowly, pushed the door open wider, and stepped inside. I glanced around to see if there were any lights indicating an alarm system was installed or armed, but didn’t see anything. If the cops did show, I’d concoct a story that would get them to look around the warehouse and also keep me out of jail.
I shut the door and exchanged the lock-pick set for my flashlight. I turned it on and peered around. I was standing in a hallway with walls painted a deep yellow. I could go left or right. I chose left and proceeded. Ten feet down was a door marked “Men.” I pushed it open. The room had a stale urine stench to it, so I breathed out of my mouth as I shone the light around. I moved into the room and checked the stalls, just to be sure. No Holly trussed up on a toilet, nor anyone else inside, which was a relief. I half-expected to find a bum or a bogeyman lurking about.
I pulled the door open and stepped back into the hallway, then stopped. Had I heard something? I quickly shut off the flashlight. Then I noticed a hazy square of light, coming from a high window, on the wall above me. I let my eyes adjust as I craned to hear anything. I finally concluded it was my raw nerves spooking me. Even so, I was cautious as I moved down the hall, trailing my hand along the wall. I came to the bathroom marked “Women” and eased the door open. Then I flipped on the flashlight.
Nothing, although it did smell better than the men’s bathroom. I checked all around, including the stalls, but came up empty, so I left. The hallway ended, and I tiptoed to the back door and headed in the other direction. I soon reached a corner and turned left. Ahead of me, the hallway opened into the dining area. To my right was an open door. I walked over to it and shone the light around. The kitchen.
The room was in disarray, with odds and ends of dinnerware, pots, pans, glasses, and utensils lying about countertops and in open cupboards, as if someone had hastily packed things but missed some items. A row of sinks was along one wall, another had electrical hookups for appliances. Large stainless steel tables sat in the middle of the room. I walked around, my feet crunching on broken glass. I inspected the room and found only some dead mice. And then a live one skittered across the floor and I jumped in a very un-Bogie-like fashion. I forced a small laugh to ease my nerves, but it didn’t work. It was hard not to feel spooked in a place like this. With that on my mind, I checked the rest of the kitchen.
In one corner was a storage room that had empty shelves and some boxes on the floor with “VVB” labels on them. I opened one. It was full of beer bottles. I pulled one out and examined it. Skinny Bunny IPA. Cute. I was tempted to take it, but old beer and pale ales weren’t my thing. I noticed nothing else but a lot of dust, so I returned to the kitchen and paused. Silence.
I poked around the rest of the restaurant. I found nothing in the dining area, but near the front entrance was a large room with windows. Inside were two huge, stainless steel and copper vats and a large tank for brewing beer. I glanced around and realized I’d passed the door, so I went back and stepped inside the room. A strong hops odor assaulted my nostrils. I stepped around some tubing and looked behind the vats. Tubes and pipes, but no Holly. I tapped on one of the vats and received a hollow sound in reply. If, on the off chance someone was inside, I hoped they’d bang on the side to let me know. But nothing happened. I wondered why such expensive equipment was still here. Maybe Rasmus and his investment group were trying to get rid of it. It couldn’t be easy to sell such expensive stuff, even with Colorado’s plethora of microbreweries. At one time, I’d thought it would be fun to open a brewpub, but as I looked at all the equipment now, it seemed like complicated, and expensive, work. No, I’d stick with the detecting business.
I stepped back into the dining area and paused to think. There had to be a basement, but where were the stairs? I’d missed them in my search, so I went back to the kitchen and looked around again. Then I spotted a door I’d missed before. I pulled it open and saw wooden stairs. The flashlight illuminated half the stairwell, but only a gaping blackness was beyond. A layer of dust covered the steps, but within the dust were footprints. Someone had been on the stairs recently. I listened. Silence. I took in a breath, steeled my nerves, and started down. Even though I was trying to be quiet, my steps clunked loudly on the wood.
I reached the bottom and stopped. The flashlight stabbed into the darkness. The basement had a musty smell. Rows of shelves were to my left, and to the right were three closed doors. I tiptoed to the closest one and tried the knob. It turned. I let go of it, and reached down and unholstered the Glock. I stuck the flashlight under one arm, aimed the Glock in front of me, and opened the door. But my feet stayed rooted in place. The beam of light illuminated an empty room. I shut the door, then tiptoed to the next door and stopped. This one had a new padlock attached to it and a hasp attached to the doorjamb. I stared at it for a moment, then shut off the flashlight. No light shone from around the door. I put my ear against the door and listened. No sound. Dread washed over me as I worried that Holly was in there, maybe hurt. Or worse.
I exchanged the Glock for my lock-pick set, adjusted the flashlight under my arm so it would shine on the door, and went to work on the padlock. I’d never tried to unlock one before, but it turned out to be easy. In less than thirty seconds, I had it off. I pocketed it, then tried the knob. Locked, of course, so I set to work on it. It was also easy – or I was getting more proficient as a burglar – and I quickly had it unlocked. I put my ear against this door as well, but heard nothing.
I again exchanged the lock-pick set for the Glock, took the flashlight in my other hand, and quietly opened the door. The flashlight shone against the wall opposite the door, revealing a small table and a chair. I panned the light to the right and saw a broken chair lying on the floor, pieces of it scattered about. Where was Holly, and was she hurt? I took a couple of steps toward the broken chair, then heard a whistling sound. I started to turn when something whacked me on the head. I swung the Glock around, but something hit my arm and I dropped the gun.
“Ugh,” I think I heard myself say. Then the flashlight clattered to the floor.
Stars crossed my vision and then blackness.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Time Unknown
I awoke to darkness. I blinked a few times. Still dark. I blinked again to clear my mind, and I assessed my situation. My head throbbed slightly with pain, but otherwise I felt okay. I was lying on my back. I felt around with the palms of my hands. Cold hard concrete. Then I dug in my pockets. Empty. They’d taken my wallet, keys, loose change, and most importantly, the Glock, flashlight and my cell phone. I silently cursed.
“Hello?” I whispered.
Nothing but silence.
I sat up and suddenly felt woozy. I sucked in a few deep breaths until the lightheadedness passed. Then the questions came. Where was I? And when would they come back?
This is a fine mess, I thought. And it all started with a phone call from Holly.
I craned my head around. Nothing but darkness. I staggered to my feet, waited for the lightheadedness to pass, then put a hand out in front of me and walked. My hand hit a wall and I felt along it until I came to a corner. I felt along this wall and another, but at the end of this one, I hit wood. I felt up and down it, and realized it was the framing around a door. I ran my hands around until I found the doorknob. I tried it but it was locked.
Okay, I thought, I can pick it. Then another thought occurred to me. With what?
Maybe if I could find some wire. But where? I put my ear up to it and listened, but heard nothing. Was I still in the basement of the warehouse? A vague memory came to me, of Andre standing over me. Was I alone or was Holly around? I turned from the door and canvassed the room, sta
rting at one side and walking slowly to the other, hands in front of me. I didn’t trip over her, so she wasn’t lying unconscious or dead on the floor. But I also determined there was nothing in the room. Which meant finding a piece of wire or something to pick the lock would be nearly impossible.
I made my way back to the door, grabbed the knob, and rattled the door. It didn’t appear very sturdy. Maybe I could break out. I took a step back and then kicked at the door, not sure where I hit it because I couldn’t see. I also couldn’t tell if it did any good. I kicked it a couple more times and tested the door. The doorknob seemed to have given a little. I stepped back farther and then hurtled myself at the door, shoulder first. The door flew open and I tumbled out of one dark room into another. I groaned, rubbed my shoulder, and stood up. That was not as easy as they make it look in the movies. I shook my head and looked around. Some faint light filtered in through a few windows, and I could tell I was still in the warehouse basement. I slipped out the door, pressed myself against the wall, and listened. All quiet, so I tiptoed along the wall and back to the door with the padlock. Then I silently cursed. The lock was on the door again.
“Holly?” I murmured.
“William,” a pathetic voice called out from the other side of the door.
“Holly?” I said, a little louder.
A pause. “Who is it?”
“It’s Reed Ferguson.” I grabbed the lock and pulled, but it didn’t budge. I wished I had my trusty lock-pick set.
“Did you break down the door? I thought William or Andre was making that noise.”
“What?” I stared at the door. “How did you know I was here?”
“I…uh…” She sniffled. “I was the one who knocked you out.”
“What?” I repeated a little louder, and with a hint of anger in my tone.
“I didn’t know it was you,” she whined. “I thought Andre had come back.”
I sighed. I couldn’t really blame her. After all, I didn’t announce myself when I came through the door earlier.
“Hold on,” I said. “I need to find something to pick this lock.”
“Okay.”
I moved around in the dark until I came to the shelves along a wall. I felt around until I found some wiring. I worked the metal and broke it into two pieces, then walked back toward her door. I stumbled over something, hit the floor hard, and cursed.
“Are you okay?” she called out.
“Never been better,” I muttered. I made it to the door and started on the lock. It was proving to be especially difficult, or maybe it was because my head hurt and I wasn’t using lock picks. I hoped I hadn’t met my match because I didn’t know what Plan B was. “I’m picking the lock, so don’t knock me out when I come in.”
“Hurry. William and Andre are coming back soon.”
“How long has it been since you hit me?” I could’ve been more delicate, and said, “since they left,” but I wasn’t in the mood for decorum.
“I’m not sure. I think about five hours.”
“What time is it now?”
“Let me see if I can see my watch.” I heard her move away from the window and then come back. “It’s 11:25.”
“I must’ve passed out.”
“I don’t think you were completely unconscious after I hit you because you kept groaning.”
I had another flash of Andre standing over me. “My head still hurts.”
“Sorry.” She sounded miserable.
Then I felt bad. “It’s okay.”
“Hurry,” she repeated. “They’ll be coming back anytime.”
“Great,” I muttered. And where were they now? They had my wallet, which meant they knew where I lived. What if they went to the condo and threatened Willie, or worse?
“Did they say where they were going?”
“I think Andre was going to get a padlock for your door. And then they were meeting someone, or looking for someone.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. Their big concern was what they should do with you.”
“What was William planning to do with you?”
“Keep me here until the party, to punish me.” Her tone was depressed. “Then he threatened to hurt my sister and her husband.”
“Why?” There was something in her tone, and then I thought about how Kristin had reacted oddly when she discussed her husband’s fondness for Holly, and how I thought she’d been holding something back. “You had an affair with Paul.”
Even through the door I heard her gulp. “Yes,” she finally said. “It was about five years ago. Paul had business in California and Kristin and I went out there to spend some time at the beach. He was so nice to me. It felt good to have someone pay attention to me, especially because William was so indifferent. All he cared about was his career.”
“You don’t have to explain.” An affair with your sister’s husband, I thought. That’s low!
“William found out, I’m not sure how. It’s when the real rough stuff started,” she went on, ignoring me. “William wouldn’t consider divorce, but he made sure the affair stopped. That’s when Andre came into the picture. And I’m sure William threatened Paul as well. They hate each other, but Paul couldn’t do anything about it because he doesn’t want Kristin to know. And I don’t, either, although I think she knows.” She paused. “I never wanted to ruin her marriage. She loves Paul. The affair just…happened.”
“Kristin said Paul would go ballistic when he found out that William might’ve killed you,” I said.
“When did you talk to her?” she said defensively. “And why would you think I was dead?”
“I’ve been looking for you ever since you didn’t show up at the spa. You think I would do nothing?” My sense of chivalry was wounded.
“Yeah, but William would never kill me. It’d ruin his political career.” I’d been right in that assumption. And I noted that she didn’t say William wasn’t capable, or that he wouldn’t because he cared for her. “And this city thinks he’s such a great guy…if they only knew what he’s done.” The cynicism was clear.
I gritted my teeth and cursed at the lock. “This isn’t working,” I said. I stepped back from the door and thought for a second. “Hold on.”
“Don’t leave me!” she cried out.
“I’m not, just sit tight.” Like she had any other choice.
I hurried up the stairs and back to the kitchen, stumbling a few times in the dark. I searched around the tables and cupboards until I found a chef’s knife. I hefted it in my hand. It might work. I went back downstairs to the door, slid the knife under the hasp and pulled.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“It’s…coming,” I huffed as I felt the screws holding the hasp begin to tear away from the doorjamb. Then they popped free. I yanked off the padlock. “Don’t hit me,” I said as I turned the knob, which wasn’t locked.
“I won’t,” she said petulantly. As the door opened, she flew out of the room. “Am I glad to get out of there!”
“Come on.” I grabbed her hand. “We have to leave now.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
11:45 PM
“You came for me!” she said as we ran toward the stairs. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “William and Andre will be back anytime, so we need to get out of here. And I’ve got to call my fiancé.”
“Seriously? You need to do that now? Can’t it wait?” She stopped.
I whirled on her. “No, it can’t wait! They took my wallet with my license in it. That has my home address. If they’ve gone there, they’ll find her. And what might they do to her?”
Her jaw opened, but no words came out.
“Exactly,” I said. “Come on.” I started up the stairs. “And we need to call the police.”
“No!”
I turned around. “Why?”
“The police can’t protect me from William! Why do you think I haven’t called them before? Because they can�
��t really do anything. William might get arrested, but he’d get out, and then I’d really pay.”
“But –”
“No,” she said again. “Promise me.”
I stared at her. “Fine,” I finally said, then continued up the stairs.
She clomped after me. I got to the top and poked my head into the kitchen. Shafts of moonlight filtered down from the high windows, bathing the room in an eerie glow. I started forward, then paused. Did I hear a voice? I turned to Holly.
“Be quiet,” I hissed.
“Sorry,” she murmured. “I can’t see a thing and –”
By now she was close to me and I put a hand over her mouth. “Shut up!” I whispered.
She made an indelicate “Mph” and struggled for a second, but suddenly stopped. She’d heard it, too. From somewhere beyond the kitchen, we heard voices. I glanced around frantically.
“In here!” I whispered.
I grabbed her arm and we darted over to one of the storage room doors. As the voices grew louder, I eased the door open and pushed Holly through. She stumbled and nearly ran into some shelves, but she righted herself without making any noise. I sighed in relief as I pulled the door closed, leaving it cracked. Holly moved over near me. Her breathing seemed loud…or maybe it was my own.
A moment later, I watched as Rasmus and Andre entered the kitchen. They paused for a moment in the doorway. They both carried flashlights, the beams cutting a path in front of them.
“I don’t care what you do with him,” Rasmus was saying. “You want to beat the crap out of him first, I don’t care. Just find out how he’s involved with Holly and then threaten him within an inch of his life.”
Night of the Hunted: A Reed Ferguson Mystery (A Private Investigator Mystery Series - Crime Suspense Thriller Book 11) Page 8
