by Lara Lacombe
Out of habit, she closed her eyes as she thought through her options. There weren’t many to speak of. The lack of a phone meant she couldn’t dial out for help. She pictured the rooms of the house, trying to recall the closest phone to her...probably the one in the den. She would have to risk leaving the alcove and sneaking through the hall to get to it, and even then, she couldn’t be sure Victor hadn’t cut the lines.
No, she decided, venturing out for a phone was not a chance worth taking. Besides, she had no desire to see what Victor had done to Natalie. She wanted to remember the woman as she had been—friendly and full of life—not as another of Victor’s victims.
Her only alternative was to try to escape through a window. The bedroom had one, a smallish square above the bed. It wasn’t huge, but given her determination, she could squeeze through, provided she could move the bars currently covering the glass. It would be tight though, and she knew the sound of breaking glass would draw Victor. Just the thought of him finding her hanging half-out the window was enough to make her shudder. No, the window was not an option.
That left running for the door. The riskiest plan, and the most likely to get her caught. She had no way of knowing exactly where Victor was right now. He could be parked outside the bedroom door like a cat watching a mouse hole, just waiting for her to leave the alcove in a bid for freedom. But, said the voice of reason in her head, he could also be distracted, off doing something else. It was entirely possible the assassin was sitting in the kitchen drinking a beer, with no view of the front door. I could get out....
Claire focused all her attention on the sounds, or lack thereof, coming from the bedroom. Still silent. Still no sign that anyone was nearby. Should she take the chance? Even if she didn’t make it out, it would be better to know what was going on. Anything was better than sitting in this claustrophobic prison, feeling the space shrinking down on her as the silence grew heavy and pressing.
Taking a deep breath, she raised a shaking hand to the lock on the small door. It was now or never. This would either be the smartest thing she’d ever done, or the dumbest. I hope I live long enough to figure out which one.
The knob of the sliding lock was cool to the touch and fit perfectly in the curve of her palm. Carefully, so carefully, she pushed it gently to the side, holding her breath in anticipation of the telltale screech that never came.
Now all she had to do was push the door open. Just one firm shove, and she’d be able to crawl out of the alcove. That’s all it would take.
So why wasn’t she moving? Her hand was on the knob, all she had to do was push, but she couldn’t make herself do it. Stop stalling, she chided, swallowing hard against the growing lump in her throat. Yes, Victor was still out there, but better to face him in the open than to stay cowering in this alcove. For all she knew, he was preparing to burn down the house around her. If she had to die, she wasn’t going to do it locked in a tiny room, huddling in fear.
Her mind made up, she took a deep, fortifying breath and moved....
What was that?
She paused, pressing her ear to the door. Muffled, indistinct sounds were her only reward, but something didn’t feel right. The house had been so unnaturally still that these faint stirrings set off alarm bells in her head.
Moving quickly, she slid the latch back into place and scooted back until she hit the wall farthest from the door, cursing silently at this change in circumstances.
Her window of opportunity had closed. He was coming back.
Chapter 14
This definitely wasn’t one of his better plans.
The trouble was, he didn’t really have time to come up with anything else. With the clock ticking, and Claire at the mercy of that madman, Thomas didn’t have the luxury of developing a foolproof strategy. He had to wing it, which left a lot of room for error. A fact he was doing his best to ignore at the moment.
This had to work. The alternative was unacceptable.
He parked several blocks away from the safe house, in front of an empty lot at the end of the street. The closest neighborhood was about five hundred yards away, and the intervening land had a neglected, lonely feel, the broken bottles and decaying plastic bags tangled in the tall weeds a testament to the general lack of interest in this property.
It was perfect.
After a quick glance around confirmed no one had noticed his arrival, Thomas casually removed a crowbar and bolt cutters from the trunk and stepped over to the storm drain. A few quick tugs, and he slid the manhole cover to the side. With a final look around, he slipped through the opening and dropped into the sewer below.
The air was dank and musty, the smell of stale mildew so strong he could practically chew it. And no wonder—in the beam of his flashlight, he could see the walls were no longer concrete but a fuzzy, wet green that seemed to breathe around him.
“Nice mold,” he muttered, moving carefully so as not to brush against it. No telling what that stuff was, and the last thing he needed was to poison himself on this harebrained rescue mission. There was no backup, no cavalry riding to the rescue. If he succumbed to some kind of toxic swamp thing down here in the storm drain, Claire was doomed.
He played his flashlight across the walls, searching for the opening he knew was there. His heart kicked into his throat when he encountered nothing but glossy, unbroken green. Where the hell was the door?
Was he in the wrong place? He had checked the plans twice, but the screen on his phone was so damn tiny it was possible he’d misread them in his excitement. I really should have been a better Boy Scout....
He circled again, slower this time, playing the light across the walls in a methodical sweep. He was rewarded with a flicker on the right wall, and he stepped closer. The light illuminated a faded metal sign that was barely legible in the gloom: City of Reston, Fairfax Water Authority. Restricted Access.
About a foot lower he found the padlock, right where it should be. It was tarnished but not rusted through, a sign that the bureau did occasionally perform maintenance checks.
Hopefully that means the tunnel is still functional, he thought as he made short work of the padlock. After all, why bother to lock a door that led nowhere? Maybe, just maybe, they would get out of this alive after all.
He used the crowbar to scrape most of the green stuff off the handle. There was still too much left for his liking, but this was no time to be squeamish. He just hoped the slimy residue didn’t interfere with his grip. The door looked heavy and imposing, and he was going to have to put some effort into yanking it open.
Before he could test it out, his phone buzzed insistently in his pocket. It was Valdez. Thomas frowned. Was Emily okay?
“Kincannon.” He spoke quietly, unsure of how well sound carried in the tunnels. Even though he was a few blocks away from the safe house, he didn’t want to take any chances.
Valdez didn’t waste time with preliminaries. “Natalie isn’t answering her phone. Neither is Dr. Fleming. I’m sending a team out there now. How are things on your end?”
Thomas cursed silently, his mind racing. Victor wouldn’t hesitate to kill Claire if a team of agents stormed the safe house, but he had to admit, the idea of reinforcements was comforting. How could he make this work to his advantage?
“Kincannon? You still there?”
“Yeah.” There was no help for it—he was going to have to share his plan with Valdez, and trust that the other man would do the right thing. “Here’s the deal. Victor called me. He’s got Claire. He wants me to come alone.”
Valdez released a rapid stream of Spanish, his tone leaving no doubt as to his meaning. Thomas bit back a grin. “When this is over I’m going to make you teach me what you just said. Jenny gets pissed at me when I swear in front of Emily.”
“Tell me you are not being an idiot right now,” Valdez said, ignoring his request
.
Thomas shrugged. “Not an idiot, no,” he said. “Maybe a little reckless though.”
“Let me get this straight,” Valdez said. “Natalie is dead, and you’re walking into a trap. Is that about right?”
“I have to.”
“You can’t save her if you’re dead!”
“I don’t plan on dying.” That was true, but then again, neither had Natalie.
“Pendejo,” muttered Valdez. “Where are you?”
Thomas hesitated, then shrugged. Even if Valdez did know where he was, it would take time to get agents to his location. “In the storm drain a few blocks south of the house.”
He could hear the sound of fingers on a keyboard. Valdez let out a hum of satisfaction. “You are planning on using the escape tunnel?”
“Seemed like the best strategy to me.”
“It’s not bad,” the other man said, grudging admiration in his tone. “Better than a frontal assault, I’ll grant you that.”
“Gee, thanks,” Thomas replied. “Now if we’re done here, I have to go. Time’s running out.”
“I can’t let you do this alone,” Valdez said, a thread of steel in his voice.
“I’d love some help,” Thomas replied, his patience running thin. “But not if you’re going to get in my way. The longer we sit here gabbing, the less time I have to find Claire and get her out of the house. I can’t let you send in a team of agents to storm the gates, because Victor will expect that and he’ll kill her. That’s a chance I’m not willing to take. So if I have to go in there alone and sacrifice myself to keep her safe, then that’s the price I’ll pay.”
There was a beat of silence as Valdez absorbed his words. “This isn’t just an operation to you, is it?”
“Not even close.”
The other man sighed, a heavy gust across the line. “You have cojones, I’ll give you that. But I wonder if they’re bigger than your brain? Do you have a plan B?”
Thomas gritted his teeth at the question. In point of fact, he didn’t have a plan B. He had some half-baked ideas floating around, but nothing so coherent as to be mistaken for a plan. “Not exactly,” he said carefully.
“This is where I come in, then.” He could hear the smile in Valdez’s voice, smug and satisfied. Biting back a reflexive retort, Thomas listened to the other man as he outlined his idea. It was a long shot, but it just might work. Best of all, it was so crazy, so outside the realm of normal siege tactics, there was no way Victor could anticipate it. He’d be caught completely by surprise, a thought Thomas relished. It was about time Victor was one step behind.
“That’s actually a good plan,” he said, unable to keep the shock from his voice. If Valdez noticed, he didn’t waste time commenting on it.
“Let’s hope so,” he said. “We should be there in fifteen minutes. Can you stay alive that long?”
Thomas glanced at his watch. “I have to move now. Any way you can push it?”
“I’ll try. Just don’t do anything stupid, okay?”
Thomas huffed out a laugh. “Yeah. I’ll get right on that.”
“Keep your phone on. If he moves you, we can track it.”
“Roger that. And, Valdez?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
There was a soft chuckle. “Saying thank you doesn’t get you off my list, Kincannon.”
Thomas felt his lips twitch in response. “It’s a start.” He ended the call with a soft click and tucked the phone away, then turned and faced the door. It took surprisingly little effort to pry it open, and the overall dampness of the environment kept the hinges from squealing too loudly.
He stepped through to find the escape tunnel, created soon after the house had been built in the eighties, blessedly dry, if a little on the dirty side. Cobwebs decorated the wall, and he had the distinct impression rats probably used the area as a hangout. Tamping down a reflexive shiver, Thomas rubbed his hand dry on his slacks and started down the hall, gun in one hand, flashlight in the other. It was unlikely Victor knew about the escape tunnel, but he wasn’t going to take any chances.
He moved carefully, fighting the urge to run. He hated leaving Claire alone with Victor any longer than necessary, but running into the situation blind was a surefire way to get killed. Caution also made him step lightly. It was unlikely that sound from the tunnel carried into the house, but his whole plan would go up in smoke if Victor caught wind of his approach.
After a few agonizingly slow moments, he reached the end of the escape tunnel. Dusty metal rungs protruded from the wall, leading up to a large square. Based on the plans he’d studied, he should come up in the pantry of the kitchen. It was a low-risk entry point, considering the fact that the door to the pantry was nearly always shut. The lack of light outlining the door led Thomas to believe it was shut now, meaning Victor wouldn’t see him come up.
On the other hand, who knew how long it had been since anyone had tried to open the escape hatch? If the hinges groaned, or if some fool had set groceries on top of the door, the noise would be a dead giveaway. The pantry was roomy, but there was no other exit. If Victor found him, he’d be a sitting duck.
But on the bright side, he wouldn’t live long enough to really regret his mistake.
A quick glance at his watch confirmed he was running out of time. Not only was Victor’s deadline approaching but Valdez had set wheels in motion after their conversation. While he appreciated the backup, some primitive, testosterone-fueled part of him wanted to be the one to rescue Claire, to be her knight in shining armor.
He forced himself to wait a few moments, focusing on the door above and the absolute lack of sounds coming from the house. What he wouldn’t give for a wire-cam right now! He comforted himself with the fact that a camera would have taken too long to set up. Besides, if this entry was compromised, he didn’t exactly have another option.
Here we go. Tucking the flashlight in his pocket and his gun in the waistband of his pants, Thomas stepped onto the ladder. He only needed to stand on the first rung to touch the door. Steepling his fingers against the smooth wood, he gave it a tentative shove. It moved easily, rising gently and then falling back into place.
Wanting leverage, he moved up a rung. This time he pushed steadily, the door lifting until he used his hand to steady it in the vertical position. He waited in the tunnel a beat, then slowly peeked through the opening, searching for an ambush that wasn’t there. Satisfied he was alone, he quickly climbed into the pantry and drew his gun.
There was a low hum as the heater switched on, but otherwise, the house was silent. Now that he was inside, the lack of movement was unnatural—the stillness a palpable thing that raised the hairs on the back of his neck. The place felt abandoned and lonely, and he felt a sudden clench of fear low in his belly. Had Victor taken Claire somewhere else? Was this whole thing just another setup?
Moving quickly but cautiously, Thomas left the pantry and stepped into the kitchen, leading with his gun. A quick scan confirmed the room was empty, so he moved forward into the dining room. Claire’s purse sat on the table, her cell phone poking out from a pocket, blinking insistently in the late-afternoon sunlight. No wonder she hadn’t answered...
He approached the living room, his stomach dropping as the smell of death hit him. Am I too late? He stepped through the door, the sight hitting him like a punch to the gut. Blood was everywhere—splattered on the walls and ceiling, soaking the carpet. His eyes jumped from one spot to another, flitting around the room as he searched for the telltale gleam of golden hair in the gore. Nothing. She wasn’t there.
Relief washed over him, followed swiftly by the sharp stab of guilt. Natalie—a good agent, with a family and people who loved her—had died. He shouldn’t be happy that Claire wasn’t here. He should mourn Natalie’s death. And he would—just as soon as he took down
Victor.
Thomas knelt next to the fallen agent, hesitating a moment before patting her down with quick, efficient movements. It felt wrong, disrespectful in a way, but dead people didn’t need weapons, and he wanted to be prepared.
Her service weapons were missing, but he found a small piece in an ankle holster. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.
With a final pat on Natalie’s shoulder, Thomas rose, silently vowing revenge. I won’t let him get away with this, he promised.
He started down the hall that led to the bedrooms, anxiety mounting with each step. Where was Claire? Why hadn’t Victor shown himself? Was he hiding, waiting for Thomas to come to him? For what purpose? He couldn’t shake the feeling he was missing something, but he didn’t have time to stop and think about it. Phase two of this crazy scheme was going to happen any minute now, and he needed to make sure Claire wasn’t hiding under a bed somewhere.
The first bedroom was clear, with no sign of occupancy. He spared a glance at the bed, where only hours before he had woken with Claire in his arms. Desperation clawed his gut, eating him from the inside out. Where the hell was she? Only one room left to check.
Empty.
He stood in the doorway surveying the room, refusing to believe his eyes. No. She couldn’t be gone. He refused to believe he’d failed to protect another person he cared about. He blinked hard, but the reality didn’t change. She wasn’t here.
He pushed down the scream that stuck in his throat, denying himself the satisfaction of releasing it. There would be time for that later. He turned to leave, but his gaze snagged on the closet door. It was ajar, a sliver of light escaping to slice across the floor. That was odd....
His heart kicked up as he approached the door. He had stashed Claire in the panic alcove once before, so she knew it was a safe place to go. Did she get there in time?
Gun at the ready, he entered the closet. The door to the alcove was shut, fueling his growing hope. He crouched down and leaned in close, his heart in his throat. Please, please, please...