by Green, Stacy
Emilie couldn’t wait. Getting her hands on the letter would put her one step closer to freedom.
She laced her running shoes and retrieved her driver’s license and bank card from her purse. She stuffed them into the back pocket of her cutoffs. Nathan was going to kill her, but she’d be back before he finished his shift.
Emilie crept through the quiet house, unsure of why she was sneaking. No one was around to hear her. She shifted the curtain just enough to see the street. Once the patrol drove by, she had five minutes to get the car out of the garage and onto a side street. All she could do was hope the officers didn’t decide to switch up their route.
She gazed out into the night. Between the bright moon and streetlamps, the area was well lit, with few places to hide.
The Taker only needed one spot.
“You won’t be outside. You’ll be in the car. It’ll be fine.”
Headlights flashed from the left. The patrol car came into view. She let the curtain fall back into place. She waited until the vehicle had crawled past the house and out of sight, then she took off for the garage. If she timed it right, the car would be following the curving neighborhood road and out of sight when she pulled out.
Her heart stuttered as she jerked the garage door open. Darkness greeted her. She flicked on the light. Jeremy’s Acadia dwarfed her Impala.
“Borrowing the SUV, Jeremy. Tinted windows and the cops don’t know this car. I hope.”
She glanced at her watch. Four minutes left. Emilie slid into the plush leather seat, a foot away from the steering wheel.
“Jesus, Jeremy, recline much?”
She slid the seat up, yanked on her seatbelt, and hit the garage door opener. “Relax. Worse thing that happens is patrol stops you and gives you an earful. Big deal.”
The wealthy neighborhood was silent, its residents blissfully unaware of her attempted escape. She backed down the driveway and glanced to her right. No cars in sight. She closed the garage.
“Now or never.” Sweat gathered on her forehead as she rolled into the street. Emilie felt like a teenager sneaking out to a party as the Acadia rushed out into the night, its tires hitting every imperfection in the road. The stop sign loomed ahead.
Two minutes.
Emilie slowed to a rolling stop. She sucked in a deep breath and forced herself to look left.
The patrol car was nowhere to be seen.
A flash from the backseat caught her eye. She gasped and twisted around, fists up. A baby doll leered back at her. Its blonde hair was a mess and the poor thing had been stripped of its clothes. Jeremy’s daughter must have left her in the backseat.
“Get a grip.” Emilie jammed her foot onto the gas and cut to the right. She raced out of sight before the patrol car rounded the corner.
Emilie guided the Acadia into Jeremy’s spot at the bank and breathed a sigh of relief. No sign of police or anyone lurking in the parking lot. She’d spent more time looking in the rearview mirror than looking at the road.
She knew she should call Ronson or Avery. She couldn’t.
Someone should know she was here. Nathan didn’t check his phone while he was on shift. He wouldn’t see the text until she was safely away from the bank. She’d have the letter by then, and he could yell all he wanted. She pulled out her phone and typed a quick message, letting Nathan know where she was and that she’d text back when she got back to Jeremy’s house.
She readied her keys, took one last nervous look around, then jumped out of the Acadia. It was only about twenty feet to the employee’s entrance.
Her Nikes slapped against the concrete as she ran. Blood rushed to her ears. She envisioned a shadow creeping behind her, mirroring her steps until she came to a stop. She grabbed for the door, key at the ready. The lock turned, a loud click in the middle of the night. A whisper of hot night air grazed the back of her neck, a phantom touch. Emilie whirled around so fast her ponytail smacked against her cheek.
Nothing behind her but the Acadia and darkness.
The bank’s heavy door clanged shut behind her. She locked it and took a deep breath. Shadows fell across the lobby. She reached for her phone. The LCD screen glowed just enough to keep her from tripping on the way to the vault.
Cold washed over her. She’d put herself at risk for nothing if the note wasn’t here. Emilie punched in her code.
The steel-reinforced concrete opened without a sound. Emilie switched on the light and winced as her eyes grew accustomed to the invasion. The vault’s interior looked the same as always, cash bundled and stacked, safety deposit boxes hidden behind a newly reinforced interior door.
She scanned the small room. The letter had to be on one of the shelves, hidden by a stack of money.
This was going to take forever.
She began digging through the stacks. The air in the vault was stifling hot. Her skin grew tacky with sweat.
More than an hour later, Emilie sank to her knees. She’d searched every pile of money and found nothing.
“Where else could it be?”
Loud silence answered her.
“I have to get out of here for minute.” She wiped the perspiration off her forehead. “Grab some water and then come back for round two.”
She groaned at the slimy feeling of sweat on the back of her legs. “I’m going to need another shower.”
Her right knee popped as she started to stand. She didn’t register the pain—a tiny bit of white stuck out from under the shelving, wedged between the floor and the wall. It was a piece of paper. Emilie dropped back to her knees and slid her arm underneath the steel. The floor was gritty with dust. She ignored it and pulled the paper out with a quivering hand.
The paper was folded in half, a name scrawled across the front.
Her name.
She’d found it.
* * * *
Nathan unloaded his Glock as Chris downed a bottle of water. The night had gone slowly, with half their targets moving on before SWAT arrived.
“I’m sure she’s fine,” Chris said.
Nathan had been telling himself the same thing since he’d left Emilie. But the worry remained lodged in his brain. He’d checked with patrol an hour ago. The neighborhood was quiet, just as it had been the previous night. The Vance’s house was dark save for the lights he’d instructed Emilie to leave on.
“I shouldn’t have left her.”
“She’s protected. He can’t get to her.”
Nathan might believe that if the Taker hadn’t infiltrated Emilie’s life and manipulated her close friend into helping him. But there was no end to the Taker’s cunningness. Since his escape, everything had gone the Taker’s way. He had to feel invincible, and maybe even brave enough to sneak onto the Vance’s property and steal Emilie out from under patrol’s nose.
A hard blow to Nathan’s arm nearly knocked him out of his seat. “Shit, man.”
“Stop making up crazy scenarios in your head,” Chris said. “We need your mind here. Garson’s house is next.”
Liam Garson was an up-and-coming meth dealer gaining a reputation for distributing to Vegas’s upper echelon. Garson was in his early thirties and heir to a prominent Las Vegas restaurant-chain owner.
“He’s known to carry weapons. So does his security,” Chris said. “Fucking douche-bag.”
The truck halted, and Nathan jumped out with the rest of his team. Garson’s neighborhood was one of the most affluent in the city. Multi-million dollar homes lined the streets, all competing for best in show.
“Garson’s house is around the corner, five blocks down,” Sergeant Johnson said. “Narcotics has been working on this bust for months, so no fuck-ups. Focus.”
Chris elbowed Nathan. “Hear that?”
“I got it,” Nathan hissed. “Shut up.”
He donned his helmet to block out Chris’s scrutiny. Taking his place behind Johnson, Nathan thrust his concern for Emilie to the back of his mind. He just needed to get through this raid.
A young girl answered the door. H
er eyes were dilated, and she swayed. “What’s up?”
“Stand aside.” A narcotics officer shuffled her outside and SWAT made entry, sweeping the rooms one by one.
“Listen,” Chris said.
A rhythmic creaking sounded just above their heads. “Sounds like Liam’s getting lucky.”
Nathan led the way up the spiral staircase and stopped in front of a closed door. A bed frame began to thump against the wall. Nathan pointed to the doorknob. Chris nodded.
He swung the door open and leveled his assault rifle at the couple on the bed.
Nathan recognized the scorpion tattoo on the man’s forearm. “Liam Garson. We have a warrant for your arrest.”
The brunette on top of Garson jumped off and stumbled to the floor.
“Get out of the way,” Nathan said.
Garson lay in bed, arms outstretched and his manhood still at attention.
“Cover that thing.” Chris snickered. “I almost feel sorry for you.” He glanced at the girl in the corner trying in vain to cover herself with a tiny shirt. “I definitely feel sorry for you. Why even bother?”
* * * *
Emilie stuffed the letter into her back pocket. She wasn’t going to waste time going back to the Vance’s. She’d call Ronson and meet her at the police station.
She tugged the vault door shut and keyed in the code. Stupid, damned Jeremy. He was a rotten coward who’d taken the easy way out and left Emilie to clean up his mess.
“Selfish.” Her sharp voice reverberated across the silent lobby. Her scalp prickled, heat flared at the back of her neck.
Behind her, a soft laugh.
She dropped the keys. The metal rattled against the tile floor.
A scraping sound—one of the teller’s stools being moved. Shoes smacked against the ceramic tile. Dress shoes.
Her heart rose in her throat and choked her. Her limbs locked.
The footsteps stopped behind her. Her mind ground to a halt.
A man sighed. His warm breath wafted across her bare neck.
Adrenaline surged through her. Fresh sweat dampened her cold skin, tinted with the metallic scent of fear.
How had the Taker gotten inside the bank? She’d locked the door.
She twisted her head to the right. A tall man in dark clothes and a facemask stood behind her. She couldn’t see his eyes this time, but Emilie knew the Taker was smiling.
“Hello, my love.”
A stinging pain in her throat, and then, blackness.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
She was finally his. In body, at least. Her spirit would soon follow. Julian had faith in her.
His Emilie slept in the backseat with a blanket over her. The Lexus’s windows were tinted, but anyone who happened to glance inside would assume she rested peacefully.
His body crackled with excitement. The smell of her skin—something sweet, yet musky, not unlike jasmine—overrode his senses. His gloved fingers drummed on the steering wheel, his lips were dry. He licked them. His chest swelled with triumph. Just the two of them now. No weak, pathetic friend trying to protect her, no meddling cop tainting what belonged to Julian.
Had she allowed Madigan access to her body? That particular filth would have to be eradicated. She needed to be cleansed, made innocent again. But first, she needed to understand. Her fate belonged to Julian—she’d been made to salvage him from a life of guilt.
Their new life together had finally begun.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Nathan read the texts again. Letter’s in vault. Going to bank. Text when I leave. Sorry.
The second came over an hour later. Got it. Heading back. Call asap.
Why wasn’t Emilie answering her phone? The second text had been sent fifty-seven minutes ago. No way had she gone back to sleep. She wasn’t at the bank. Ronson had already woken the assistant manager to demand security tapes.
“How’d she get past the patrol?” Chris insisted on coming with Nathan.
“I have no clue. I may kill her myself.”
“Patrol entering the house?”
“Right now.”
His fingers dug into the steering wheel. Something had happened. Emilie should have answered.
“Maybe her phone’s dead.” Chris read his mind.
“She’s got a charger.”
He dodged through traffic on I-215 disregarding the speed limit. Patrol officers traipsed out of the Vance’s house when Nathan skidded to a halt in the driveway.
“She in there?”
“No. Car’s still here, though.”
Nathan’s insides clenched. She’d gotten back safely. Then he’d taken her.
“What about Vance’s car?” Chris asked. “He drives some kind of SUV.”
“Davis’s Impala is the only one in the garage. She must have driven Vance’s vehicle to throw us off.”
“It’s an Acadia.” Nathan rounded on the officers. “How could you let her sneak out like that?”
“Knock it off.” Chris jerked at his arm. “That’s not helping anything.”
“He’s got her, Chris.”
His friend didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. They both knew Nathan was right.
* * * *
The thick, putrid odor of mildew permeated her tongue. Emilie gagged on the bulky material shoved into her mouth. Darkness was her next realization. Her eyes were open and staring at a veil of black—she was blindfolded.
She lay on a thin blanket, her nose mashed against the cotton. Beneath the material was a rough surface.
Fear slammed into her chest. Her rapid heartbeat stole her breath. Adrenaline raced through her veins and prompted her to move. The plastic bonds around her wrists and ankles were so tight they cut into her skin.
She listened for the sound of something other than her own panic. The slow, even breathing of someone mere feet away was the terrifying result.
The Taker had her. She was in the tunnels.
“Relax.” The voice was familiar, the southern drawl no longer obscured. “I have no desire to hurt you, Miss Emilie.”
Slender hands brushed her face and caressed her cheek. The gag was removed.
“You’ve got a fucked up way of showing it,” Emilie spat.
“Language, please. Ladies shouldn’t be so vulgar.”
She couldn’t tell him to go to hell. She had to play his game, be what he wanted. That was her only chance of survival.
“Sorry.”
“Apology accepted.”
His voice came from the left, near her ear. He was close. She turned her head in his direction and blinked. Her eyes had adjusted but were little help. Her prison was still black with only the faint outline of a shape a foot away.
“Can you please turn on a light?”
“In due time.”
“How’d you get inside the bank?”
A soft laugh from the darkness. “Didn’t Vance tell you he lost his keys some months ago? They were only gone for a short while—just long enough for me to make a copy.”
“Apparently there’s a lot he neglected to tell me.”
“Don’t blame him, my dear. He is a man ruled by his weakness and gluttony. He never had a chance.”
Emilie tried to wiggle her wrists but they were bound too tightly. Terror rendered her mute. She wasn’t getting away this time.
* * * *
“Why didn’t she call me?” Ronson had arrived at the station wearing a polo shirt and tennis shoes, her dark hair pulled back. She looked ready for a Saturday at home.
“Because she’s stubborn and impatient,” Nathan said. “She wanted to know what was in the letter.”
“And if she’d called, I could have told her techs had finally gotten past the encrypted code on Vance’s Mac and expect to have all of its data within a couple of hours.”
“When did you find this out? You could have given us a heads-up.”
“Three a.m. I assumed she was sleeping.”
“She should have been. What are you doin
g to find her?”
“We’ve got an APB out for the Acadia. I’m putting together a search team for the tunnels.”
“You really think he’d take her there?” Nathan asked. “I know we’ve always assumed it, but he’s got to know we’ve been in the drains. His plan isn’t exactly secret anymore.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Ronson said. “We can’t search everywhere. He’s had time to find the perfect spot. No reason to worry about being caught. His ego will be his undoing. He’ll screw up.”
Nathan didn’t agree. Emilie had to find a way to stay alive until she could be found. And if Vance’s computer didn’t give them anything, she could be permanently lost.
Avery emerged from his office. His normally impeccable suit had been replaced by jeans and a T-shirt, an LVPD cap over his thinning hair.
“Damn,” Chris said. “Never seen you look normal.”
“Shut it.” Avery turned to Ronson. “Just got a call from patrol. Found the Acadia.”
“Where?” Ronson asked.
“In a downtown parking garage, old one without security cameras. A unit recognized the make and model. Got a match on the plate number. Team’s heading out to process.”
Nathan walked to the eastern windows. The rising sun shot bright rays of pink across the sky. Las Vegas stretched before him, a vast area with thousands of places to hide and below ground, hundreds more.
He didn’t believe The Taker would take Emilie into the tunnels. The police had snooped around down there. Emilie had already seen the misery that lived in the drains. The shock factor was gone.
“He’s not stashing her in the tunnels.”
“It’s our best lead,” Ronson said.
“I need to help search.”
“No.” Ronson’s voice was firm. “You’re too close to Emilie. I want you here.”
“What for? I need to be out there looking for her.”
“I need you here to help decipher Vance’s notes.”
“Even if he knows who the Taker is, what good does it do? His name isn’t going to lead us to his hideout.”
Ronson came to stand beside him. “She’s smart. She’ll figure out a way to get him to bring her outside. She’ll make him feel safe. He wants her to care for him, to share his life with her. Once he feels that she does, he’ll take her to his home. And when he does, we’ll be waiting for him. We just need his name.”