by Stacy Green
Ronson applied Chapstick with a careful, delicate touch—a gesture that contrasted the rest of her demeanor. “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. The drywall’s been there for as long as I have. In fact, it needed to be replaced. My boss and I had been talking about doing that.”
“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 inspectors said the foundation was solid, so the architect saw no reason to tear it out.” A sudden thought occurred to Emilie. “The wall’s been blocked by boxes and old equipment for a long time. When did he move that stuff? He didn’t do it today.”
Ronson glanced at the floor, licking her freshly moistened lips. Bits and pieces of realization began to kick in. Emilie couldn’t stop talking. “And after he got the drywall off, how did he get the door open? It had to have been sealed for years.”
Agent Ronson focused on her notes. “I don’t like to jump to conclusions.”
“You’re an FBI agent,” Emilie snapped. “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. She watched Emilie as if bracing for a meltdown. She’s probably dealt with hundreds of freaked out, rambling victims. “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.”
“That’s one of the first questions I want answered,” Ronson said. “He referred to Dante, talked about the road to hell. It sounds as if he needed to take you into the tunnels, as if that is part of his compulsion.”
“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,” Ronson said. “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?”
Ronson stood, brushing the wrinkles out of her suit. She laid a smooth hand on Emilie’s arm. “I don’t want to further upset you, but at this point, we have to assume he had help.”
“What kind of help?” She knew what the agent was going to say. There was only one possible answer.
“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.” Emilie chest hurt with the force of her exhale. “She left at noon today, and she’s not exactly my biggest fan.”
7
NATHAN CLENCHED HIS teeth and counted the flecks in the tile floor as the doctor stitched his wound. It wasn’t the pain—a strong shot had taken care of that—but the peculiar feeling of the thread moving inside his skin.
“Since you didn’t get this taken care of right away, you’re going to scar,” the doctor said. “You’re lucky it didn’t hit any muscle.”
“Good deal.” Nathan managed just as the curtain was yanked back. Special Agent Sia Ronson, smartly put together in a gray pantsuit, shook her head at him.
“Big hero.” Ronson had cropped her hair since Nathan last saw her. The short style suited her.
“Just doing my job. I’m damn glad you caught the case.” Nathan worked with Ronson over a year ago during a major investigation of a child sex ring. She knew how to handle big cases and still have compassion for the victims, two qualities Dalton Avery lacked.
“It’s bizarre.” Ronson propped herself against the small counter. “What can you tell me about the partner?”
Nathan frowned. “He wasn’t there for the money. I don’t think he ever intended to steal the money. It was all about Emilie.” He detailed the man’s constant watch over Emilie, the way his body language suggested ownership. “Sia, you haven’t seen the tunnel under the bank yet. He took some time. Made it safe. Right under the bank’s nose.”
“No question he had inside help,” Ronson said. “Davis suggested Lisa Craig, an employee she’s had issues with and who wasn’t working today. But I’m damned sure going to check into everyone.”
“She’s not safe.” Nathan wished he had a shirt that wasn’t covered in blood. The doctor finished wrapping his arm in clean gauze, instructing him to change the wrapping twice a day and keep it clean. He’d need the stitches checked in two weeks.
“Davis?” Ronson said.
“There’s no way this guy will stop.” Nathan reached for his things. “Not after all the effort he put into today. You guys are going to have to assign a patrol to her.”
“I plan to.” Ronson followed him out of the small room. “You need to get home and get some rest. How long will you be off duty?”
“No idea. Depends how much Johnson wants to punish me for letting myself become a hostage.” Nathan shrugged into his clothes.
“Why’d you do that?”
“He was going to kill the guy. What was I supposed to do?” He could have tried to keep Joe talking. Joe, who turned out to be just as much of a victim in the partner’s game. How different were he and Nathan, really? Events in Nathan’s childhood—Jimmy, bleeding from a gaping stab wound to the chest and dying in Nathan’s arms—led Nathan to take risks as adult. His role in Jimmy’s death made Nathan go inside that bank. What horrible childhood moment sent Joe inside?
“I get it,” Ronson said. “That’s a lot to have on your back.”
Nathan didn’t want to think about the reasons behind his decision. They didn’t matter now. “I’m telling you, Sia. I’ve only been a cop for eight years, but there are things I’ll never forget.”
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.
“This isn’t like anything else I’ve seen. This guy is so obsessed with her he involved the lives of innocent people just to get to her. And he didn’t exactly choose the easiest route.”
“Agreed,” Ronson said. “I’m going to check anyone with any kind of access to the bank. Contractors, repairmen, cleaning service, ex-employees. And Davis said the bank had been built on top of an older foundation, so anyone with knowledge of the original building needs to be contacted.”
“God,” Nathan said. “Who knows how many people that is? And you got stuck with Avery.”
Ronson sighed. “What’s his story? Is he anything but ego?”
“Nepotism,” Nathan said. “Family high up in the department, so his stupidity gets overlooked. Last year, he botched a drug bust narcotics had been working on for months. Then he lost crucial evidence in a murder that resulted in a mistrial. Yet he’s still front and center.”
“Fabulous.”
Nathan opened the door leading to the main waiting area of the hospital, holding it open for Ronson.
�
��Speaking of the wonder boy,” she said, “I’ve got to go brief with him.”
“Good luck.” Nathan waved to the uniformed officer standing near a set of chairs. Before he could say any more, Emilie stood up from one of the high-backed chairs. She’d changed into a white shirt that made her bruises stand out even more. Her bottom lip was still cracked and swollen, but it was clean. Bandages covered her arms.
“Emilie, are you still waiting for your ride?” Ronson said.
“He’ll be here shortly.”
The officer shifted from side to side, glancing at the clock. His shift was likely over.
“I can wait with her,” Nathan said. “I sent my buddies home to sleep. Got to call a cab anyway.”
Ronson narrowed her eyes but then nodded. “I’ll touch base with you in the morning, Emilie. Please call me if you remember anything else.”
“I will,” Emilie said.
The officer followed Ronson out of the bay doors, leaving Nathan standing next to Emilie’s chair. He suddenly felt like the kid on the school bus with full seats, slowly walking down the aisle hoping someone would scoot over for him.
“Mind if I sit?”
“Of course not.” Her shoulders were drawn tight, her toes pressing into the floor so hard he could see the strain in her legs.
He took the chair beside her. “How do you feel?”
“Sore. What about you? How’s your arm?”
“It’s fine.”
She traced the split in her lip with her tongue, glancing at the floor and then back up at him. “Did you go into the storm drains?”
“Yes.”
“They’re the devil’s underground, right?”
“I think so.”
“He talked about Dante, you know,” Emilie said. “He said the underground was like the devil’s path to hell.”
Nathan remembered the stink of the tunnels, the way the putrid air invaded the senses. “I guess you could say that about the drains.”
“That’s where he wanted to take me. He wanted to show me his version of hell.” Emilie twisted in the chair until she faced him. Shadows lined her tired eyes. “Why?”
“I don’t have the answer.” He wished to God he did. Then he could give Emilie some sort of defensive weapon. “This guy is off his rocker. Trying to figure out his thought process is a waste of your energy. You need to focus on staying safe.”
“You think he’ll come after me again?”
“He might.” Nathan hated being the one to drive the truth home. “You need to be careful. Do whatever Ronson says regarding your safety. Don’t go anywhere alone. Trust no one. Do you live alone?”
She flushed. “You mean besides my cat?”
“Yeah.” Nathan laughed. “Besides him.”
“Just the two of us. A gated community in Henderson. But I’ve got friends who will take good care of me.”
“Good.” The front doors slid open, and a portly guy with a fading hairline and a wrinkled Hawaiian shirt rushed inside.
“Emilie, I got here as soon as I could.” He hurried to her. “The plane was delayed, of course.”
She winced as she stood up. “It’s all right. Nathan, this is Jeremy, bank president and my friend. Jeremy, this is the SWAT officer who risked his life for us.”
Nathan stood as well. Jeremy shook his good arm until it was ready to fall off. “Thank you so much. You probably saved my employees’ lives.”
“Just doing my job.” Nathan regained possession of his hand. “Emilie, don’t forget what I said.”
“Do you think the police will find him?”
No, he didn’t. He thought the man would troll the city, hiding in plain sight, until he struck again. “Agent Ronson is very good at what she does. Trust her.”
Emilie pressed her lips together, the lines in her forehead deepening. She’d read between the lines. Nathan suddenly needed to get outside, away from the fear and sadness. His job didn’t include dealing with the victims. He didn’t know how to say the right thing or how not to absorb their stress.
“Take care.” He turned away before she could reply and headed outside to hail a cab.
* * * *
NATHAN DIDN’T BELIEVE the man would be caught. Neither did she. Whether fueled by exhaustion, shock or despair, Emilie saw nothing in her future but looking over her shoulder in fear. Maybe she’d feel better tomorrow.
“Jesus, Em.” Jeremy Vance guided Emilie to his waiting mini-van. One of the few people she called a friend, Jeremy Vance had been Emilie’s savior more than once. Without Jeremy and his wife, 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?” Emilie didn’t have enough of a social life to consider anyone else. She’d been semi-hermetic since her divorce, and she liked it that way.
“The police are also looking at anyone previously affiliated with the old building.”
“People who used to work at the hotel?” Her face felt like Joe had hit her with a hammer instead of his fist.
“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 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.” Isn’t that what copycats wanted? Or spree killers? Or the serial killers who wrote into the papers begging for recognition?
“You’re being awfully matter-of-fact about this.”
“That’s how I roll these days.” She shrugged and immediately wished she hadn’t. Pain spiked through her shoulder and down into her arm. “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.”
She still couldn’t believe she’d wasted Nathan’s time talking about Otis. But the negotiator understood. Or at least he knew how to act like he did. She supposed humoring crazed people was part of his training.
“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 drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, glancing between Emilie and the road. “Then do me a favor, will you?”
“Depends.”
“Text me whenever you leave from somewhere and when you get home.” He took a deep breath and stared straight ahead. “And don’t even think about coming back to work right now.”
Fresh tears caused a ball in her throat. She couldn’t sit at home all day, dwelling on what happened and what might happen. Not again. “I need to work.”
He flinched. Jeremy hated conflict, especially with her. “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?” Some sick part of her wished she could walk the tunnel herself, find out what the man planned for her. As if there would be answers in the dirt walls.
“At least the rest of the week.” He patted her arm awkwardly, like a coach supporting a child and worried about physical contact. “We can’t open until the police give us the go-ahead. Then you’re taking a week off.”