by J. L. Wilson
"Maybe Strawn told them to check the tunnel."
I held on to my temper with difficulty. "Drew isn't involved. I've told you that."
"And I've told you otherwise." Jack strode away from me, his head moving from side to side as he eyed the walls. "Is this safe? How old is it? Where does it lead?"
"What do you mean, is it safe?" I touched the walls but drew my hand away quickly when I felt dampness. I belatedly remembered the heavy rain falling outside. The top of the tunnel nearest Mel's house was probably damp. Rain sometimes seeped in over the sill. I sniffed, smelling moist earth and a faint, spicy tang like a candle recently extinguished. Lightning?
Thinking of the storm made me think of the macaques. Mel mentioned she might let them into the tunnel if the storm continued. Were they in here? "Mel said she might let the macaques in here," I whispered. "Don't shoot one."
"A macaque? You mean a monkey?" Jack stopped dead in his tracks and whirled to stare at me.
I held out my hands in a placating gesture. "Yes, a monkey. She has three staying with them and they get scared during storms. Mel lets them in the Tube because it's safe and protected."
I may as well have saved my breath. Jack strode away from me, muttering as he shook his head from side to side, obviously disgusted. "Where exactly does this lead?" he snapped.
"West of Mel's barn. It runs about three-quarters of a mile from my house to hers. We come out near the side of the barn that faces my house. The original farm owner built it as a storm shelter for his family then he expanded it. When he built the house down the hill he--" I shut up when I noticed I was babbling.
Jack paused at the second cache as we both heard a scraping noise behind us. "Come on." He touched my arm, urging me to move faster. "We know it isn't monkeys because we didn't pass any. That means it's got to be somebody we don't want to see."
I lengthened my stride to keep pace with him, glancing behind me. Did they break into my house? I thought of the papers left scattered on the kitchen table. There wasn't anything there of value, but it bothered me to think total strangers were prowling through my kitchen, poking their heads into my living room, touching my things. I shivered at the thought.
My phone vibrated again, buzzing from my pocket as it pulsed against the papers inside. Who was calling me in the middle of the night? As soon as I questioned it, I had my answer. Drew. Who else would it be? He said he was going to try to call me back, didn't he? What if it was Drew calling me on his police phone, not his cell phone? I dug out the device, examining the number in the display. I didn't recognize it, but I didn't have many numbers memorized any more. Speed dialing took the place of my memory. I pressed 'talk' and put the phone to my ear.
"What are you doing?" Jack hissed.
I ignored him, focusing instead on the breathless voice on the phone. That and hurrying after him took all the concentration I had.
"Dorothy, it's Mina. This is important."
I almost dashed the phone to the ground. What the hell was Mina Wickman doing, calling me? "It's one in the morning. What do you want? Where did you get this number?"
"You had it listed last year when you ran the fundraiser for the school."
"Keep your voice down," Jack growled.
"Listen, Dorothy, you have to bring me those papers of Wade's."
I would have shouted but a glare from Jack kept my voice low. "For heaven's sake, Mina, it's raining and it's the middle of the night. Why the hell would I--"
"Baby Dot's life depends on it."
I skidded to a halt. "What?"
Jack turned. "Come on." He put a hand on my elbow and tugged.
"Wait." I slipped from his grasp and started forward. He fell into step beside me, alternately glaring at me and glancing behind us. "Mina, what are you talking about?" I stumbled on a bumpy spot in the worn carpet, twisting my ankle. I barely noticed the pain.
"Listen to me." Mina's manner, always annoyingly autocratic, was even more so now. I could easily visualize her snapping her words, her lipsticked mouth twisting with scorn. "Wade got in trouble with a gang and he asked me for help." She rushed on. "It's complicated. He had some of my things and, well, anyway, I said I'd help him. He told these--these--people that he left information with you."
Rage flooded through me. Wade did that? He put me in danger? That asshole. Trust Wade to think about himself first and anybody else second. I could imagine him coming to Mina, crying for help.
My anger left me in a rush of cold sweat. I remembered the sight of him, limp and blood-splattered, his craggy face contorted with pain. I swallowed hard. "I don't have anything," I whispered urgently. "He didn't leave me anything important!"
Jack gestured impatiently. "We have to go. Now." He moved ahead of me in the tunnel.
I lowered my voice and stepped up my pace, limping when my ankle sent a shot of pain zapping through my leg. "He left me a bunch of papers and an old trophy."
"They have Baby Dot and they won't let her go unless you give them what they want. They'll meet you at the Fleming farm. It's not far from where we are. They want the stuff Wade left you, the stuff from his safe deposit box." Mina cleared her throat and when she resumed speaking, her voice was ragged. "They're awful people, Dorothy. They'll do terrible things to Baby Dot, sexual things and drugs."
Memories of NYPD Blue, CSI and every other gruesome crime drama flashed through my brain. I started forward again, limping more now as I tried to speed up. "How did they know about the box? Did you tell them? Did Wade tell them?"
I missed part of her reply as I peered back over my shoulder and the phone slipped against my ear. "...boyfriend's brother is in...and he told them so..."
"Mina?" I stopped and turned around, facing back the way we came. Her voice was stronger in my ear.
"...stupid boyfriend of hers. He told them about the papers. He was there when Drew brought them to your house."
I thought furiously. K.K. was at my house? Oh, damn. He was. The kids sat in the den while Drew, Jack, and I talked about the stuff Wade left in his safe deposit box. We didn't keep our voices low because I never suspected it mattered to anyone but me. "Oh my God, is her boyfriend in cahoots with them?" Maybe he was the contact in town. Maybe he was the one Jack and the others were looking for.
"I don't think so. I don't know." Mina sounded frantic now, her voice low and her words almost jumbled together. "I think he's just a dumb kid who wanted to impress somebody. He's here, too. They've got Baby Dot and him away from everybody else. They've got both of us, Dorothy." Her voice cracked. "I'm playing along with them, but we need your help. We're depending on you, Dorothy. We need you."
Mina's voice faded as Jack and I reached the bright yellow door marking the halfway point between my house and Mel's barn. Damn. We were in the center of the Tube. Phone signals vanished here.
"Mina?" Panic made my voice loud. Baby Dot, in the clutches of those monsters? Baby Dot, sweet little Baby Dot forced to--? Bile rose in my throat.
"What the hell are you doing?" Jack demanded, glaring at me.
My eyes were blurred with tears as I dropped the phone back into my pocket. "It was Mina. She said that gang has Baby Dot." Fear, anger, and nausea made my voice choke. "Good God, we have to find them. We have to rescue her."
"You believed her?" Jack strode past the yellow door. "You're the one who said Mina might be lying about things."
"And you're the one who asked why would she lie," I shot back. "If Baby Dot is in trouble, we have to help her." I heard Mina's voice in my head. We're depending on you. All my life people had depended on me--to help raise money, to pitch in and get things done, to be there and do the right thing. I straightened my shoulders. I wasn't going to let Baby Dot down now.
I limped faster, anxious to get out of the tunnel. I remembered poor Mel's voice earlier and imagined her in the house ahead of me, peering worriedly through her window at the rain and the farm road. Mina's words rang in my head. They'll do things to her...sex things. Dear God. It didn
't bear thinking about. Baby Dot was a child. It was bad enough grown women were raped and brutalized, but Baby Dot?
Dear God.
I barely saw the bright yellow door as I hurried past, my mind occupied with visions of my goddaughter in the clutches of those cretins who threatened me at the dog show. Consequently, my brain didn't register the anomaly until I was several paces beyond the door. I stopped, turned, and stared at the bright yellow metal door.
The lock was gone.
"Hurry up," Jack whispered. He was about six feet in front of me, peering back the way we came. "Come on."
I stared at the door. Where was the square purple padlock with the big fat M in the middle? Drew put it back when we were here a few days ago. I remembered how it made that snicking noise when he latched it. The door was slightly ajar, the metal no longer tightly pressed against the rock.
"This door should be closed," I whispered.
"We don't have time, Dorothy." Jack's voice was frosty, angry, and brusque. "Get a move on, now!"
"The door..." The door shifted. "Oh my God," I mumbled. The door opened.
I stepped back, slamming against the far wall as Drew stared at us, flashlight in hand.
Chapter 17
"What are you doing here?" Luckily my voice emerged as a strangled squeak, not the shout that was boiling inside me.
Drew grabbed my arm and pulled me forward. I stumbled, almost toppling us both into the opening. He wore a black shirt and black jeans, making him fade into the background except for the tanned oval of his face and his shock of brown-gold hair. He had a Bluetooth thingie hooked over his left ear, a line from it going to his waist. I glanced down and saw that yes, he was still wearing his gun but not in the big belt holster. This time the gun was in a discrete holster clipped to his belt.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded, staring past me with the metal door resting on his shoulder. "Why did you bring her here?"
I grabbed Jack's coat to keep me from going any further into the cave mouth. "He didn't bring me here, I brought him here. Drew, they're in my house," I whispered. "They're after me!"
"Good job protecting her," he snapped, shooting Jack a fierce look.
"What does that mean?" I turned to Jack, who was glaring at Drew, and Drew, who was glaring at Jack. "What's going on?"
Drew ignored me. "Who's after you?"
"I saw two men in back and we heard others at the front. We left before they came in." Jack recited this crisply and matter-of-factly, as though being chased by a gang of thugs was an everyday occurrence. Then I realized it might be such a thing for him, and for Drew.
"Get in here." Drew put a hand on my bicep and tugged me toward him. "Come on, both of you." He touched the gadget hooked over his ear. "Hold position."
"Who are you talking to? I'm not going in there." I resisted against Drew's pulling, landing against the male chest behind me.
Jack put his hands on my shoulders and squeezed gently. "Why are you here?" he asked, peering over my head at Drew. "I thought you were following the suspect."
"Suspect? Who?" My head whipped back and forth between Jack and Drew like a tennis ball being lobbed.
"I was following," Drew snapped. "That's how I came here. Come on."
I heard a noise to my right. Jack did, too. He shoved me forward. "Let's go."
"I'm not going in there." I dug in my heels. "I told you, those thugs have Baby Dot. I have to get out and call the cops." Oh, well, duh. How was that for stupid? Drew was the cops. "They've got Baby Dot, Drew. She's being held captive. Mina called me and told me."
He grabbed my arm and yanked. "I know. Come on."
"How did you know? Why are you here?" I insisted.
Drew put a finger to his lips. Come on, he mouthed. He took my hand. Trust me.
I swallowed hard and stumbled into the passageway. A few feet in I got the Panics, but when I tried to turn to go back, Jack was behind me, blocking my way. He closed the door behind him and suddenly it was black.
"I can't see," I whispered.
Drew's flashlight came on, wavering erratically overhead. "Take this."
I reached my hand over my head to take the light. But he was talking to Jack because the light appeared at my side and slightly behind me. Drew produced another flashlight, this one a miniature one with an intense light, and shone it ahead. "Come on."
I tried not to see the enclosing walls as they narrowed around me. For some reason, this time it didn't seem quite as bad, probably because I had Drew in front of me, Jack behind me, and maniacs chasing us. I felt somewhat snug in the tight, damp rock cocoon. I squinched my eyes almost shut, narrowing my peripheral vision on the theory that whatever I couldn't see couldn't hurt me.
Using this mole-like approach got me through the tight-fitting passageway. I snagged on an outcropping once and I heard Jack curse softly behind me. I could only imagine how tight the squeeze was for him with his broad shoulders.
Suddenly we were in the open or what passed for the open if one could call an underground cavern open. "Where are we?"
Drew put a finger to his lips and led the way. He kept his right hand on the wall next to us and I followed suit since I couldn't see details of the ground beneath me. It was uneven but not rough. The footing rose and fell in gentle waves like a beach where sand is piled in random patterns. As long as I moved carefully, I didn't stumble.
I took a cautious sniff and caught a whiff of moisture-laden air, like that in a shower or a locker room. It was air that didn't move much. I relaxed. At least it wasn't moldy. If it was moldy, I'd start to sneeze. The rock under my hand was cool but smooth, not like the whitewashed walls of the tunnel which had a sandpapery texture. This rock felt almost greasy or oily. I removed my hand and rubbed my fingers together. There was a faint residue that made them feel slick.
"What is it?" I touched the rock again.
"Iron pyrite." Jack licked his lips. "Can't you taste it?"
I snatched my hand away. Earth Science wasn't my best subject in school, but any mineral that was absorbed into the body and caused a metallic taste was one I didn't want to mess with.
Drew rounded an outcropping of rock and the light from his flashlight briefly vanished. I hurried after him, running him over as he waited for us in a small nook. "Where are we?" I whispered, hunching over in case the ceiling was low here.
"It's the main cavern under the pasture." He shone his light upward and I squinted at what appeared to be statues or icicles. Jack angled his light in the same direction. I straightened to my full height as I peered around. We were in a space about as large as the first floor of my house, but all open, not divided into four twelve-by-fourteen rooms. It was dark beyond Drew's light but as he moved it, I could see the outline of the cavern surrounding us. The ceiling or roof was irregularly shaped, sloping low where we stood, arcing high in the middle and sloping into the distance. The icicles were stalagmites or stalactites, whichever was the one that was on the ceilings of caves. I always got those words confused.
"Where are we?" I whispered. The darkness seemed to swallow my words.
"Behind the caves that overlook the flood plain." Drew twisted his light around us in a dizzying pattern. "There's an opening behind the caves. We used to go exploring here when we were kids."
"I never did," I muttered. "I hate caves."
"This must be making you crazy, then," Jack commented quietly as he passed me. "Where are they?"
Drew gestured across the cavern. "Be as quiet as you can but I don't think they'll hear. There's one hell of a storm going on out there."
I strained to hear any noise. All I heard was a whooshing noise that seemed to float around in no one location and a soft plop as a droplet of liquid fell into a puddle somewhere to my left. I had a sudden memory of Journey to the Center of the Earth, a film I saw as a child and which scared the bejesus out of me. Was there an underground lake here? Monsters, roaming in the dark? Bottomless pits? I huddled against the wall, wondering frantically
if I could find my way back through the passageway alone.
Jack shifted position slightly, his light illuminating the area immediately around me. I pressed harder into my rocky support as I evaluated my surroundings. Surely maniacs in the Tube would be better than being in a place like this. Maybe if I started sort of moving back, Jack and Drew would be busy and I could slip away.
The light shifted again. Jack put an arm around my shoulders and pulled me against him. Drew was turned away from us, shining his light on a rectangular opening on the far side of the space. "I had a tip that they would be in the caves tonight. This is a perfect hiding place for any drugs they wanted to bring through. They could access it from below, store the stuff here, and move it without anyone being the wiser."
"But it's so close to Mel's house," I blurted. Jack's solid bulk was like another wall on my left side, a warm wall matching the chilly one on the other side. I leaned into his warmth and strength, gathering courage from it. "Someone might see them."
"Not necessarily," Jack said, his arm sliding off my shoulders. "They would only have to come through here once a month or so. They never use only one spot. They've got caches scattered all over Kansas and Oklahoma. From what I saw on the maps, these caves are out of sight to anyone unless they're on that flood plain. And access to the flood plain is from a road most people don't use." He peered down at me. "Are the caves visible from above? If you're in that pasture can you see the entrance?"
"Even if someone saw a stranger, Mel's farm provides a good excuse." Drew's voice was impatient, as though this was all discussed before and he was tired of explaining. "Strangers come in trucks to drop animals off at her farm."
"The Foster Freedom program," I murmured. Volunteers brought foster animals to Mel's farm occasionally. I remembered chicken cages and dog kennels arriving at Mel's house in enclosed trucks or horse trailers hitched to pickups.
Jack's voice was laced with humor. "I still can't believe she rescues chickens. Why?"
I considered trying to explain how Mel rescued two of her hens from an abusive urban family with a mean-tempered eight-year-old boy. I settled for, "Some people shouldn't be allowed around livestock, much less raise children." I suddenly processed what he said. "How do you know so much about it?" I demanded. "You're a stranger in town."