Into the Dark

by Green, Stacy

  The advice his sister had been giving him for years played in his mind. “You can’t take on the world just because you feel guilty about the past.”

  Still, he should have figured out the partner’s intentions sooner. If he had, Emilie would be sleeping peacefully tonight instead of looking over her shoulder in constant fear.

  * * * *

  The room was like every other hospital room she’d been in: white, sterile, and freezing. Emilie sat on the standard-issue bed trying not to touch the cold plastic sides while the flash of the police photographer’s camera attempted to blind her. He’d taken so many pictures she’d lost count—pictures of the bruises on her face and shoulder, the scrapes on her arm and knee—even her broken fingernails.

  “Do you have enough yet? Surely a hundred and nine will suffice.”

  The photographer ceased his repetitive clicking and cocked his head. “You’ve been counting?”

  “Never mind.”

  “We just have a few more questions,” said FBI Agent Sia Ronson. Emilie already liked her better than Avery. Her classic gray suit was nice but not flashy, her voice calm and reassuring. The agent had convinced Avery to deal with the press while she interviewed Emilie.

  “Tell me about the lilies and poem.”

  “Casablanca lilies mean celebration.” The words lodged in Emilie’s throat. She swallowed hard. “He said they were a perfect flower for today’s occasion. That today was just the beginning.”

  “What about the Blake poem? Was it special to you?”

  “It’s one of my favorites, but no one knows that.”

  “Can you remember anything else?”

  “After the hostage was picked, the partner said not to worry, that he’d take care of me.”

  “What else did the partner say?”

  Emilie told Ronson about Creepy’s strange ramblings. His voice echoed in her head. Her exhausted body began to shake. She wrapped her arms around her chest.

  “Did the partner ever mention anything about the tunnels? Something that may not have specifically related to the bank but to the storm system in general?”

  “Not that I can remember.” Emilie rubbed her temples. “When can I get out of here?”

  “Soon. Can you give us a better physical description?”

  “No. He could have been bi-racial.”

  “In comparison to my coloring—was he lighter or darker?”

  Emilie looked at the agent’s mocha-colored skin. “Lighter.”

  “How much lighter?”

  “I don’t know. Quite a bit.”

  “Is there anything else you can remember?” Ronson asked.

  “Did Detective Avery tell you about the partner’s…err…excitement?”

  “Yes. I don’t know if the reaction came from direct physical contact with you or because he thought the two of you were about to make a great escape. But clearly there’s a sexual component to his fascination with you.”

  Ronson didn’t need to say more. Emilie knew what would have happened had Creepy Guy managed to succeed with his nefarious plan. She imagined being forced down into the filth of the tunnels and his hands all over her. He would have no doubt continued his strange commentary, as genteel as ever while he violated her. And then what? Death? Another go?

  “Anything else?”

  She tried to quell the shaking. It only got worse. “He was just…different.”

  “How so?” Ronson asked.

  “He was polite, almost formal. He even called me Miss Emilie. Joe was constantly agitated, but the partner never got upset, except…”

  “Except what?”

  “I asked Joe if I could go to the bathroom. I just wanted to get away from the other guy for a few minutes. Creepy offered to take me. I knew I couldn’t let him get me alone, so I said no.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Nothing. He didn’t have to. His eyes said enough. He was furious.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “Not long before SWAT came in.” If only the customer hadn’t screamed. Hope and then sheer panic had gripped Emilie when she realized the police had entered the bank. Before she could react, Creepy grabbed her and dragged her to the stairs. He’d known their exact location.

  “Other than the flowers today, have you had any other weird things happen?” Ronson asked. “Other strange gifts or notes? Weird calls?”

  “No.”

  “You hadn’t noticed anyone following you, or the same person turning up wherever you went?”

  “No.”

  “Why didn’t you know about the door? You’re the branch manager…”

  “The building is only about five years old, but the basement is an original foundation from a previous building,” Emilie said. “That room has been storage since the bank was built. I’ve been down there a few times, but that wall was always blocked by boxes and old equipment.”

  “Was the previous building a bank?”

  “No, an old hotel—one of the city’s first. WestOne bought the property for its new location. Building inspector said the foundation was solid, so the architect saw no reason to tear it out.” A sudden thought occurred to Emilie. “When did he move the boxes away from the door? When I was knocked out?”

  “I don’t think so. SWAT said only three or four minutes at most passed during that time.”

  “Then how did he get the door open? It had to have been sealed for years. That entire room smelled like a crypt.”

  Agent Ronson glanced at the door and then focused on her notes. “I don’t like to jump to conclusions.”

  “You’re an FBI agent. You’ve got instincts, right? What does your gut tell you?”

  “This is a complicated individual.” Ronson folded her arms, notebook still in her hand. “We’ve only touched the surface of what he’s capable of.”

  “Why did he try to take me from the bank?” Emilie asked the other question that was driving her crazy. “Snatching me from my apartment would have been easier.”

  “You live in Henderson. A strange man skulking around the storm drains in a community like that would have stuck out. The safest way for him to get you into the tunnels was from the bank.”

  “You never answered my first question.” Emilie’s head spun. “How did he get the door open? How did he find out about the tunnel? And not only an escape tunnel under the bank, but one that led to the storm drain system?”

  “You told us the storage room door should have been locked. Who has keys?”

  “Me. Jeremy, the branch president; Lisa, my loan officer; and Miranda, my head teller. Lisa has a bad habit of leaving hers lying around. Someone could have made a copy.” A wave of fear rippled up her spine. “What are you getting at?”

  “I don’t want to further upset you, but at this point, we have to assume he had help.”

  “What kind of help?”

  “The kind that only someone with inside knowledge of the bank would have.”

  Emilie dropped her head to her hands. That meant someone she worked with disliked her. She knew exactly who that someone would be. Lisa had worked at the bank longer than Emilie, and her sights had always been set on management. Her unfriendly attitude and inability to work with others had squashed that hope. She’d been furious when Emilie was promoted to branch manager.

  “Lisa. She left before the robbery, and she’s not exactly my biggest fan.”

  Chapter Seven

  The sun had crept up the horizon by the time Nathan stumbled into his apartment in East Las Vegas. He stripped and put his smelly clothes into a garbage bag; then he sealed the bag and set it by the door. Those clothes were a lost cause. Dumped some food into the tank for his hungry green Tiger Barbs, cursing when he saw their dark home. The light had been out for a week. Green gunk spread over the glass like a spider web.

  After the shortest shower in history, Nathan collapsed into bed. Maybe he would be less disillusioned after a few hours of sleep. He was always exhausted after a hostage situation, but
today had been different. Seeing the lengths the masked man had gone to in order to kidnap Emilie made Nathan question his choice to work in law enforcement.

  In his six years as a cop, he’d seen the worst society was capable of. His rookie year, he and his partner had interrupted a robbery in progress. The suspect was apprehended, but the damage had already been done: the forty-nine-year-old cashier lay dead on the cracked tile floor behind the counter, blood streaming from the bullet hole in her forehead. The most haunting image of the night had been the woman’s daughter running up to the ambulance begging to know why there was no hurry to get her mother to the hospital. The sound of her grief remained in Nathan’s head for weeks.

  He had seen druggies overdosed and left to rot, some beaten so badly their eyes had swollen shut. Regardless of the nature of the victim, Nathan always took a moment to reflect on each loss, wondering about those left behind and how they would cope.

  And then there was Jimmy. Nathan was only fourteen years old when he’d held Jimmy, trying in vain to stop the blood as it poured from the stab wound. Jimmy had died in his arms. Nothing he ever experienced as a cop could be worse than that.

  But this crime wasn’t like any of the others he’d seen. Emilie’s attempted kidnapping was the result of an extremely calculating individual, someone so obsessed with another human being he would involve the lives of innocent people just to get to her.

  The partner made everything SWAT had accomplished seem worthless. No matter how many criminals they got off the streets, more were out there just like the masked man: normal, quiet people who had the time and intelligence to plan heinous crimes. And police could do little to stop them until at least one life was shattered.

  Jimmy would tell him to stop being a pussy and man up. He’d go on about how one man couldn’t save everyone, and all anyone could do was his best.

  Look where your best got you, Jimmy. Six feet under.

  Nathan pushed the memories of Jimmy out of his mind and focused on the case. Surely Avery was smart enough to realize the partner had help from inside. No way did the escaped man just stumble across that tunnel during a leisurely stroll in the storm drains. Who had access to the bank? Who would have known about the hidden door?

  Employees. Contractors, repairmen, cleaning service. Ex-employees.

  Emilie said the bank had been built on top of an older foundation, one that was original to the city. Anyone with knowledge about the original building had to be included on the list. Who knew how many people had worked in the old building over the past century?

  Avery wouldn’t have time to interview all potential suspects. He needed to take full advantage of the FBI’s resources. He and the agent assigned to the case needed to focus on the most obvious candidates: current employees and ex bank employees. It was unlikely someone Emilie didn’t even know would help kidnap her.

  Of course, maybe the person didn’t realize what he was doing. Maybe this partner just happened to find out about the passage and used it to go after Emilie. The informant could be anyone with a connection to either the old building or to the bank.

  Nathan rolled over and stared at the wall. Last year, Avery had botched a drug bust the FBI and narcotics had been working on for six months. Then he’d lost crucial evidence in a murder case that resulted in a mistrial.

  Avery can’t handle this.

  * * * *

  “Jesus, Em.” Jeremy Vance guided Emilie to his waiting mini-van. One of the few people she called a friend, he was also the bank president. Without his support, Emilie would have never gotten back on her feet after her divorce.

  “That’s a nasty bruise.”

  “I haven’t looked at it.” Emilie glanced at Jeremy. Her boss was short and pudgy with dirty blonde hair rapidly being taken over by arctic highlights. Too much sun had turned his plump cheeks bright rouge. “I’m sorry your vacation was interrupted. I take it you came straight from the plane?”

  He smoothed his wrinkled, blue polo shirt and khaki shorts. “Don’t worry about it. I would have been here sooner, but I’ve been dealing with the police.”

  Emilie snapped her seatbelt into place. “Feel like you’re in the Twilight Zone yet?”

  “By the time I got to WestOne, the police had set up construction lights in the tunnel so the forensic team could do their thing. The bugs—holy shit. Saw one of the biggest crab spiders I’ve ever seen.” He stopped short at the horrified look on Emilie’s face.

  “Damn, Em, I’m sorry. You know I rattle off without thinking. How are you doing?”

  “I’m here and not in the stinking storm drains with the mole-man.” She shrugged. “That counts for something, right?”

  “You really think Lisa could be involved?”

  “You know she hates me. And she didn’t look sick when she left.”

  “But do you really think she’d do something like this?” Jeremy raised both sun-bleached eyebrows. “Just because she resents you doesn’t mean she would help some crazy man kidnap you.”

  “Who else is there?”

  “The police are also looking at anyone previously affiliated with the old building.”

  “People who used to work at the hotel?”

  “They would have knowledge of the original foundation. For all we know, the guy who tried to kidnap you could have worked at the old hotel. Maybe he didn’t have an accomplice.”

  “That’s true,” Emilie said. “You and I didn’t even know about the door, so why would Lisa? Although I wouldn’t put it past her to go digging around in storage looking for freebies.”

  “Come on.” Jeremy rolled his eyes. “You’ve never had any proof she’s stolen supplies.”

  “Did I accuse her of stealing? No. I simply said I wouldn’t put it past her.”

  “Em, don’t turn this into a witch-hunt because you and Lisa dislike each other.”

  Emilie bit her tongue. Jeremy had been so good to her, humoring him was the least she could do.

  “Let’s say the partner did work at the old hotel.” She changed the subject. “Why me? How did I get involved? And I still say it would have been much easier to kidnap me from home. Maybe the guy’s a drama queen. Maybe he liked all the attention he got from staging the bank robbery.”

  “You’re being awfully matter-of-fact about this.”

  “That’s how I roll these days. What should I do, sit in a corner and cry?”

  Jeremy smacked a meaty hand against the steering wheel. “You need to take this seriously. The cops may not find this man, and he’s shown he’s willing to do whatever it takes to get to you.”

  “Jeremy, I am taking it seriously.” She couldn’t stop the angry edge from creeping into her voice. “Trust me; I know he’s still out there.”

  “I just want you safe.”

  “So do I.”

  “I don’t like you being alone.” He switched lanes and took the exit for Henderson. “Why don’t you come stay with us? Sarah and the kids will be home in a few days.”

  Emilie had no desire to burden Jeremy and his family. Lisa resented their friendship, and staying with the Vances would give her more ammunition. “Cops said the building was safe, and there’s a patrol outside. If the partner didn’t try to take me from home before, I doubt he’s going to do it with the cops hanging around. I can’t leave Otis anyway.”

  “You could always bring him.”

  “He doesn’t like to travel. He gets carsick and then he’s usually so pissed off he won’t eat for a day or two.”

  “Of course.” Jeremy sighed. “Then do me a favor, will you?”

  “Depends.”

  “Text me whenever you leave from somewhere and when you get home. And don’t even think about coming back to work right now.”

  “I need to work.”

  “Bank’s going to be closed for a few days. The police have to process for evidence, and they want to explore that dug-out tunnel and old room some more.”

  “How long until the bank reopens?

 
“At least the rest of the week. We can’t open until the police give us the go-ahead. Then you’re taking a week off.”

  “No, thanks.” Emilie crossed her arms and glared out the window. Hot tears built in the corners of her eyes. Sitting at home with only her thoughts was worse than going back to the bank.

  “You’ve been through something horrible. No arguments. And I know this will piss you off, but do you think Evan would want to know?”

  “I don’t give a damn what Evan wants.” Emilie’s nails dug into her arm. “My life is no longer his business.”

  “I just don’t want you to have the same problems you did after the divorce. You’ve come too far to end up back in that miserable place.”

  Her throat ached as she struggled to conceal her emotions. “I’m fine, really. Will you let me know when I can come back to work?”

  “Of course. And you’ll be paid for the time off.”

  Awkward silence hovered between them until Jeremy pulled into her condominium community. “I’ll walk you up.”

  Tucked between Las Vegas, Lake Mead, and the Hoover Dam, Henderson is only a twenty-minute commute from downtown and a popular retreat from the rowdy lifestyle of the city. Emilie had lived in a second-floor, two-bedroom unit in Big Horn Condos since her divorce. She enjoyed the peace and quiet and the incredible view of the Black Mountains.

  Her fat, orange tabby had greeted her with loud yowling, demanding food. While she fed Otis, Jeremy checked the apartment and then pleaded with Emilie to stay with his family. Half an hour later, Emilie shoved him out the door. She was finally alone.

  The condo waited in silence. Anxiety washed over Emilie. The door’s gold lock suddenly looked flimsy. Maybe she should reinforce it.

  Emilie’s sore shoulder screamed in protest as she grabbed the side of the oak table standing along the west wall. She heaved it across the hardwood floor until the heavy wood rested firmly against the door. Better. At least she would hear the table crash to the floor if someone tried to break in. She left the entryway light on and headed for the master bath. Behind her, something scuttled across the kitchen floor. Emilie froze. Her heart pounded in her ears. The sound came again.