“We did it,” Ryker whispered. A relieved grin tugged at his mouth.
Grace knelt and peered inside the dim hole. Her stomach clenched causing butterflies to take flight. They’d succeeded in removing the grate, but now what?
A thin aluminum ladder was anchored to one side. The light bulb overhead illuminated the first three rungs but the rest of the ladder disappeared into the thick, inky darkness.
She had no way of knowing where the tunnel went. What if they took it only to find that they couldn’t get out? What if they got trapped? Or if it was full of water and they drown?
Ryker knelt beside her. “Come on. What are we waiting for?”
She exhaled a shaky breath. “I think maybe we’d better find another way.”
“Why?”
Outside the door, metal scraped on metal.
She gripped Ryker’s hand. “Someone’s coming.”
“It must be that man coming back.”
“What man?”
Ryker bit his lip and shook his head.
A key slid into the lock.
She frowned at Ryker but didn’t have time to question him further. The tunnel was a risky option, but it might be their last chance to escape.
“Let’s go.” She helped position Ryker onto the ladder. “Grip it tightly and don’t let go until your feet touch bottom.”
He complied without argument and she swung her legs onto the ladder to start her own descent.
Iron scraped concrete as the door above them opened. Three rungs down and the darkness enveloped her. The tunnel smelled damp, and very little light flooded into the chamber. Below her, Ryker’s feet slapped against the rungs.
She breathed deep and steadied her trembling hands.
Lord, she hoped she’d made the right decision.
Chapter Sixteen
Premonition crawled along the back of Keith’s neck as he crept through the long tomblike corridor. Dim light from a single bulb cast eerie shadows on the concrete walls.
He raised the Glock and pointed it toward the thick gloom that morphed into a separate hallway. The room that held Grace and Ryker was down that passage and to the right. He gravitated toward yet another single bulb that illuminated the tunnel.
Where were the guards? He hadn’t encountered even a one so far. No one to stop him from grabbing Grace and Ryker and taking all they knew to the authorities. Victor couldn’t risk it—so why wasn’t anyone trying to stop Keith?
Unless Grace and Ryker were already dead.
He laid his clammy palm on the rusted iron door. His heart raced, his stomach clenched—half relief, half dread—over what he’d find when he pushed his way into the room. Please be alive. He’d take Grace’s anger, her silent treatment, anything, as long as she and Ryker were untouched.
He pushed on the long metal bar that barricaded the door and it swung upward with a loud scrape. He shoved the door wide open and rushed the room.
Empty?
No. He blinked, trying to clear his suddenly blurred vision.
“Grace.” Her name passed his lips in a prayer. What had Victor’s lackeys done with her? “Ryker.” Could those bastards really have hurt the kid?
He circled the pile of junk in the middle of the room and when he came up with nothing, moved through the connecting door that separated the two rooms. More boxes littered the area, tossed there in haste.
He went further into the room. His eyes caught on a dark form peeking out from behind one box. His heart snagged in his chest.
Oh, Jesus, no.
He strode forward. It can’t be them. Don’t let it be—
Not Grace or Ryker. His breath shuddered painfully from his chest as he stared at the body of Shorty, a knife sticking out of his chest. But the obvious question he couldn’t ignore: Who killed the man?
Grace? He crouched in front of the body. Not unless she managed to rip off a surgical knife somewhere. Shorty’s gun was missing too.
He pushed to his feet. An urgent shot of adrenaline spiked his arteries. Whoever took the gun could be with Grace and Ryker right now. He spun to leave the room, but something else caught his eye and drew him to a halt.
The iron drainage grate was slid away from its vent. He knelt to the opening and listened.
The steady, rhythmic trickle of water echoed up from the vent. Would Grace have taken such a risk? She’d never willingly put Ryker in jeopardy, but she may not have had another option.
Keith couldn’t leave until he’d at least checked the tunnel out. He swung his legs over the edge and followed the ladder until his feet struck the concrete bottom. Darkness enveloped him, water rushed over his boots, a faint sulfur smell invaded his nostrils. He paused to let his eyes adjust enough to make out the concave sides of the tunnel.
He took a few steps and stumbled over rebar sticking up through the concrete. His left shoulder bounced against the sidewall, a hot pain shot through his arm. He quickened his pace, grit his teeth and continued on for several minutes.
His head scraped the top of the channel. Damn it. Either he’d suddenly grown or the tunnel shrunk. Would Grace have taken Ryker this far? He hunched over in a crouch, his head bent at an awkward angle, but soon the narrow tunnel forced him to his knees.
He crawled down the length of the tight corridor, gun in one hand, and ignored the fiery burn that shimmied across his shoulder time he was forced to put weight on his left hand.
Frigid water now lapped at his forearms instead of at his wrists. He squinted against the thickened darkness. His stomach rolled. Grace wouldn’t have brought Ryker this way. His instincts were way off base and now he’d wasted precious time.
He fought to turn around in the cramped space. A sudden rush of water washed across his elbows and he hesitated.
What if Grace and Ryker were down there?
He couldn’t leave until he knew for sure. Keith crawled deeper into the bowels of the tunnel. A chill from the frigid water shook his arms. A weak beam of light appeared at the end of the long cement channel, illuminating the rough sidewalls, and reflecting on the water. His eyes adjusted to the new light and he could finally make out the dimensions of the three-foot by four-foot tunnel.
Strange movement up ahead caught his eye.
“Grace?” His voice resonated back to him. “Grace! Ryker!”
The shadows stilled.
“Keith?” The tremulous surprise in Grace’s voice masked her true feelings. Like whether she was happy to see him or not.
“Yeah, it’s me.” He crawled forward, faster, until he saw Ryker turn and face him.
“Keith! You came back!” Relief clouded Ryker’s words and Keith noticed the tunnel once again widened and was now big enough for Ryker to stand.
“You bet, buddy. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” Keith’s stomach rolled over the easy way the reassurance slid from his tongue. He never should have let the kid get under his skin.
“How did you—” A low roar echoed in the small confines, cutting off the rest of Grace’s question.
Water rose past Keith’s elbows. Mud and debris rushed along the tunnel’s length. A sudden deluge flushed them down the tunnel. He bumped into Grace and wrapped his hand around her arm. Grace cried out and lunged for Ryker, somehow managing to capture the back of his shirt before he slid past her.
Keith blinked water from his eyes. His focus narrowed up ahead where the tunnel spread out into a series of fingers. Damn it, run-off tunnels.
His heart constricted briefly before pumping out a heavy staccato rhythm. Muddy water and debris from the other tunnels all emptied into this chamber. They had to get out of here before the entire channel flooded.
“Maybe we should go all the way back.” Her voice reflected his unspoken urgency.
They’d never make it. “It’s too far.”
“Oh, God, the water’s rising.”
“We can’t stay here.” Adrenaline pumped through his veins. Five tunnels up ahead. How should he choose? Close his eyes and point?
&
nbsp; “Which way?” Grace crawled forward through the thick, murky, water.
Ryker remained frozen. “I can’t move! I’m stuck! My foot is stuck!”
No, buddy. No. Keith’s heart skipped a painful beat.
Grace spun around. “Are you sure?” Her shrill question rang through the tunnel. She gripped Ryker’s shoulders. “Pull it up. Hard.”
“I’m trying.” Ryker’s tear clogged voice cracked.
“Come on, baby. We’re almost there. Just a little further. You can do it.”
“I can’t.” Ryker’s breath hitched in his throat.
The water level rose to Ryker’s shoulders.
“I’ll get him,” Keith said.
She answered with a hard shake of her head before she dropped under the water. He plunged his hands in after her until his fingers connected with the cotton of her t-shirt and he yanked her out of the water.
She sputtered. “I can’t...his ankle is caught in some sort of drain trap or something.” Her breath wheezed past her throat. “Lots of rocks and I felt sharp metal...but I can’t—” She wrenched her shirt out of Keith’s grasp. “Come on, Ry. Help me pull.”
“I’m trying.” Ryker whimpered. “It hurts.”
“I know it does, honey. But—”
“Mom—” The waves burbled at Ryker’s lower lip. His breath churned in choppy pants, stirring his asthma. “The water! Help!”
Keith squeezed Grace’s hand. “Grace, let me—”
“He’s my son.” A wet strand of hair clung to her cheek, urging his gaze upward to her eyes. Her pupils were huge in the dim light, blocking out any hint of her true feelings from her beautiful green irises. But he got it. She wanted him to keep his distance.
He ignored the soul deep slash that cut him to the quick, ignored the urge to let her have her way, and dove beneath the water. His hands rooted along the bottom of the tunnel, pushing rocks and debris aside as he dug for Ryker’s foot. He found his ankle trapped between the sharp slats of a metal drain.
Keith shot to the surface. “I need you to sit down, buddy. Take a deep breath and float to the bottom. Your foot is twisted and we need to take the pressure off it to free it.”
“What are you doing?” The alarm in Grace’s voice only succeeded in cutting him deeper.
He scowled at Grace. “I’m not going to hurt him, for God’s sake. I’m getting him out.”
Ryker coughed on a small mouthful of water as the level rose over both lips. Keith didn’t wait on Grace’s consent any longer.
He placed his hands on Ryker’s slim shoulders. “Keep your mouth closed. Hold your breath.”
As soon as Ryker nodded his head and squeezed his lips together, Keith gently pushed him under the water. He followed him, keeping a firm hand on the boy so Ryker wouldn’t panic. Keith’s hands quickly found the grate. With Ryker’s body now lax, he straightened Ryker’s foot and pushed the ankle free of the drain.
Keith pulled them both above water, which had now risen up to his chin. His head brushed the top of the tunnel. In a matter of minutes they’d all be completely underwater.
His lungs tight and his breath ragged, he issued a gentle reminder to Ryker. “Keep your mouth closed.” He tightened his arms around his waist. “I need you to calm down. Take a deep breath and hold it because the water is going to go over your head any minute. Wrap your arms around me. Tight. Don’t let go. No matter what.”
Keith waited until Ryker complied then grabbed Grace’s hand, who tread water beside him, and clamped it around his belt. “Hold on and follow me.”
With a deep breath of his own, he let the water swallow him and swam toward the run-off chambers. They operated like valves, spilling into the main tunnel once they were full. Which meant one of them had to be empty.
It had to, or else they were screwed.
The water was dark and cloudy. His lungs burned, he pushed off the bottom with his feet and propelled them all forward like a torpedo.
He reached the first tunnel and swam inside. He caught a quick breath before water rushed down the passageway, obscuring his view. Ryker’s arms tightened around his waist. Grace’s fingers tugged at his belt.
They were still with him. Thank God.
A moment later the tunnel filled completely and he opened his eyes. They stung from the dirty water, but he needed to get his bearing. Up ahead on the left, he spotted a side tunnel. It had a circular steel cover to keep water out.
He pushed at the top of cover. It pivoted horizontal, giving him just enough room to squeeze through. He pulled Ryker then Grace in after him. His lungs ached with the need to breathe. He slammed his foot against the metal cover, flipping it back into place.
Air rushed his lungs and he drank it in greedily, his stomach pressed to the tunnel’s concrete bottom. Beside him, Ryker wheezed.
Keith touched his back. “You okay?”
Ryker coughed, long and harsh.
“We’re fine,” Grace drew Ryker away from Keith and wrapped her arms around him.
Cool air washed over Keith’s skin and racked his soaked body with shivers. He clenched his jaw and snapped off a nod. He dropped his shoulders and touched his forehead to the rough cement so he didn’t have to look at her.
“Why didn’t you want my help? What were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t thinking. Is that what you want to hear?”
“For starters.”
No. He wanted to hear the words she’d spoken before she’d found out about his order to destroy the contents of the flash drive.
I trust you, Keith.
He should’ve known that a woman like her wouldn’t put her faith in a scarred, embittered soldier like him.
Victor staggered out of the underground chamber and into the open field, the late afternoon sunshine sending tiny swords into his blurred vision. His head throbbed mercilessly from the bloody gash, courtesy of King, that son of a bitch.
His cell phone rang and he unclipped it from his belt, flipping it open. His stomach heaved at the number displayed on the LCD. Al-Ak Raman.
He tightened his grip on the phone and waited until the ringing subsided. Eight hours until hell descended on him. If he didn’t deliver the security codes—the clean security codes he didn’t have thanks to King—Raman wouldn’t let him see the next sunrise.
Fortunately, Victor planned to disappear before then.
He grimaced. As much as it pained him to lose out on the other half of Raman’s payment, he preferred to stay alive long enough to enjoy his geriatric years.
He had more money in his offshore accounts than he could possibly spend in this lifetime, a new name and a first-class flight to Rio. All that remained was to take care of a few loose ends.
He dialed up his best killer for hire. Someone he could trust to do the job quietly and efficiently. He put the phone to his ear with a wince, a moment’s remorse for the hit he was about to put on the little kid.
He’d never meant the boy any harm; he’d been leverage, nothing more.
It couldn’t be helped now. The boy had to die. If the Army had taught him one valuable lesson it was that innocent casualties were acceptable for the greater good. The boy and the woman were just innocent casualties. Keith on the other hand, deserved to die a slow, painful death.
The phone rang once. Twice.
Where was Arthur? The helo should’ve been here by now.
“Going somewhere?”
Victor started at the sound of the familiar voice behind him. His cell phone slipped from his shaky hand and fell to the grass.
He whirled. “What are you doing here?” His hands trembled, twitched. No. It couldn’t be. His vision wavered. The gash on his head must be scrambling his brain. That had to be it, and, yet, he found himself whispering an agitated, “How did you find me?”
The flat look in Colby’s eyes scared him shitless.
He raised his Beretta and stepped forward. Metal jangled against metal in an unsteady rhythm. “Well. I heard you were planning
a trip?”
Victor licked his lips and edged backward. “I was coming to say goodbye.”
His brother laughed, a sound like the crack of a whip, devoid of humor, devoid of anything at all. “I didn’t want to miss your going away party.”
Victor forced himself to adopt a casual stance, but failed, as every part of his body was suddenly drenched in sweat. “Nice of you. But unnecessary, I assure you.”
Colby shot a pitying look at Victor. He fisted his hands and widened the distance between them. His brother shouldn’t even be standing before him. But if he was—it could only mean one thing.
He’d come to kill him.
“I...I did what I thought was best,” Victor blurted. God, he had to make him see reason. “I’ve always taken care of you, haven’t I? Come on, we’ll split the money. Hey, have you ever been to Rio?”
Colby’s lip curled, his eyes narrowed. “No. You saw to it that I couldn’t go anywhere.”
“That’s not...I mean...I tried to—”
“You stole my life!” The slash of his brother’s voice crackled with fury and desperation. “You motherfucking son of a bitch stole my life.”
Victor was screwed. He reached for his Glock and came up empty. Nothing. No weapon. How could he be so stupid?
His gut trembled like an earthquake. He balled his hands—he wouldn’t go down without a fight.
He roared and lunged at Colby, hoping to catch him off guard and take him down. The report of a gun echoed on the air seconds before pain slammed through Victor’s chest.
He stumbled, his breath left his chest. Lungs tight, he glanced down. What? Blood bloomed across his shirt. His chest, his esophagus burned, he couldn’t draw breath.
The son of a bitch had shot him. How could he have shot him? After all Victor had done for him...
He raised his eyes to the Colby’s impassive face.
“You...shot...how could you?”
His lip curled. “Simple. I just thought to myself, what would Victor do?”
Through Victor’s blurred vision, his brother turned his back on him and moved across the field, his awkward gait forcing him to take slow uneven steps.
“No...wait...Don’t leave me here...”
Her Own Best Enemy (The Remnants, Book 1) Page 20