by Green, Stacy
Back Cover
A Suspense Novel by Stacy Green
A two-hundred-mile labyrinth of dark storm drains serves as refuge for the delusional stalker who will go to any lengths to possess fragile, emotionally isolated Emilie Davis. To survive, Emilie will have to confront the secrets of her past she has kept locked away from everyone, including herself.
Emilie is a master escape artist—she’s fled a manipulative mother and a controlling ex-husband. But it’s impossible to evade a stalker who uses a bank robbery as a ruse to kidnap her. He’s still out there, hiding in the Las Vegas tunnels and dodging police. Emilie’s life careens out of control as her assailant continues his pursuit. She has nowhere to turn but to Nathan Madigan, the hostage negotiator who worked the robbery.
Nathan is haunted by his failure to protect a loved one fourteen years ago and has dedicated his life to saving others. Determined to catch the lunatic hunting Emilie, he finds himself losing his professional detachment. He fears history is about to repeat itself if he cannot protect Emilie from the Taker’s obsession.
The police close in on the Taker’s identity as Nathan and Emilie grow closer to each other and to resolving the misery of their own pasts. At the height of The Taker’s madness, his attempt to replace someone he’s lost will either kill them all or set them free.
Into the Dark
Stacy Green
MuseItUp Publishing
www.museituppublishing.com
Chapter One
Two people could have sent the Casablanca lilies, and Emilie never wanted to see either one of them again. The vase of sweet-smelling flowers taunted her as it sat beneath the window, soaking up the sun. No signature, no florist’s name. Just the poem—beautiful words that pierced Emilie with dread. She read the card once more.
The modest Rose puts forth a thorn,The humble sheep a threat'ning horn:While the Lily white shall in love delight,Nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright.
The Lily, William Blake
Emilie kept her love of poetry locked away along with the rest of her secrets. She traced the elegant handwriting. It wasn’t Evan’s. She couldn’t remember what her mother’s looked like.
The door swung open and banged against the rubber stop. Emilie jumped, slamming her knee against the metal desk.
“Who’re the flowers from?” Lisa stood in the doorway, a snide smile on her face. Tall and thin with black-framed glasses and too much make-up, the loan officer reminded Emilie of a trashy librarian. Her heady perfume filled Emilie’s office.
“A friend.”
“I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.”
“I’m not.”
“Secret admirer, then?” Lisa clutched her purse.
“Something like that. Leaving early today?” As if Emilie couldn't guess.
“Doctor’s appointment.” Lisa flounced off.
Emilie glared at the flowers. She’d been having a standoff with the lilies since their delivery a couple of hours ago. They were a bad omen, and she didn’t need any more rotten luck.
Emilie grabbed the vase and headed for the lobby. The lilies would make a nice addition to the kiosk in the center of the bank. At just past four p.m., WestOne employees were getting ready for the late afternoon rush. Sunlight streamed in through the entryway’s impressive wall of windows and cast colorful prisms on the tile floor.
The door chimed behind her as a customer entered. Mollie’s cheery greeting made Emilie smile. She rearranged the various brochures so the fragrant lilies were the centerpiece of the display. The door opened again. A stale scent wafted into the lobby along with a burst of hot, Las Vegas air. A collective gasp rippled across the room. Before Emilie could react, three quick, deafening gunshots rang out. People screamed as glass rained over the tile floor. Emilie threw her hands over her head and dropped to her knees.
“Everyone get down.”
* * * *
Nathan Madigan sat down at the conference table with the rest of the SWAT team. “How many hostages?”
Sergeant Dave Johnson cleared his throat. “Ten. Four employees—including the branch manager—and six customers.”
“Security cameras?” Chris Holt sat next to Nathan. He rapped his fingers on the table.
“Got a glimpse of one guy before his partner shot out the security cameras. Working on an I.D. Metro hasn’t had any luck communicating.”
Nathan nodded once in acknowledgement. “What’s the manager’s story?”
“Name’s Emilie Davis,” Johnson answered. “Thirty-four, divorced, lives alone. Worked for the bank for ten years. No record.”
“I want to talk to her. She’ll have the best knowledge of the bank. The other hostages will see her as a leader.”
“Or she could be the inside man. Er, woman,” Chris pointed out. “There’s always an insider.”
“Let’s hope not.” Johnson looked around the room and made eye contact with each of the twelve officers. “Keep your heads in the game. Move out.”
Nathan followed the group in silence. He lived for days like this, but the nerves never subsided until he was on the scene and in the moment. In the two years he’d been a hostage negotiator, he had a stellar record. Statistics meant nothing to the ten people trapped inside WestOne Bank. Their lives were in his hands.
Inside the truck, he and Chris donned their Kevlar vests. “These things are so damned hot. Why can’t this kind of shit ever happen at night?”
Nathan ignored him. With the cameras out and no contact inside, he wasn’t going to be able to gauge their personalities until he got the perps on the phone. No mistakes. Nathan didn’t need another black memory to add to Jimmy’s anniversary.
“How’d today go?” Chris checked his assault rifle. “You come straight from your dad’s when we got the call?”
“Yeah. Went like it does every year. Aunt Kay made a big meal, tried to act like nothing was wrong. Kelsi did most of the talking. Dad only spoke to me when he had to. I don’t think he looked me in the eye once.”
“It’s a hard day for him.”
“He’s not the only one it’s hard for. Just makes it worse to know he’ll never forgive me.”
“It wasn’t your fault, man. You were a kid.”
Nathan adjusted the straps on his vest. “We both know what happened, Chris.”
“How’s your dad supposed to forgive you when you can’t forgive yourself?”
“He’s not.”
Fourteen years ago today was the first time Nathan had held someone’s life in his hands. He’d failed miserably.
Not this time.
* * * *
Sweat dripped down the back of Emilie’s neck and saturated the collar of her shirt. Her shoulder-length hair clung to her sticky skin like a drenched yarn mop. She covered her nose as the acrid smell of perspiring bodies permeated the air. Police had shut the power off in the hopes of drawing out the two gun-wielding men. The temperature inside had soared. The hot sun peeked through the closed blinds in the front windows and cast the lobby in gray shadow.
She rapped her fingernails on the tile floor, sweating and shaking and sick.
The sense of being watched overwhelmed her.
One of the robbers had isolated Emilie from the group. He sat quietly beside her, his head turning every time she moved: the slightest shift, an anxious sigh, the continuous checking of her knock-off Cartier watch.
The rest of the hostages cowered in front of the teller’s counter, at the mercy of the other robber. Gun drawn, he stalked the lobby, the filthy duffle bag Emilie had filled with cash slung over his shoulder.
One of the trapped customers started to cry. Mollie put her arm around the terrified woman.
“Shut that bitch up.” The ringleader stopped in front of Molli
e and stuck his gun in her face.
“Shh,” Mollie begged. “Please.”
The customer pressed her fist against her mouth and nodded.
“Keep her quiet.” Crazy man waved his gun at the terrified group. “Rest of you, too.” He stomped away to resume his pacing.
What were these men thinking? Police surrounded the building. Escape was not an option.
Crazy seemed to understand this. He paced the room, reminding Emilie of a caged tiger she’d seen in the zoo as a child. The animal’s huge paws had worn a bare path in the green grass as it constantly circled its enclosure. Like the tiger, the man’s eyes shifted from person to person, spot to spot but never settled. He knew he was as trapped as the hostages.
But the man sitting next to her was calm. Serene. And he scared her to death.
“Why are you here?” Butterflies swarmed in her stomach. Sweat rolled down her forehead and stung her eyes.
Laugh lines appeared at the corners of the man’s eyes. “You don’t know, Miss Emilie?”
Her heart skidded to a stop. How did he know her name? Throat constricted, she shook her head.
“For you, Miss Emilie. I’m here for you.”
* * * *
Nathan surveyed the scene at WestOne Bank on Fremont Street. A swell of nosy assholes pressed against the yellow crime tape as annoyed officers repeatedly warned the spectators to back off. Most used their cellphones to record the drama with little thought to the helpless souls trapped inside. The blazing Nevada sun had been relentless all day, and the air was ripe with the smell of sweat, dust, and the Chinese restaurant a block east. Car horns blared in the distance as drivers displayed their irritation at being re-routed.
Surveillance continued to work on getting a wireless camera inside via the air ducts but so far had come up empty.
“We don’t even know if there are casualties,” said the lieutenant in charge. “There’s been no response.”
Nathan took the megaphone from the lieutenant. “This is Nathan Madigan. I’m a hostage negotiator. I want to help you. You need to answer the phone so we can get you out of there safely.”
He pushed ‘send’ on the department-issued cellphone and settled in for the wait. Fifteen rings later, he picked up the megaphone again. “If you don’t talk to me, you’re going to be at the mercy of the police. The only way your demands will be considered is to pick up that phone.”
Dead air and then a gruff voice came over the cellphone. “I’m in charge here, not you, got it?”
“Absolutely.” Nathan handed the megaphone to the lieutenant.
“Where you at? You all look the same out there.”
Nathan waved his free arm. “Here. See me?”
“With the black hair? You look like a kid. How old are you?”
“Twenty-eight.” Nathan shaded his eyes with his hand to combat the sun reflecting off the bank’s front windows. Someone peeped through one of the blinds on the far left. “What’s your name?”
“Call me Joe.”
“What’s it going to take to bring this to a peaceful end, Joe?”
“Me walking out of here with my money.”
“What about your partner?”
“If there’s room for two.”
“What are your demands?”
“A way out,” Joe shouted. “I don’t give a shit how. Get me a car, a chopper, something.”
What an amateur. Either the partner was the mastermind behind the plot or Joe had gotten lucky.
“That’s going to take some time,” Nathan said. “As a show of good faith, can I talk to the branch manager?”
“Why the hell do I gotta show you good faith? I’m doing you a favor just by talking to you.”
“Because I’ve got to convince the people in charge to help you out. Letting me talk to the branch manager will make you look cooperative.”
Nathan waited. Joe needed to believe he called the shots.
Static crackled in his ear as Chris’s voice came over the mic. “Tech found a vent opening on the west side. They’re setting up the camera now.”
“One minute,” Joe snapped. “Talk, woman.”
“Hello?” A soft female voice came over the line.
“Emilie, my name’s Nathan Madigan. I’m a hostage negotiator. Is anyone inside injured?”
“No.”
“Did you get a look at either of the men, Emilie?”
“Sort of. They’re wearing masks.”
“Is Joe in charge?”
“I can’t tell.”
Sweat stung Nathan’s eyes. The heat made him feel heavy and sluggish. He shook off the discomfort and looked at the blueprints he’d just been given.
“Emilie, there three entrances, including the front door,” Nathan said. “One in the rear and one on the west side.”
“Right.”
“We’re going to get all of you out safely, but I need you to be strong. The others are going to look to you for guidance. You’ve got to keep them calm. Can you do that?”
“I can try.” Her husky voice broke for the first time.
Talking to a victim was always emotional and took far more out of him than negotiating with psychos like Joe. “I promise you’ll walk out of there. Just stay calm and do what they say.”
“He wants the phone back.”
“Then give it to him. And remember what I said.”
“I’m sure she will.” Joe had returned. “Happy now? You got to talk to Red. She’s a pretty thing—not all skinny like a lot of chicks. Curves in all the right places, dark-red hair, nice skin. Smells good too. I’m enjoying the view.”
Nathan didn’t take the bait. “Thanks for letting me talk to Emilie.”
“Emilie, huh? Nice name. Fits her.”
“Joe, I’m going to talk to my boss now and see what I can do about getting you out of there. I’ll call back in twenty minutes. Will you answer the phone?”
“Maybe. I might be busy with Red.”
Nathan struggled to keep his voice even. “That definitely wouldn’t help your cause, man. Gotta think about the future here, Joe.”
“Just get me out of here.”
The line went dead. Nathan spoke into his shoulder mic. “We’ve got to get eyes in there now. This guy’s a loose cannon.”
“Tech says five minutes,” Johnson said. “What’s your plan?”
“Keep him talking. He’s edgy and impatient. I don’t think he’s made for the long haul.”
“What about the partner?”
“He’s the one I’m worried about.”
Chapter Two
Crazy Joe hung up the phone and resumed his pacing. His footsteps ground the shards of security camera glass into the expensive tile floor.
Emilie glanced at the area where the bank employees sat huddled. Miranda shook with silent sobs while Mollie held her. Emilie took a step in their direction. The creepy, quiet man hissed and jerked a nod at the spot beside him. Emilie’s gut clenched, but she forced herself to go and sit beside him.
Joe stomped across the lobby. The sole of one of his boots had come loose and flapped against the floor as he walked. Creepy turned to watch him. Emilie studied her captor. His nondescript black boots were new, and the scent of floral fabric softener clung to his clothes. Completely relaxed, he hummed a soulful tune, moving his head to the beat. He was nothing like his fidgety colleague, who looked and smelled like he’d just crawled out of a dumpster.
Creepy caught her staring. He held her gaze. “Did you like the flowers?”
A shockwave tore through Emilie. “Excuse me?”
“The lilies, did you like them?” His looked at the vase sitting on the kiosk. “Casablanca lilies mean ‘celebration.’ A perfect flower for today’s occasion.” His carefully controlled voice slipped, and Emilie heard the slightest of accents. She couldn’t place it.
“You sent those lilies?” Nausea built in Emilie’s stomach.
“Yes. Did you like them?”
A scream clawed it
s way up her throat. The flowers weren’t a mistake. This man, this freak posing as some kind of old-fashioned gentleman had sent them to her. How had he known of her love for William Blake?
Emilie swallowed her building panic. She had to stay calm. “They were lovely.”
His eyes turned up—he was definitely smiling. “I knew you would. Those were just the beginning, Miss Emilie. Just the beginning.”
* * * *
“We’ve got eyes,” Chris said.
Nathan flipped his mic back on. “What do you see?”
“Hostages are in front of the teller counter. Joe’s pacing the lobby. Looks like he’s packing a standard nine mil. He’s wearing a long-sleeved shirt and dark pants. Might have another weapon stashed.”
“What about the other guy?”
“He and Davis are separated from the others.”
“You sure it’s her?”
“Got a copy of her driver’s license right here.”
Johnson’s voice came over the radio. “She might be in on this. I’m trying to get a warrant to seize any records we can find on her.”
“I don’t think so,” Chris said. “She’s got her head in her hands, rocks back and forth sometimes.”
“He’s fixated on her, then.” Nathan stared at the bank’s front windows. Instinct told him to move quickly. “We need to get a hostage out, find out exactly what’s going on.”
“Madigan, get back on the phone. Holt, you got audio yet?”
“Working on it.”
“Get it done.”
* * * *
Crazy Joe stood with the phone jammed against his ear arguing with Nathan about releasing a hostage.
Emilie didn’t have a chance at being chosen. Was Creepy Guy here for her, after all? Did he intend to waltz out of the bank with her as his personal hostage? She’d seen things like that on television. The victim’s story never ended well.
“Did you know Las Vegas was founded as a city on May 15, 1905? Before then, this whole area was agricultural. Hard to imagine, isn’t it?”
Emilie stared at Creepy Guy rambling as though his partner wasn’t screaming five feet away.